Not a poet, no.

It had been such a long time since I wrote something dark, I think I don’t remember how to write dark anymore. It’s difficult to take it out from beneath all these layers of forced smiles I’ve put on.

This is how one of my thoughts came out to be, don’t tell me that I am a poet because I write nice. I believe I’m something else, not a poet…no. In fact, I don’t want to be a poet.


I don’t belong in the world of the poets.

All this while,
I was trying to fit in rhyme and form and meter
just in the hope that I might fit in somewhere

No, I’m not all those colors,
that give meaning to the otherwise monotonicity.
I’m not those words that drool across paper,
mating with it to produce a beautiful poem.
I’m not the music,
that syncs with the shrieks within just so you feel normal.
Not a poet, no.

Give me all of your colors,
your emotions,
all your beautiful thoughts
and I’ll make them gray.

I… I’m contagious.
Touch me and you’ll be one of us.
All of your colors, don’t matter. It all looks the same in my twisted little mind.

🙂 (These smileys are the creepiest I swear)

What is Poets’ Collective


I, for one liked to call myself a non-believer.
Being a part of PC, I’ve learnt what it is to believe in destiny sometimes. For it has given me so much that if you don’t hold destiny responsible for it, it all doesn’t make any sense. Because if it hadn’t been for me being broke and just going inside Kunzum café on 28th September 2014, because I had no where better to go because I forgot to ask my dad for money the last night, I would have never been able to meet such beautiful, wonderful people.

I’m lucky to be among those who have stayed with PC since the start. I get to make people jealous being close to everyone and making them wonder how long will it take for them to stand where I do (crack: cry at a gathering and you’re in.)

It’s not just a bunch of crazy people trying to defy form and rhyme and meter and being the poetry activists. It’s so much more than that. You know, when people ask me what PC is to me, I never really have the answer. It’s almost like love. You can’t provide an exact definition to what love is, it’s so much more than just feelings or butterflies in your stomach. It’s different for different people. Even ten years down the line, if you ask me what PC is for me, I still might not have the answer to it.

If will write about the family and it’s members soon, right now I won’t be able to gather my thoughts and do justice to the amazing beings they are. A major part of what I am and what I’m becoming is because of all of these people.

This much I know, it has been a phenomenon. I used to be a worthless, directionless and depressed person. Now I’m just a worthless and directionless human.


Shayar nahi hun main

So, I started this campaign with Poets’ Collective called “Shayar nahi hun main”. It was a part of a poem I wrote back then and we just thought a lot of poets (or non-poets) could relate to the idea of themselves not being the conventional poets that people expect them to be.
Because you know, poetry is not always what people expect it to be, I’ve always said it’s so much more than rhyme and form and metre, it’s beyond all comprehensions of the society.

Anyway, so this was the poem it was a part of. It’s still incomplete and I’m too lazy to do anything about it so bear with me and read.


Shayar banne ka khwab rakhta tha main,
Toh nikal Pada ek din ghar se,
Ye soch ke
Ki jo dikhega wo likhunga,
Ghar se nikalte hi ek taraf sadak pe gaddhe dikhe,
Aur dusri taraf paan ki peek.

Paan ki bhi bechari kya kismat,
Ped se toda, chabaya aur thook diya.
Sala mujhme aur paan me zada fark nahi lagta mujhe.

Samajh nahi aata ki sadak me gaddhe hai ya gaddho pe sadak,
Ab main gulzar toh hun nahi ki keh dun
“Ki gaddhe hai to rehne do
Kisi ne gusse me khod diye honge shayad
Ab inhi ko banao naala
Aur chalo kichad uchalte hai”

(This is a reference to Gulzar sir’s sher:
“Lakeere hai toh rehne do,
Kisi ne gusse me kabhi kheech di hongi shayad.
Ab inhi ko banao paala,
Aur chalo kabaddi khelte hai.”)
Kuch aur aage badha
Toh dekha ek taraf kuch neta bhashan de rahe the,
Aur ek taraf kutte bhok rahe the.
Sahi se yaad nahi kis taraf kaun tha,
Ek jaise toh hote hai sab.

Kutte apni ilaake ko leke bhok rahe the
Kashmir yaad aa gaya mujhe.
Fir bhi aage chala,
Toh ek mandir aur dargah pe ja ke ruk gaya.
Bachpan ki yaad aa gayi,
Isi mandir aaya tha maa ka hath pakad ke,
Aur dargah jaane ki zidd kari thi.
Daant ke chup kara diya tha maa ne,
Ki apna Bhagwan idhar rehta hai.

Masjid fir bhi sahi lagte hai mujhe.
Kam se kam murtiyo ka kharcha nahi aata,
Chadar toh meter ke rate pe mil jati hai.

Ab ghar jaane ka mann tha
Par ghar kabhi tha hi kahan
Chaar deeware thi jinpe chatt daal di thi
Jazbaat sahi se ghule nahi us cement me.

Toh thoda aur aage chal pada
Thak gaya toh wo bina taang wale uncle ke sath hi jagah bana ke so gaya.
Unhe hafte me ek baar ek rupay de diya karta tha,
Saali sarkar ne itna tax leke bhi panah nahi di.
Shayar banna suha nahi raha tha mujhe.
Kuch khwab ko khwab hi rehne dena chahiye,
Toh sundar lagte hai.
Har cheez ko hakeekat na hi banao toh accha hai.

Shayar, nahi hun main;
Kahaniya, nahi hai mere paas.
Haan thode bohat kisse zarur hai,
Unhi me namak mirch laga ke suna deta hun mushairo me….



Don’t think of this as a goodbye..

So, at this fest in Gargi College, we were given the topic “A storm in my pocket”.

The last time I went to Gargi, I had my earphones on and I wrote something I’m proud of. This time, I had to do the same.

So this is what I came up with using stream of consciousness. I don’t really know how it is or if it’ll make sense to you, but it makes so much sense to me at so many levels. Anyway, read.

Dear Kabeer,

First things first, I’m not dying.

Not anytime soon. I might not be around though.

You know how the world works,

There are a lot of things that you have to do,

Some things that you got to do,

Then there are a few things that you’re meant to do.

This…would be one of those things.

Don’t think of this as a goodbye.

Talking about goodbyes, I’ve never liked them anyway.,

Goodbyes…are never good.

People are not meant to be single-serving entities.

Anyway,  back to the point,

Don’t think of this as a goodbye.

I’m just going away, won’t be around.

Don’t think of this a s a goodbye.

But if there’s one thing that I’ve always hated,

Is people not giving a reason before going away.

You don’t just wake up one day and decide that you don’t want to stay.

I did. But this is different, really..

You’ll understand one day,

It’ll come as a revelation.

Don’t think of this as a goodbye.

If I tell you, you wouldn’t understand.

You’re smart enough to realize that on your own though.

One of these days, it’ll come like a revelation.

Let’s just say that I’m meant for greater things.

Paula was, too. Your mom did not die, Kabeer.

Don’t think of that as a goodbye.

One of these days,

She’s going to come like a revelation.

One of these days,

All of it…is going to come like a revelation.

When it comes to you,

I need you to weak.

Let it overcome you, it’s beautiful.

You won’t see it. It’s silent. It’s beautiful.

Almost like the silence before a storm.

Coming to that,

There’s one that I hold in my pocket, the storm.

And I’ve embraced it enough,

It’s time to let go.

I’m walking, with heavy legs,

Into the wild.

One of these days, I’m going to put it out,

And I’ll consume it within myself;

Or let it consume me,

More or less the same thing.

Oh, by the way, I’ve left some of it for you as well.

On the top shelf of your bedroom.

One of these days,

When you’ll be tall enough to reach it,

You’ll know what to do.

One of these days,

It’ll come like a revelation.

There are a very few things that I hold really close to my heart, Kabeer.
You…are one of them.

Rest of the things just rest in my pockets, like the keys, or the change, or even the storm.

I love you.

Tonight, cook for Faiz as well.

Don’t fight much. Be the elder person for once.

Anyway, don’t think of this as a goodbye.


Bohat kuch kehna hai ek din tumse milke


Sun rahi ho?

Kuch kehna hai

Actually bohat kuch kehna hai

Ek din tumse milke .

School dubara jana hai mujhe tumhare sath

1st me naam puchna hai tumhara

Is baar apna batana nahi bhulunga

2nd me second nahi first aana hai

Naak pe angutha rakh ke chidhaunga fir tumhe

3rd class me acche se padhna hai

Taki section change na kar de mera

4th class me top karna hai firse

Tumhare elite wale group me jo aana hai

5th me tumhe nahi batana ki crush hai tumpe mera

Is baar creepy nahi samajhna mujhe

6th me is baar tumse pakka thappad nahi khana

Image kharab nahi hone dunga is baar

7th me dosti karni hai tumse dubara

Saath me baithenge fir class me

8th me jab Mazak me dhakka dogi balcony se

To is baar haath nahi pakadna tumhara

Gir jaunga,

pyar na sahi, sympathy to mile tumhari

9th me school chodhke nahi jaana hai

Facebook pe dooriyan khalti hai

10th me wo hug nahi karni hai

Kuch bhi awkward nahi hone dunga is baar

11th me pyar nahi karna hai tumse

Tumhare ghar ke chakkar nahi lagaunga is baar

12th me saare waade nibhane hai tumse .

Cigarette peene ke liye mana karogi toh maan jaunga

Par chup ke smoke karne ki aadat hai meri

Aur shauk chala jata hai aadat nahi .

Ghaas me let ke taare ginne hai saath me

Par maths me hamesha fail hota tha main

Aur alphabets bas 26 hi hote hai .

Silent reading date pe jaana hai

Par book kaise padhunga main

Tumse nazar nahi hatti .

Wo duet gaana hai tumhare sath

Par Boyce Avenue ke cover pe

Farhan Akhtar ki aawaz suit nahi karti .

Baarish me school se ghar chal ke aana hai

Par naao nahi banani aati mujhe

Aur aeroplane paani me tairta nahi .

Bohat kuch kehna hai

Ek din tumse milke

Abhi so jao raat bohat ho gayi hai

Mera sapna… tootne wala hai ab


Childish poem but I really really liked the metaphor (I still don’t know if I should call it a metaphor or personification) when I thought of it. It kind of blew my mind so okay?
Also, I’m gonna keep uploading stuff from before because I CAN. HAHAHAH okay no I should stop. bye.
Read. It’s nice. You’ll like the idea.

I think in a metro

Am I not like it?

Its all a metaphor

Am I not just the metro?

It’s compartment

Inviting all, accepting all.

My heart

Inviting all, accepting all.

The metro

witnesses love, pugnacity


experience love, pugnacity

Its’ journey

Tubelights at intervals

Darkness filling the gap

My journey

Happy phases at intervals

Sadness filling the gap

The metro reaches a point

Where darkness takes over

Tube lights run out of sight

I reach a point,

Where sadness takes over

Happy times run out of sight

But the truth is

The metro

actually travels,

actually covers the distance through darkness


actually learn,

actually grow through sadness

If you look closely

Doesn’t matter if it’s light

Doesn’t matter if it’s dark, outside

Doesn’t matter if I’m happy

Doesn’t matter if I’m sad, outside

What matters is

There’ll always be light inside

It’s all just a metaphor

And I think

Am I just not the metro?


This is one rant I wrote a long time ago for a flash poetry thingy.
So this is all written in stream of consciousness and makes little sense but kind of depicts what I felt that time.

It’s a short piece, not much trouble.

I’m sinking,

Sinking into a deep sea of responsibilities

I’m drowning,

Drowning into an ocean of expectations

I do not want to get a job

I’ll create one

I do not want to succeed

I’ll excel

I do not fear failing

I’ll learn

I’m fighting,

Fighting in rebellion of the convention

I’m crying,

Crying a cry of helplessness

I’m shouting

Shouting, only to deaf ears

I’m leaving,

Leaving for a better place

I’m dying,

Dying in the hope

Of being born in a different world altogether.