#desi academia
how can a person simultaneously feel so so much but also nothing at all
Oh to be the only daughter of the rich scholarly couple from 50’s India, driving a Morris Oxford to University, speaking fluent Hindi, Urdu, Bangla, English and French, lounging in my summer cottage in Shimla, going shopping with Anglo-Indian friends in the local market, either being the subject of envy or disdain of other women, smoking a cigg from my pearl studded gold case that was a gift to daddy from some royalty with one of my many flings, flying off to Paris for vacations, attending meetings with the top leaders and not giving a fuck about getting married because daddy’s rich enough to buy me a trophy husband. All this while clad in elegant yet sexy chiffon saree.
the line “mera chain vain sab ujda” isn’t just a song lyric anymore
living with strict parents teach you a lot of things for example the ice bags swiggy guys give you contains gel
emotional baggage heavier than a school bag with maths and science books
i can almost feel this crowd will elbow me out of life
somedays i wish i were a pretty bottle & not a human being
it’s always ‘send photos’ never ‘let’s write a book together’
i’m alive when it rains and the air passes through my hair
i wish somebody would pay me for all the hours i don’t sleep
i wish i could hold my mom and cry i wish i could tell her how hard it is i wish she’d look at me and say that she’ll be there no matter what I wish she’d just ask me to take a break and not study for a while i wish my mom would hug me i wish could say how much i feel alone all the time i wish she’d say she’s with me i wish i could tell her everything seems hard i wish i could tell her i skipped dinner i wish i could tell her i feel sick all the time i wish she’d just look at me i wish she’d just hold me i wish i desperately want her to say that it’ll be okay i wish i wish
i want to lie by the poolside like a drunk mermaid, it is called bhand jalpari.
haan haan, nahi ho rahi paise ki hawas puri
whenever i google a few people, the results instantly come up with their LinkedIn accounts and it makes me so.. insecure like ? if somebody ever ever googled me by the name my mom gave me there’ll be atleast 7 porn sites under my full name and 2600+ LinkedIn profiles and more than 1000 pictures of girls and they don’t even look like me remotely
i had goals and now i am a useless brain fucked anxious kid who sob, cry, weep, shed tears, wail, bawl, snivel, grieve, mourn, tear up every hour of the day
When Saqi Faruqi wrote, “mujhe khabar thi mira intizaar ghar me raha , ye hadsa tha ki main umr bhar safar me raha” but he also wrote “ab ghar bhi nahin ghar ki tamanna bhi nahin hai, muddat hui socha tha ki ghar jaenge ik din.”
Hua hai aaj pehli baar jo aise muskuraya hoon Tumhe dekha toh jaana ye ke kyun duniya mein aaya hoon
Ye jaan lekar ke jaa meri tumhe jeene main aaya hoon Main tumse ishq karne ki ijaazat rab se laaya hoon
Maybe its been a thousand years since I fell in love with you. Maybe it’s been an era since I bound my lines of fate with yours. Maybe we never existed in flesh and blood. Maybe we are lines and dots of the world’s most beautiful poem. Forever etched on some parchments, fading at the same time. Who is God? What is God? God is us, our heartbeats, our mingled breaths, our falling tears, our confessions of love. Each passing day the universe burns in our passion and we fall deeper and deeper in this haze. You are me and I am you. Where do we begin and end? We are time embodied, eternity is our collective destiny.
तू जहाँ जहाँ चलेगा
मेरा साया साथ होगा
मेरा साया साथ होगा…कभी मुझको याद करके, जो बहेंगे तेरे आँसू
तो वहीं पे रोक लेंगे, उन्हें आ के मेरे आँसूमैं अगर बिछड़ भी जाऊँ, कभी मेरा ग़म न करना
मेरा प्यार याद करके, कभी आँख नम न करनातू कोई जनम भी लेगा
मेरा साया साथ होगा…
I would have opened this letter with a ‘dear’, however I wondered for a long time if it would indeed be a correct way for me to address you, after all this time. A lifetime seems to have passed between that evening of 1952 and now, sometimes even making me feel that I have slept through the last 30 years. I would often look at faces of my children and grandchildren, wondering if I am stuck in some never ending dream from which I might wake up any minute now. My hair has greyed in the fringes of my temple and forehead, my smile is showing signs of wrinkle and my fingers feel heavy. It’s not a terrible feeling, I enjoy my experiences most of the time, but sometimes my body feels like it is living the life of someone else. And that in a different timeline I am still there playing with you behind that tree. Is it still there? I was so sure I will forget everything, you, those lanes, that house and all else. Are you also there? Do you also, like me, go to sleep in the expectation of reliving our lives till 16 years of age again and again, like listening to a record on loop or going to see one particular cinema multiple times? If you are coming back from there, can you accompany me back to myself as well please?
This night seems to be taking all away from me again. The moon is cruel.
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रजनीगंधा फूल तुम्हारे , मेहेके यूँ ही जीवन में यूँ ही मेहेके प्रीत पिया की मेरे अनुरागी मन में
Your tuberose flowers for no reason emit aroma in my existence. And for no reason effuse my mate’s love in my devoted consciousness.
Hi. I am writing this in the middle of the night, more as a sort of remembrance for myself than as something for you. Chances are you might never see this letter, even though it is addressed to you. Today when I was waiting near the railway station for you, I made a sudden observation. I was restless. I was pushing my two thumbs together, slightly shaking my knee and glancing left and right. Then suddenly, when I was staring at the small chai stall near the station for a long time, it suddenly hit me that I was restless. Restless looking for you, if you had come, if you were coming, from which direction you were coming, what kind of expression were you carrying on your face and many other such questions. It struck me as a bit odd, at first. I am not used to feeling like this. I live an ordinary life, an ordinary home, an ordinary existence. People like us have very less to feel restless about. But, it’s nice, feels very…human. I smile more these days too. Do not mistake my smiles as frivolous, they are every bit as sincere as yours. Today this realization has made my heart feel full, like I do after a good meal made by my mother. Today’s meal for my heart has been your gift. Thank you.
Photographs from: Rajnigandha (1974), Basu Chatterjee
Aankhein teri kitni haseen…ki inkaa aashiq mein ban gaya hun, mujhko basa le inme tu
what else is there now for me to view, I have experienced being in love with you
Zulfein teri itni ghani….dekh ke innko yeh sochataa hun, saaye me inake main jiyoon
HAPPY BIHU! ❤❤
