The Real Life

The Real life

In Real Life , you don’t let go of people as easily and effortlessly as the fairy tales teach you. Or as letting go of a balloon on a crowded luxury street, where you don’t even notice the balloon you just let out.

In Real Life, it’s much harder, more painful and more mind-fucking. It takes away more sleep, gives more paranoia and makes you imagine worse things than you could be doing on drugs(if you are like me, a paranoid druggie). 

Then you yell at that someone, if things are still fine and he calls you or takes your calls.. but like, in most of the cases, you text them abusive stuff and then they text you back a mere “grow up” or similar. And it infuriates you and then you begin contemplating, and begin regretting, regretting him more than the texts you sent, and the abusive language more than ever giving him a chance when you never even found him close to attractive.. and then you sit up and think – I thought I was better than that, I thought I would let go gracefully, I am not immature, how dare he call me that.

And then these things run on loops in your head, over and over again… till its 5am.. and you are frustrated to not be able to sleep, and whilst all this, he is fucking her, or she is fucking him, or they are dead asleep or texting each other or there is a new prey…. Why am I even thinking all this, I know I don’t care.
Then you keep having these make-believe situations in your head of the future, of the surprise run-ins, and it never fucking ends. And you don't wanna think of that old part of your life anymore, but here you can't stop. You regret even letting it be a part of you for as long as you did, but you can't still stop thinking..

And insomnia, gifted to you… this is what happens in Real Life. In the Real Life, there are no gracefully, with poise, letting gos. We are humans, if we get hurt – we abuse, if we get hurt intentionally, we hurt them back. Even if I come from the Land of Gandhi, I am not Gandhi, that is why there was only one, Mahatma!

In the Real Life, you never receive flowers, or texts or incessant phone calls till your heart melts, no guy runs after you when you walk away.

In Real life, boys don’t come running back to you in the middle of the night, don’t sneak in through your window or buy you chocolates or sing you songs or hold your hands when you are mad at them, they don’t pick you up and scare you till you start laughing and forget whatever made you mad.

In Real life, They just leave and never say a word to you again.
And you have to make that choice to let go and never look back.

None of them

They are beautiful, and fashionable,

They speak well - sober, drunk-dance on tables,

They wear the kinda clothes I like,

and talk the sort of stuff that could inspire,

... but none of them are you.

They are all polite and graceful,

But I wouldnt wait on them to light my mood,

I wont care if they are one or 22,

cuz none of them are you.

You are 23 girls in one,

you kept each in your pocket as you blew candles making wishes every year,

I wonder what those wishes were, 

To be skinny, pretty, Or of material gains or happiness, 

You are gloomy one minute like you might break down
and then crack jokes in wavelength only I can decipher,
and I could see 20 blondes, but only your golden hair'll shine brighter,
Cuz I know u stole the daylight from the Sun every time it rained,
and hid 'em in your make-up box n ogled at the clouds so grey.
& then would predict when it shall rain,
Well! Meteorologists could do it too, 
and way better... but none of them are you.

I kept my hand on your arm last night thinking of what'd I do when you'd leave,

and these are only 3 days,

3 days are too less,

I have been gone longer.

I have friends, nice people.

They are like my siblings,

and I love them and they love me

...but none of them are you
none of them could ever be you. 

Back to Strangers

She had never met a guy with more annoying confidence in pursuing his dreams,
and more annoying confusion in knowing who to keep!
Than the one who stole her heart & failed to return it in one piece.

She had never met a man with more conceited, decided character,
who had another, a feeble one- causing ambiguity which were double,
his traits of indecisiveness, she failed to endure much longer.

... And now they are Friends,
Friends who'd sit online on whatsapp but won't initiate a convo, friends with altered behaviour and poisoned rapport,
Or Strangers,
Strangers that don't have a chance to be acquainted to a fresh start, Strangers to whom she can't say "Hey! Where r u from?"
He still possesses the power over her heart,
He could make her skip beats anytime he'd want,
& between torturous grief and delightful raptures, he'd make her run back and forth,
He could make her physically sick, could make her moods drop,
& Make her puppy sad, everytime he argues, and he argues a LOT!


Maybe we ran too fast, that we ran out of gas,
maybe violent desires do have violent ends,
Maybe we reached the mountain peak
And aint there anymore left to climb,
Maybe we killed the magic over the thousands of times we'd fight.
And I know I handed him the scissors to cut me off,
And I wanna take it back and dig its fucking grave in a hidden park.

His emotions were too overwhelming for my heart,
&  my heart was scared of feeling,
& what if he'd break my heart?
And see it happened now,
and now he'd take his stupid giggle to another stranger from another cafe or another bar.