Sunday, November 27

How Freedom Tastes Like: Birthday Dresses, Pretty Boys and Choices

I have, as a woman, always struggled with the idea of freedom. When I was little, it was about choosing my birthday dress. I wouldn't ever know of that, because I would sit silently in my room making everybody wait by the cake, until my father got home with the dress. I would happily put it on as if it were it, it were exactly what I wanted.

Until I was about fifteen, I could hardly apprehend choices. When I was in grade seven, I liked two boys at the same time and they both would drive me equally mad about them both physically and emotionally. I just couldn't choose. I wanted them both equally. Is this normal to not be able to choose between two people you love? But, why do I have to choose at all.

Sunday, October 2

We speak of monsters as if we aren't one.

If you aren't content with where you are, leave. If it doesn't feel like home, they aren't your person. If you constantly crib about how tough life is, look around often. If you believe that love was always meant to be unrequited, think about the people who loved you, but you couldn't love them back.

We are often clouded with this idea that our wants are unlimited. Yes, there is a word for it- Desire. Humans are fueled by this unreasonable idea of 'limitless wanting' to an extent, that they start believing it. When we want something and later get it, we want more. Desires don't increase. We just tend to want something new, something different. Humans tend to achieve a false sense of accomplishment by trying to obtain what they don't have. The tougher the battle, the better the rush.

We cling on to false hopes, we seek pleasure in misery. Now that's not your life battle; that's your struggle with self. You and I have read enough spiritual books that tell us how our problems are self inflicted and have no connect with what our lives could have been, had we attracted positive things. Nah, I don't want a good life. I only like the bad boys.

Tuesday, September 13


Certain voices make your heart smile. His was one of those. The thing about past is that you want to fuck it off, but it's so integral for what you've become. The thing about past is also that it makes you want to treasure some of it forever in your beauty box, but it it is no longer valid.

I felt weirdly drawn towards saving his little text messages, reading it in my head to the sound of his voice. His voice was caramel sauce topped on whipped cream and my mind inevitably demanded his name on my phone every weekend. 

He always called when it was half past two; when he fell right into my routine or maybe I did. Every time I read his name, I knew what was coming and I gracefully engrossed myself in it, like embracing my own soul.  His body shattered me like a ticking time bomb. In the silence before the storm, we sat there in the quiet dark, waiting for the bomb to hatch a terrible thunder. You know how some lovers are like chains, pulling us back into dimly lit places.

Thursday, July 28

Stains On A Coffee Paper

My mind is dazed by a silhouette. She is just a blur created by some chemical in my head. Like a faded blot of jet black ink on an old yellow parchment. And that silhouette, has blurred my concept of importance of words. Because I can't take my eyes off off her. I forget all about the standard norms of falling in love. Stepping outside the boundaries set by society, I fell in love with the idea of a person.
A person I had never met.

At least not physically. But she has been through every cell of my being, leaving behind traces of someone unknown that puts me in a trance. And I am amazed at how an unknown shadow feels like a shot of dopamine. A kind of addictive joy runs through my bloodstream simply because of the thought of her. This is what love probably feels like. This is what home probably feels like.
Or not. 

Because no one would know what loving a blur would be like. We all build an image in our minds, of us with our lovers holding hands while walking on the beach or being in each others arms under the sheets or simply looking at our reflection in their eyes. While all I do, is smile faintly thinking about the person who will hold my heart in her warm hands and keep it close. No feeling has ever been so different. Love has never been more blind.
And I, have never felt happier.

-Kathan Shah

Saturday, July 23

Self Destruction Is Not Romantic

How convenient it is for us to try to find inspiration in things that destroy us! Listen to all the songs these days, about drugs, infidelity and running after people that don't contribute to our existence through theirs. The problem grows around how since time immemorial people have romanticized the idea of self destruction, making it look like art, like poetry. It is not.

Let me tell you about this man that I believed I was in love with for almost three goddamn long years. Oh, how he sung my favorite song at sunset and how my hips swayed to the tune of his guitar. Sounds straight out of a television box isn't it or more like a bestselling novel thrown in your bag; the one you got sold to when the leading media houses quoted '...tragic, captivating, sensuous tale of love and despair'. Well, here I was writing my ignorance in a journal full of love songs and un-posted letters for a man that would always call me after everyone else was gone. "Time for showdown, baby!"