Putting limits on the limitless 

After so long, I’ve thought of a title first and text later. After so long, I’ve made a title this long because I couldn’t find a word in any language that could summarize my post title. After so long, have I just told myself to fuck everything else and let myself breathe. I needed to breathe in and out to bring myself to a calmer place to live this life where all we have done is nitpicked each other. When I couldn’t take a lot of things anymore, I broke down. It has become a yearly thing now, almost around the time September creeps in and all hell breaks loose for me. I have a chronic anxiety problem. Why?, you ask. Well because knowing I need to just breathe, I let my thoughts breathe for me. Many months ago, while I was fast asleep, I was woken up in the middle of the night by Robbie, flustered and scared because I was breathing way too fast. He asked me to come close and breathe without thoughts in my head. I tried, I failed and passed out in his arms. He makes sure he reminds me as much as he can, to breathe. I need to, you need to and we all need to. Fast forward to today, where I’m lying down on the four poster bed in my ancestral home, so peaceful, that I’ve now managed to pen down this post. I highly attribute my present state of being in my hometown (Guwahati), to my maternal grandmother. She is a being of love. So much so that Robbie being the most important aspect of my own being, has had to wait around every night (a little) for me to complete my chatting with Nani. I’ve had a week and gotten down to doing everything traditionally. I learned how to make pickles, rolled out round rotis, taught Nani how to bake, we’ve talked about stories of our ancestors, of how Assam was a great state (apparently) and a lot of other things. We talked spirituality and I explained to her to her how the 7 realms work. I wish to her someday in the highest realm. Because she will make it with granddad to the 7th realm, it’s me who might start lower. I’ve fought with my parents to let me come down to Guwahati with the grandparents. See, in India things work with permissions. If you’re 45 and unmarried, you gotta take permission, bro. Case in point being, unmarried. Anyhow, not playing word games again. 

What have we really put limits upon? Things like love and affection are only limited to how much you get back right? Look at your grandparents; even if your parents are shit and don’t really care about their own parents, the grandparents know how to love, unconditionally. What is this unconditionality? We are so caged within the prospect of having unconditionality that we forget our lives exist outside. The love grandparents hold is just so much care and affection for you that just being around them, you begin to wonder about the sorry state you life becomes. You sit alone at night and wonder if that girl who showered you with love, in her own way, and who you let go for a hotter body who made your life hell, was ever correct. Or you sit and wonder if that guy who brought up kids and family too soon for you, was sappy and annoying. I’m sure, in your head, these people were never right for you. But looking into the flaws of every being you ever encounter and forgetting to look unto yourself,  life will never make any sense to you. And then you become so connected and attached to your heartbroken state or sadness, that it becomes the drug for your creativity. I’m sure you very well know what I’m talking about. Songs and poems and books about failed relationships and unrequited love. Heck, even the Twilight series was written with “love” in mind but it turned out to be puke-worthy. You want life to make sense, look at your face in the mirror. The person you see staring back at you is the person you’ve made and while you’re wondering what you’ve made, the voice in your head cribbing about certain things is the real you. The one that needs release. All the selfies in the world, all the beautiful clothes, cars and money will never be able to shift focus from what you will be. Find your own peace, when you love what you see in the mirror, zits and double chins included, is when you’ve found yourself. Love the fuck out of that person. If you won’t, who will? The day you find yourself, all the bullshit in the world will cease to matter. You won’t care if someone served vodka when you were promised a beer, you won’t bother if you ate Thai instead of the burgers you were dreaming about, you won’t care if someone loved you or not because you love yourself enough to distance your self from bullshit. 

Love is really not about how many things can be counted as each person having done something. This is our limit. Or rather, the limit of our ego. Love surely isn’t about who apologised when, or about how many times you say “I love you”, before you hang up (guilty). When you see love from the lenses of ego, the joint that you smoked or the moments you spent with your partner, all cease to exist, all of it becomes null and void. Bit by bit your egoistic love gnaws away at your core and all you will be left with is the skeleton of a relationship or the dying embers of something you believed to be love but wasn’t anything albeit a competition between you two. And I’m not just talking about romantic love, it’s the love within families, friends. So many relationships sour out because people in them distance themselves when their cores start getting exposed. You may be a really selfish person, when you look into the mirror you see someone as kind, compassionate, doing good things for the society. But when you find a person who mirrors you and tells you what you really are, you get so uncomfortable that severing all ties with your partner is way easier than working on your own self. And you will never start work upon your self till you are faced with an ultimatum. 

You are, as an individual, absolutely limitless. You don’t need anyone to tell you what you can or cannot achieve. When you let your mind take control of your own free spirited heart, things start being put into cages. Everything you see will be with caged vision. Even if you want to sit by a stream and while away your life, that is all of your limitless power going into being a living statue next to the stream. Don’t put the limit onto your own self and certainly not when you know you’re limitless. 

(Don’t watch that movie starring Bradley Cooper) 


“Oh where do we begin, the rubble of our sins.” Does this line ring a bell? That’s from the song Pompeii by Bastille. Even if you haven’t listened to most of their albums but somehow you’ve managed to listen to this one song, your life will make sense. There’s adventure in each stanza, brilliance at the break of each line. I wish I could keep writing about the goosebumps their music gives me, or that their songwriter is a rad human being. No. That’s not what I want to write about on this dark and grey morning. I don’t mean to talk about the morning in a negative light. There are cracks and holes from where the sunlight is streaming through. That’s hope for you. And that’s exactly what hope looks like. We are all talks and essays about demons, the monsters that haunt us, the ones that eventually kill us, not literally but in a way that we lose a zeal (?) for life. I hope that’s not utterly sissy that I used the word zeal. It’s 10th grade textbook English. What are we all on this morning? Meat suits packed into a tin box. (I’m travelling in the metro). There are more people standing than are sitting. The ones standing are akin to hawks hovering around a carcass from the day before, that the lions have put out as leftover food. Everyone in this dynamic tin box is in the lookout for a place to sit at. Amongst this morning rush, there’s a little girl here who’s not interested. She’s not interested in the space to sit. She’s standing right in front of me nonchalantly. She’s looking at everyone as if all other humans are all but crazy. She can form that judgment. We all form judgments. She holds the pole inside the train and moves around it, just entertaining herself with it. Everyone here is either on their phones with whatsapp, Facebook, news etc., or just silently gazing at people and judging them. Most of the people I notice are looking at the little girl. Why, you may ask? Because she’s covered from head to toe in scars. Scars from a burn. I wouldn’t make assumptions as to how she came upon those scars. The answer may end up being more painful than I can ready myself to take. Though it’s beautiful to see how her mother has a protective hand around her while she’s chattering away incessantly, telling her stories all the while swinging around that pole. You can see the look in people’s eyes that they pity this little girl. “Oh so sad”, “that must be so painful” etc. Maybe this little girl has forgotten all about the pain. Maybe she never felt any. That’s not my area to make assumptions about. 
That’s a ghost of ours, collectively. The ghosts of our judgmental selves. “Oh where do we begin…”  

Where do we really begin? Amongst trashes that our ancestors have left, forming the same mind sets, the same opinions, the same assumptions that everyone around us and everyone before us made. Truly judging each other. The Japanese have more than 5 words for the arrogance that shines through us. English has one. That’s a major problem with the English language. Even for a word such as love, we have an all encompassing meaning. That means romantic love, sexual love, love for things, love for family. Everything gets included in this one word. I cannot segregate the love I have for my partner differently from the love I have for the sky and space. Anyway, I’m not doing wordplay here. 

What I just want to present to you, is presence. Being present in a lecture, while someone is sharing something with you, being present in every moment. We get so swayed away by everything around us, we have access to too many things, while we don’t focus on one. This happens within families, within marriages, within our basic strata. It’s hard to get away, trust me I try so much. Eventually we always get drawn to things as physical beings rather than curious beings. Do you notice how in a public setting everyone is so bored staring at their phones, scrolling through the mind numbing feeds of someone else’s toilet routines or whatever. It makes me cringe to think that so much of life (not just human) around us is getting wasted, plants, trees, birds, sweeping noises of the wind, no one really bothers unless these sounds get incorporated as an app right? That’s just how we are. Or how we have become. My maternal grandmother tells me stories about how back in their days, distractions were so minimal, they’ve managed to keep themselves sane in this present day and age. My grandparents have no inkling about how smartphones work but they do know quite a bit about how to grow healthy plants and make long lasting pickles and jam. I might say right now that I don’t need a phone, I’m going to keep myself happy with a Nokia 1100, but that’s just me lying to myself. I’ll miss out on sending selfies to my partner(that’s the only selfies I can do), and I’ll miss my phone. 

Just will yourself to be present, in the least way possible. Then move yourselves up to present yourself more to situations. Eventually what you’ll see in yourself would be the most beautiful thing you may have ever come across. It’ll be the gift of your own sound to your body. The gift of knowing yourself.  



So you have a daughter. How has she changed your life? Maybe you wanted a boy and got a girl instead. Maybe you didn’t want a child anyway but got stuck with having to raise a girl. Maybe you raped your wife, maybe you beat her too. Did that escalate too quickly for you? Let’s tone it down a notch. Were you looking forward to having a kid and that too a girl? Question 1- are you Indian? Are you sane enough to care for your little girl the way she deserves or will you care for her the way society expects you to i.e. youll care for her till she gets married and then since she’s part of another family and all of your responsibilities end right then and there. Please be a good father and an even better mother. Love your daughters, they make life so much better. The princesses without castles and Knights in shining armours. But we, as parents, are around to fulfill particularly those roles. What’s better than waking up every morning to daughter’s crying for mommy and daddy? It’s tiring, I know and I understand. Children can drive you mad. Our partners can drive us mad. But what’s this life if not a little crazy? 

We need our doses of mad, but children do take it up a notch. With care, love and patience, all we can manage is just keeping them longer with us, when they leave they leave. It’s what we fear. Our children leaving. Our parents have asked us to go make our futures and we shall be doing the same. 

With daughters the fear for their safety is imminent. The fear that they’ll be part of another family, the fear of their choice of partners. Every mother knows this to be true. Every daughter feels the same way her mom feels too. It is only when we as mothers and as daughters, know our fears to be the offshoot of a different kind of love is when we know our love for our babies to be absolutely true. There won’t be a similar kind of love, the kind we feel for our own offsprings. Knowing that the little person sitting right in front of you is an amalgamation of you and your partner. Each and every thing about the two of you will be manifested in your child. The good, the bad and the downright unthinkable. The things you didn’t know about your own self will be visible as traits of your own child. Your talents will shine from their own skin. That’s the good part. No one will ever be able to prepare you for your own children. It’s a little adventure on its own. I don’t know if my parents see it as an adventure but knowing how much I and my partner, both of us are fans of the anti-monotony, we might just strap up for the ride fine. 

Never forget what has been granted to you as a gift should be seen as one, don’t let go of the very basis of why you ever wanted children. Only to share all the love you held for each other and turn it into a live human to spread the word.  




Samsara. While some believe it to be the world unto itself, a few others believe the meaning of the word to be the cycle of birth and life that everything in this material and physical world is bound to. We kill ourselves to live on our lands, fear death so very much and eventually death is the only release of each man and woman, from the shackles that bind us to our materialism. We talk about fixing things, creases on our brows, the fault lines along two people, the massive erosion of all the land patted down as simple faith. We talk, that’s all we do and that’s all we shall ever do. A person buys a cell phone, then sits on it and breaks it, and then buys another one. Then, he waits for this new cell phone to stop working or break or basically just conk off, till he can buy the latest cell phone again. That’s a phone’s samsara. It’s not life, but the cycle it is going through is one of life and death. The same way we work about our lives. We get married, live with our partners, then get bored, cheat, leave the said partners and marry a new one. Have kids, have a family, still hate our own existences, fall each day deeper into an existential crisis. All of these situations in the want of release. Release from the everyday drudgery of having to wake up and do things the society expects our humankind to. Every day, to wake up, look at our own faces and bogged down by the fact of claiming false love for people we really don’t care about. We say we care, we say we love; what’re words if not hollow sounds and a little bit of heat energy against our mouth palate? Words are what we randomly throw about, hoping it’ll hit target once in a while, if not, we throw in some more. Stir it around in a cauldron of being a hot mess, neurotic tendencies and there you have it, a human who claims to be one.  We girls sit in the bathrooms of a club, drunk out of our very heads, criticizing men who turned us down for a free drink, because they saw a couple of us grinding against others. We complain about the very things we do wrong, with absolutely no sense of accountability. We are humans, the kind who’re not really responsible about actions and consequences. You act, it leads to a consequence; you don’t act, it nonetheless leads to a consequence. We run away from these consequences, we pile up on the acts.

Existential crises’. What may those be? Those are the worms festering inside of our heads. All you need to remove and eradicate those worms is to believe in your own good, your own worth. You may not excel at everything you do, you may not be filthy rich, but you may be aware of your living body, and that’s more than enough. As long as you know of your limited time, your limitless kindness, and your beautiful worth, things will never be as bad as those worms make you believe. Most of the men and women in our present times, have been so harsh to their own selves that every time they think of a joyous memory, a physical touch, a little part of them dies inside. And with it, the want and the need to share love. Love was never a chore, and it shouldn’t be. It is the calm waves of the ocean that keep beating against your feet while you gently sink into the sand where you planted your feet. When you come out of the beach and still keep feeling like you’re in water, that’s the taste your love should leave on your partner. Plant your feet against your partner, the one who makes your intuition dormant, not one who keeps your intuition and gut instincts on overdrive. Make your seas calm, and you’ll be part of calmer waters. Make your time on this planet worthwhile. You’ll never know when you chance upon a reincarnation that you may not like. It’s your choice to make Samsara accept your preferences, not of the cosmic sea to mould you. You are all the universe you ever wanted to explore.


Today I write about the past couple of  years of my life till this present date. Haven’t been very active on the blog lately, got caught up with the least important things and then a very general realization struck me where I was left wondering, where did all my days go? I haven’t done anything so important so as to stop writing, neither has anyone asked me to stop. Why haven’t I put any efforts to string together a couple of words, charm people off their seats? Simply, I’ve been lazy. In the absence of any inspiration, motivation, push or a pull, it becomes very difficult to keep up with the things you love. The drive to keep writing just for my own sake, my own sanity was fading away so I kept away too. Too many distractions in the form of social media, purposeless friends and the realization that I am entitled has led me astray.

I started this blog with a purpose to write, excuse my English, bullshit. I really thought if I weave together things randomly, it will start to make sense. During that time, I was deeply under the impression that I was head over heels in love. And, while I was being hurt, drowning in pain, I consoled myself saying that love requires all this pain. Love needs to drain you out to be felt. So, I kept up with it. I let the person hurt me, unintentionally I hurt them too. The initial posts were mainly related to how men were douchebags and they deserved to be slapped etc. All my anger was flowing out as words, with the sole intention of hurting. I may have been highly successful too, I wouldn’t know anymore. My days were spent thinking about ways I could spew venom against people hurting me, not once realising that I was making them and helping them hurt me. Days passed in tears, never getting out of bed, smoking most of my lungs out. Slowly picking myself up, only to be bogged down again. Wasn’t a pretty sight. Somehow I gathered strength feeling the existence of my family, friends who were around. My ears heard the things my eyes couldn’t see, heard the slight buzzing of people around me judging me, passing comments on who I was supposed to be, since I was undefined amongst humanity, I was the one shunned.

Little by little, picking up pieces from so far away, bringing my own self together, hearing the ones close to me applaud me for pulling myself into a shape, not an amoeba anymore. But I was happier being the amoeba. Bits of my self that wasn’t becoming were simply discarded and another part would regenerate. Now I had to conform. While conformation wasn’t my thing, I was getting used to a schedule. Moulded myself, was trying to get rid of my past, forming new relations. In all of these new ventures, somewhere slowly, I was losing my own self. Didn’t know the words to describe myself if ever I would be asked to. The disappearance of my ground led me to become weaker. I wouldn’t stand for either loyalty, truth or honesty. I was falling in and out of love, stringing people along, discarding them on the way, meeting new humans. It would be just one of my whims if I wanted to be a good human or not. So many years passed without me ever getting to know if I was my own lover or not. I did whatever was asked of me. Be a good daughter, be a good friend, be a good partner. I did try. Sometimes I succeeded, mostly I failed. No one had the patience to sit me down, tell me how humans grow, how hearts grow, fill themselves with love so that shattered selves pieced themselves together. I had a soul that demanded to be felt. That was turning out to be a problem. Not only for my own head, but for people around me. Lovers, friends, parents all seeked to stay away from someone like me. Me, who’d be labelled as mad by someone, or naive. All I ever seeked for was pure, unmitigated, complete fall into love. I had never realised my intense need for it, my life depended on it. I went through men like the yellow pages. Some managed to hold my attention for a longer time, while some faded away into the distance. Thinking I was in love, I tried to rescue my own self. Making myself believe that I had in those moments was the best that I could ever do. Again, no one had ever told me how to go about a path of self-actualization.

All of these feelings had never surfaced so high that I’d notice what I was missing in life. I had never given these things any thought until one day when I fell so low, I couldn’t look at my own face for days. That low point in life was caused due to too many people around me, me being so stone hearted that I wanted to go through life living like an American teen. And I did everything and even more. Life was all fun and games and people were available for my full use. No sense of remorse. Life went on and then I was hit with a train at full speed coming at me. Then I looked at my face and faced myself finally after years. Asked the person staring at me, “who are you?”, and the only reply I got back was “Don’t you know?” That was the end of the conversation. I sat down and cried my eyes out wondering where I had lost my own self. Got up and finally decided to make things right. Everyone who I had ever kept around myself fearing rejection and loneliness were let go. All I had ever done was meditated for 10 mins for about a week. I made changes for my own self. And then I met the love of my life. Never realising how he came along. Him being the only human to have ever existed to see me for exactly who I am instead of what I showed myself to be. I, one forever on the move, slowed down and saw the sun for what it was. I saw everything around me and every puzzle that was missing it’s little pieces, formed the canvas on which stories would be written.

He was as frail as I was, as sad as I had ever been. Though we found solace in each other’s words, knowing if we do not make our togetherness happen, everything would be futile. The rains, sun, trees, moon, stars, everything would a failed attempt at being beautiful. Each and every word of his, the tone of his voice, the jump in his walk, the tiny hair against his skin which glowed in the sunlight, these were things I noticed. I had never done that. Never gave any other person so much of my eyesight and attention that I’d register things to write about. His hugs became my dreams to melt into, like eiderdown pillows. I cried in them. When I realised I had reached home, after searching for so many years, the want of holding onto him surpassed every other feeling I had ever felt. All the fear, rejection, sadness melted away with a single smile of his. As a cynic, who never believed in the concept of marriages, though I had always agreed to it when it came to being asked about it, I wanted to marry him. I brought it up and I pushed at it. What he was doing to me felt the same way that Frodo must’ve felt while wearing the One Ring. All the world’s powers, confidence, my will to succeed everything slowly built up in me and then I felt like I could take over the world. He opened up my spiritual paths to higher existence, agreed with my disagreements, made me into a person I myself have become proud because all he ever did was love me. And all I ever did was love him. We sustain it like a baby that’s unable to walk or breath, we infuse life into each other, knowing that the world may get us one day and we will only have each other to look up to.


It has been beside us like a raging calm

It looks forward to being one into the light of our day 

When I fall, it sniggers with the peace of a landslide 

When you fall it cries with the joy of funeral 

The day becomes bright with the light of our existence 

The day becomes slight with the might of our fall 

Between the calm and the storms awakening 

All the fire we wanted needs a reckoning 

Shifting us from every side, the thorn’s pinprick on your own little bride

It comes and goes with a love unknown 

Finishing up on all of our lonely homes 

The fire that we wanted needs us to take it home. 

Treasure chests of a deep sea

Caskets. Wood, gold, bronze and iron. The small little box which held my wrinkled, black heart. Let me now throw it into the sea. You’ve kept looking at the box hoping to open it with just an ‘Open Sesame’. But no, it’s wont be so easy, will it? It’s a box with keys to its locks. That box is a not just a cold, closed fist. So let’s hold hands and bump it off in the sea? It won’t bother you, it won’t bother me. That heart is the root of all of our parasites. The kind that linger between us, sucking out life out of us, bringing us close to the gates of hell. We need to just hold on to each other’s fingers tight and throw this casket. At the deep ends of the sea, nobody is going to bother that little monster lying inside the velvetine box. We made it look so pretty, this box, only for it to be designated to hold the meanest treasure ever. The one for heartbreaks. The one for distancing us and the one for all the lies and pain. This black little monster deserves to be thrown away.
Let’s get me to grow a new one. Won’t be that hard, right? We need each other. We need our faith and our new beliefs. Let’s also change our lives while we’re at it. You’ll be the one who I worship, I’ll be the one that you might need. We should spin out new dreams, goals and destinations. Look, I see the skeleton of a live heart. Now what else do we need? Let’s fly away into a single thought. Join heads, gaze and weave one thought. We might just connect points, flashes of light, the way Harry Potter’s wand connected with that of Voldemort. But okay, neither of us are enemies of each other. We have to make sure of that. We have had very less time with each other, we need to increase that exponentially. The runny threads of that time will be the stuffing for this new heart. How about you whisper sweet nothings in my ear while I sleep? Maybe the space in this heart will increase. Let’s try new things, let’s fly away in your plane. Let’s jump from the sky and feel death staring at our faces. Let’s imagine life on the run from the world. This new little organ grows slowly. But it really is taking shape. Let’s try more things. Let’s start kissing slowly, feeling every nook and cranny of our bodies. Feeling our heavy breaths on naked skin. You see what’s happening? We have a heart here. It’s still now alive. It needs to beat. Needs to beat to your breathing. Needs to beat to your voice and touch. Talk to me, open up with me. I have a hole here, help me fill it up. Kiss my flaws, hold my hands tight. Tell me you love me, but don’t come to hurt me. Hold me close under your chest, protect my dreams. I’ll do the same. All this and more. I’ll touch your face, smile with you, promise you the world, kiss your pain goodbye.
This new, beating, junkyard organ now beats for you. The way it’s happy, it’s only glad to be doing this everyday.