Yes, I have failed.

I have failed real bad. It’s time for me to rise high and strong. I have to be rigid and robust all through. I know I am not accepted in the eyes of the society, or the world. Abhorring and loathing all the way. Don’t want to crush myself in the gears of time and tide. Covering myself with the cloak of seclusion and solitude. Making peace with myself and my fate.

Walking beside frustration and grief, making them my only friends in this meticulous world. Sturdy and astute calculations to release myself from this cliched failure. Nothing seems to suffice the ways to escape reality except death. Killing every bit of dreams and aspirations which I held onto, this long. Fear and depression are spreading the cancer inside me gradually, insinuating the polemic literature of my destiny. Taunting every cell, every eon of my life.

Maybe, there is a way. Maybe, I have a better world ahead. Hope is the only thing I have left. Faith lies in the sanctum sanctorum of my soul to release me from these chains.

Help me!


Everything seemed dull and devoid of the fun.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck one.


Nothing seems to interest me, whatever I do.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck two.


I am trapped and I want to fly and be free.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck three.


Waiting to see through a new window or a door.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck four.


Found a new path and I took a solemn dive.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck five.


Cherishing and waiting for my wounds to fix.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck six.


Thinking about my life in a peaceful unending heaven.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck seven.


Thanking the Gods for such a beautiful fate.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck eight.


The relishing elixir which I can demand as mine.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck nine.


Remembering the good old times with Uncle Ben.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck ten.


Finally my trance dropped down like a leaven.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck eleven.


I regained from my HIGH, the reality to delve.

Tick tock tick tock, the clock struck twelve.


The events are conspiring against the utter disrupt of law and balance. Anything may happen next. Our consciousness is always at the verge of a deep fall which may destroy the mere realization of the past and the future. The more this unnerving distress comes closer, the closer I get to the horizon.

What is real is a paradox in the paradigm of the shift in reality. There is no hindrance to the possibilities that may happen in the close proximity of the parallel dimensions. Thoughts shower a kaleidoscope of colors with a tinge of darkness in the prolific flow of light and the consciousness.

There is always a surety in the start and end of life in separate existential spheres, but the transcendence is always unknown and researched upon by varied like minded so called scientists. Yet the truth seems to be so intangible that not a sliver of it has been understood. Man calls out to the appeal of his life in this remorseful world and we end up being a simple damn eulogy in the newspapers.

No end can end the end and no beginning can begin the beginning. This is a continuous cycle of reality that a soul has to undergo to reach closer to the horizon of dark energy and bright stars. Sea full of hopes and aspirations may draw us closer to the web of reality, yet we somehow escape the grudge of this meticulous sting of a bitter past and an uneventful future.

I believe in freedom against all materialistic claws and clutches.

I am just a sensual touch, a silent breeze, a silent smile and a shrieking tear.

I am now closer to the horizon.

I am alive!


I am promising myself a new day every night

What if I don’t get another, tonight?

I am keeping the things I like up the shelf

What if I don’t get to cherish them ever?


I become busy in my life, no time to talk to my parents

What if I don’t have them tomorrow anymore?

I am living little and mechanizing more

What if I don’t exist at all ever on this myriad?


I take everything for granted and everyone as it is

What if I don’t get the time back to look closely?

I speed with time and tide through utter chaos

What if I never find true peace in my sordid mind?


I have everything I want to ever achieve in life

What if I lose them all at once without mercy?

I whine at every disappointing event happening

What if there is nothing left to happen at all?






When I was a little kid, I used to play hard, being one with the soil and the grass, getting joy at the little things, embracing the cuts and the injuries, smiling after I lost a match having no regret for it and tossed over the days to wait for another chance to live through the same time again.

What happened to me?

When I was a little kid, I brought in friends at my home, relishing at the fruit squash that my mom made along with them, laughed at the silliest jokes, played around the house and in the backyard, competing over the hand held video game, frowning at the weather for being too sarcastic and went home, tired yet satisfied to our full.

What happened to me?

When I was a little kid, I hovered around the confectioneries to get a chocolate or two from my mom, feeling the joy of sharing with my friends, holding the bat in one hand and a ball in the other, making silly rules of the game, yet enjoyed them, pranks with our friends, finding a coin or a note on the street and sharing it with everybody.

What happened to me?

Yet among all these memories and eventful memoirs, I still grasp with the new and the present, having found peace and solace in the new and rubbing off the old as an eccentric part of our past, transforming emotions into smileys and talks into chats, looking over the shoulder for any interactive life, shutting down the feelings and marrying to the job and losing the subtle way of life for good.

What happened to me?





I fell down, trying to stand up,

You held me up showing me the way.

I cried without implying anything to you,

You understood and cared for me, night and day.


I ran all over without having control of my senses.

You cleaned me up, set me fresh and happy.

I made a fuss about everything that I had to do,

You sang to me and changed my soiled nappy.


I cried on the first day to school,

You promised me to be there when I came back.

I played all day, not wanting to study at all,

You taught me everything about Jill and Jack!


I sprained myself and cried back home,

You nursed me back to health every cut.

I held on to you at night, afraid of the dark,

You told me happy stories about cream and chest nut.


I grew up, into my unstable teens,

You taught me to dress well and be smart.

I hurt you with my immature words,

You smiled at me, crying in your heart.


I troubled you with all sorts of tension,

You managed everything being at my side.

I lost my interest in life with all the frustrations,

You helped me stand and fight against time and tide.


Whenever I am sick and bedridden with a high fever,

You made me warm soup and beautiful bread slices.

Whenever I came back from college in holidays,

You made the best food with your magic spices.


Never said thank you to you for your endless care,

But you never asked any emotion in return.

I got angry, aggressive or maybe told to leave me alone,

But MOTHER!, you were there for me in every turn.



Exploring Central Havana’s Hamel’s Alley

Realise the magic of color in real time with this exciting journey!


On afternoon I decided it was time to explore a different part of Havana that I had yet to see, Centro Habana or Central Havana. I’d see enough of beautiful Old Havana and thought it was time to see the real Havana that has been untouched. Central Havana is the most densely populated part of town and unlike Old Havana, nothing has been restored.

I hailed a coco-taxi (a three-wheeled scooter) right from my hotel in Vedado and enjoyed a fun ride down the Malecón to my first destination in Central Havana, a special place called El Callejón de Hamel (Hamel’s Alley). I was in for quite a wonderful surprise!

Taking a Coco Taxi in Havana Taking a Coco-taxi in Havana. (A three-wheeled scooter with a cover and room for two in back).

Centro Habana Cuba Heading into Centro Habana (Central Havana), a more densely populated and rundown part of town with ramshackle buildings and potholed streets.

Centro Habana Cuba

I paid…

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A Letter to the Mother of My Step Children

Elements of motherhood and the journey that follows, beautifully put down in words and phrases!

Living, Loving, Laughing...

I know I am not the perfect step-in parent for your children. I make mistakes. I misjudge. I get frustrated, confused, and conflicted. It’s a tight wire balance of being too close and being too far.

I don’t want to overstep my boundaries. And yet, I sometimes lose track of the rule book. I don’t always know what to expect. And even when I think I do, I realize how far-off the beaten path I really am. I manage the best I can for them. Not necessarily as another parent, but someone who loves being in their life. Someone who cares for them, because I care for their Dad. But, I fail. I try. I fail. Then I brush myself off and hope you can forgive me.

From the first moment I met them, I wanted them to know I could never replace you, nor would I want…

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Celebrating my death!

Here and now, I declare myself dead. Away from all sorts of humane and realistic restrictions and constraints. Separate into a new dimension of freedom and openness. Jump into a new space where the old habits and reflexes were useless and unnecessary. At least, now I can die in peace.

The handbook of this current society demands so much more of an individual that they tend to become educated dumb-fucks! They can set a system in motion with their expertise with the subject, but they can’t understand the real need of the system variables on which the correlation and dependence of the gears with the rest of the universe is based upon. The world is filled with knowledgeable candidates waiting in line for their part in the system, but no one comes up with ways and means to strengthen the basic foundation of the system.

I am dead in my own terms. Well, living on this earth hasn’t been much exciting or peaceful. Expectations are brewing up with lack of time and patience and pieces of rectangular paper and round metals are riding this earth to disaster. On the one hand, we have rich people swimming in notes, and on the other we have skinny beings drying up to death- obviously, a feast for the scavengers at hand.

Dying on this planet, for me, is perhaps the best thing that has happened to me as of yet. Dying foretells benign and tranquil life ahead. As I have no expectations from myself or from others, I have already rested in peace. Look out, my friends! You cut trees to make paper, write on them “Save Trees” and use the same paper to control the eradication of forests at large. Moreover, there is so much hatred, war, corruption, tyranny, weapons, nuclear explosions and jittery souls. Death has never been more fulfilling.

The sun gives us life and the humans take it away. Irony of this world! Cruel as it is, yet satisfying that at least life has not been completely diminished in this world. There is a certain ray of hope that prospers life on this planet, a juice of relinquished faith among people. But Always I have faith in me that I am of no good on this planet, so I am now dead.

Cutting to the chase, my point is that although there is very little trust left on this planet, yet there is always a fight against the evil to resurrect the right and the worthy. It’s not all bad and not all white. Some letters are written in ink and some in gold. We have to choose when and what you would like your history to be written with.

“celebrating death is a sign of maturity”

Is Feminism Depressing? On the Use of a Loaded Term.

Feminism and it’s weight-age in today’s society and the meticulous world. A mesmerizing excerpt on the vivid dilemma faced by women everyday everywhere!


I took part in a discussion with a few Twitter users the other day in which we spoke about the appropriation of the term “depressing” in the title of a webchat about the effects of fourth wave feminism. This conversation took many meandering paths and we were pretty unanimous in our opprobrium of medicalised terms to discuss everyday experiences. We spoke, at length, about the myriad ways in which we, as women with disabilities, are erased from the discourse of mainstream feminism. On the one hand my instinct is to ignore the word “depressing” as something which has become deeply assimilated into our everyday conversations, but on the other I am aware of the hypocrisy of ignoring such terms whilst feeling offend by the use of other medical terms such as “schizophrenic” or “retarded” as adjectives for negative terminology. 

 My life has been full of a variety of tragic strands…

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