The date

A man so very charming

Arrived ahead of time

And so began our tête-à-tête

On a cold, rainy day

His disposition astonishing

So earnestly agreeable

His excitement contagious

To begin something new

Silences in between

Handled comfortably

Topics of mutual interest

Delved into deeply

My shyness apparent

Every once in a while

Flushed cheeks emerging

From laughter on both sides

Time flew unnoticed

The rain did not slow

Around our own small bubble

Filled with warmth and jokes

Like all good things

This, too, came to an end

The bill was evenly split

The satisfaction mutually shared

We held up our umbrellas

Its tussle keeping us away

We reluctantly said goodbye

Shouting over the pouring rain

We waved and smiled

Took off in different ways

And so ended our tête-à-tête

On a cold, rainy day

The Voice

The voice that lives 
Hidden in my soul
I have come to acknowledge
In life, your important role

You make no noise
Only decide to nudge
As and when the time arrives
To face surprise or danger

You prompt my brain
To stop and notice
Something out of place
Something complex

My personal crystal ball
My amorphous angel
Stemming from past experiences
My own creation

You scare me sometimes
You make my heart race
With the realisation that I know
Something I cannot explain

Others call you Intuition
I call you a voice
A voice that speaks no words
A voice that never lies

The land of denial

I’m like Alice in Wonderland

I live in the land of denial

This land is very far away

From reality’s empire


I don’t want to set out

On the journey towards reality

I don’t feel ready yet

For the distant storm in the sea


I want some more time

To avoid dealing with brewing trouble

Before a pin arrives for me

To burst my comforting bubble


This brain of mine knows everything

My heart has locked it up

My heart is tired of its logical explanations

My heart has had enough


The brain is feeling helpless

It says,”Oh, silly girl, can’t you see?

You are in a state of denial

Denying what will inevitably be”


My heart is of the opinion

That it is okay to be this way

Just for a few moments

I want things to stay the same


Is it too much to ask for?

Is it too big a break?

Before I wear my armour

And I have a journey to brave?


The brain is now silent

For it understands the heart

The heart is silently praying

That the bubble doesn’t burst too fast

Chocolate wax, maam?

Hello. How about we add another chapter to my memoir?

The following is a recall of my visit to a beauty parlour a few days ago. After having had two busy weeks, I thought that I finally had the chance to relax and just go sit there like a queen while they waxed me or whatever. When it feels like your skin is being ripped off, it makes you feel like a prisoner being tortured by his fellow gangsta inmates (like they show in movies. I have no practical experience).But that’s okay. Perspective matters.

What I thought would be an hour of relaxation resulted in an hour of confusion and a huge hole in my wallet. Waxing. The moment I told them the first job on the (already huge) list, I was handed over a verbal menu.
Which wax, maam?
Normal wax?
Chocolate wax?
Strawberry wax?
After I had to spend one whole minute listening to how chocolate wax is superior to normal wax, I found myself in a difficult situation. Are they telling me this because they really care about my skin or because it’s expense can feed around 10 hungry kids in Africa?

Well, in the end, I opted for the chocolate one. I comforted myself by thinking that maybe this what they call “Investing resources for the betterment of thy self” in all those “Transform yourself for success” type of books.

I was not allowed to aimlessly daydream while being waxed. The parlour lady proceeded to tell me about a dozen things that were wrong with me. Either she is taking things too seriously or I am the one who is so lost in my own world (Which currently revolves around academics, food and Kunal Nayyar), that I couldn’t notice it.

She told me that I should get a clean-up (a huge process of getting your face cleaned through scrubbing, cleansing, steaming and did I mention that there is a part where they take a tool and get any whiteheads off your nose that makes you want to scream?).

I proceeded to ask about the need for it. I am very emotionally attached to my nose. I’ve always had a soft spot for it. We’ve been through a lot of things together. According to her, my nose had whiteheads.

What the hell are whiteheads? I know about blackheads. There was a tv advertisement featuring Alia Bhatt. But, whiteheads? My question baffled all the parlour girls like every other question that I have asked them till today, which makes me look like that pretty blonde girl who knows nothing. If only they were willing to have a conversation about Banking and Insurance with me.

When she told me what they were and convinced me what a huge gigantic problem it was that really needed to be addressed in life (Is that so?), I agreed to go for that whole clean-up session. During the removal of whiteheads using the needle, I was pretty brave (Can’t say that I didn’t scream a bit.I didn’t cry. That’s a big deal, okay?)

Let’s move on. Another lady was trimming my hair. As usual, the lecture about what was wrong with my hair began.

Your hair is so dry Sanika.
Don’t you apply conditioner?

Did I mention that I love my hair? It is so damn soft that if they were as long as Rapunzel’s hair, I’d wrap them around me as a blanket and sleep.

She asked me if I use serum. Here comes the 2nd blondie moment. What the heck is that? All I could imagine was some weird chemical stuff that stylists usually use. How is that related to me? Convinced that I was a hopeless case, she continued ranting about my dry hair (From which angle does it appear to be dry? Absolutely no clue). Eventually I just held my head down (I had to. She was cutting my hair) and continued sulking silently like a 5 year old child.

Lets skip to the nail paint. Life is like nail paint. It can get pretty messed up, at times. Convinced that I am a very busy woman (Like those out there in the corporate world) who needs someone else to do her nails, I sat like a queen and decided to make use of my purchasing power to indulge in a service resulting in pretty nails. I accidentally picked up something using my hand which destroyed the nail paint on it. I apologised and she reapplied it. After I thought that it was dry, I proceeded to grab my belongings. The moment I pulled the strap of my shoe to push my foot in, it got distorted. Again. Afraid of the dirty looks that she might give, I quickly thanked her and ran.

A trip to the beauty parlour can make you wise. And also, very annoyed. Just after you think that body hair is the only thing you need to take care of (which happens to be a constant reminder of being a woman), they put around 12 other major problems (apparently), in front of you that you need to address.

All this is still okay. The day that I truly fear is the day when one of them might say…

Parlour lady : Won’t you be getting that done, too, maam?

Me : Get what done?

Parlour lady : Brazillian wax!

I’d rather just die.



Vintage love

 There is a certain charm

Associated with vintage

There is a certain glow

Glow about old things

Whether it’s an old lamp

Harbouring a genie

Whether it’s an old house

Associated with memories

Old coins and their metallic touch

Isolated from the plastic world

Old swings and the smell of rust

Some things which didn’t cost much

It’s not that hard 

To make something vintage

Just bury it somewhere

Protect it from damage

If only we could

Do the same about us

The friendships that we nurture

Feelings and love

You protect them

And cherish

You ensure that

They never perish

Why only objects

Why not love

Should be vintage

Why not us?

The Prayer

I like to think that it’s you

The one who positions the stars

A friend who looks after me

No matter where it is you are

My daily disciplined ritual 

Is to tell you through my mind

How genuinely grateful I am

For every opportunity that I find

Teach me a lot of things

Help me when I get stuck

I promise to learn from mistakes

Lessons that I shall not unlearn

I know that maybe sometimes

You might have no option

But let things go wrong for me 

Work out in the wrong direction

And even though my loyal friend

I don’t worship your statue 
I hope that you are well aware

Of the faith that I have in you

I know that you have kept

Good surprises for me in store

Happiness which I know

Lies at the other side of that shore

I shall swim

I shall strive

I know I will always have you

Right by my side

I want you to hold on to

Hold on to my small hand

Together we shall live our lives

As happy as we can

Please accept my prayer

It’s the best that I can do

Apart from all acts of kindness

That I shall continue like you

Mathematical romance

How about some mathematical romance, now?

1) You are my perfect reciprocal. Our product makes us ONE.

2) Your claim that you love me is always proved to be true through hypothesis testing.

3) We are so close that our happiness is correlated to the extent of +1.

(The maximum value that the correlation coefficient can take is +1)

4) The trend line of our love only slopes upward, babe.

5)You are the median of my life. Not affected by extreme ups or downs.

(The median is not affected by extreme values)

6) You are the index number which only shows an increase in our love on a timely basis.

7) The probability that I will fall for you, every time I see you again, is 1.

So, will you be my reciprocal?