What a sick phase this is, I feel like I’m stagnant, my growth is stagnant and the world around me is moving so, so fast. Almost like I’ve so less time for myself, because I’m just busy existing. Just being there somewhere in the background. A lot of things have happened in the past few days, changes, new additions and discarding of a few things but I don’t feel like talking of it right now. I’ve noticed how once in a while, I tend to get distant from my own self. Can’t describe if it’s a kind of fear or yet another modern man internal conflict jazz but it’s very much prominent.




Eventful. 4.26

What a dramatic turn of events. 

Well, nothing happened in reality, I just wanted to write that sentence and I assure you there was nothing dramatic nor eventful. The fact that this post is going to be complete bullshit should stop you from reading any further but if not (you go, my friend yay) I’d like to write about a few dramatic turn of events I’d like to take place.

  • Sudden rain as I walk down a street, defenceless. (I hate getting drenched so yep)
  •  I’m peeling off a banana and half of it falls down. I hope you get the picture. I’m intolerant to bananas.
  • I’m taking notes and my pen decides to go the other way. Damn it, Pen, not today my man, you promised.
  • My pet rock, Pebble decides to meet its parents. Jhelum is pretty far away, you idiot cutie.
  • My jasmine plant decides to flower. I’ve been waiting since forever like show your drama gurl.
  • A bug decides to stay inside my shoe. Gonn get crushed with all those big dreams.

I should stop, it’s 4:34 am, but I was having so much fun. Wow, dramatic? Not really. Eventful? …quite a bit. Bye. 🌼

Milk and Honey : A Perspective


I read Rupi Kaur’s Milk and Honey, last day. I decided to finish it in a go and so I did.

I’ve always been scared to review books for I tend to forget the intricate details which ‘must be noticed and talked about’. My opinions are very erratic, not useful enough. Maybe I don’t read books the right way, because I tend to forget a lot. I refrain from underlining sentences (my heart doesn’t allow me to) I find valuable only to forget about them later on. I just remember the impression the book makes, the emotions it makes me feel. And when someone asks me about a book I’ve read, I tell them how it made me feel. Was it a good book? Probably. How did it make me feel? Like I was in a place, reality has never allowed me to venture in. Safe to say, being a Literature student hasn’t helped me to study and analyse a book the way my question paper demands – picking up the issues, talking about it, the details, the facts, the characters, the settings, etc.

Coming back to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, I came across it on Instagram first and although the poet is despised by many (trust me, I know), due to her ‘pop-poetry’ method, it made me feel something as a reader. Art should stir you from the inside, doesn’t matter the right method or the wrong one, and this book, at one point, did that to me. Like something was buried inside of me, and her poetry made it surface. She doesn’t string a lot of words, just a few words and fewer lines – but does she manage well to convey the message in a few lines? Hell yes. Her book of poetry, Milk and Honey is divided into four sections – The Hurting, The Loving, The Breaking and The Healing. The poems carry certain meanings, issues of love, loss, trauma, abuse, healing, and femininity. About the mothers, the daughters, the heartbroken lovers, the abused, the abusers, the lovers who got lucky, the poet herself being a person of brown skin and a Kaur, poems with issues which, if you somehow find relatable, will speak to the darkest corners of your heart. The Healing, I liked the best, as I could relate to it the most. It reminded me of a dark time and how I overcame it, how much strength and courage it takes and how capable one is of healing themselves. The book, along with its poems, contains illustrations which are absolutely beautiful. The book pirouettes you through a graceful (at times, chaotic) journey of reading poetry.


At times, though, it seems as if the poet has tried hard to be relatable, I guess? Or just tried to touch the issue just for the sake of it for certain poems did, I agree, make me cringe and made me question, ‘why?’ but apart from that, I quite liked it.

All said, I’ve tried not to review the book for its literary genius or for the lack of the same but as a general reader, who enjoys… reading. Hate to say this, but do share this post with someone who might care and resonate with it (or not).



blogging and me

Seeing a friend share her blogpost while scrolling through Facebook made me realise how much I miss it, since I’ve been posting most of what I write on my Instagram. But I don’t have much to share these days, nothing extra to say, I’m enjoying clicking pictures more at the moment, not that I’ve turned away from writing completely. Also, as I’m writing this blogpost, I realise how out of habit have I become. I can’t decide what to say and how.

Dear reader, do you want to read me?


To My Favourite Poet

My favourite poet

doesn’t write in words

but, in ammunitions

always ready to hit,

to make an impact,

giving way to so much chaos

that one might wonder

if that’s all she can do.


My favourite poet

writes in embers

always enough

to strike a forest fire

in the coldest of hearts

that one might wonder

how does she do it all.




my life has been stagnant for a while. the only movement i feel at times, is the spiraling down of everything my being carries within itself and it seems like there’s nothing i can do. i can, i know but i’ve started to get used to this pathetic state of mine. i’ve come at such a point where i’m finding it difficult to even write this. i don’t know what to write or why. i’m losing my grip again and i don’t mind.