(Trigger warning)

One month
17 days
15 hours
43 minutes.
Mental math?
Not really.

Notebook gel pen
Naah, diary black ball.

Write on paper
Not anymore.

Is your mind a slate?
Umm kora kagaz with
Play/ pause/
Rewind/ repeat.

Toxicity max
Maybe, crowded sky with a silver line.

Write and vent it
Don’t and feel it.

Feel what ?
Mind’s a bowl of semi melted
chocolate and  thoughts spatula
scraping you out from inside.

Rumination perhaps.

Write a song
Mixtape with mixed feelings
Melody of memory and
Recurring lyrics.

Redial the same number
in different order.

Write a poem
Ohh Rhyme
Think link
Sync sink.

Don’t drown
Yeah I know
Swim  submerge
suffocate emerge.

Write on memory
Empty bottle of a perfume.

All this in your head
Can’t tear strike
Crumble throw

Write once
Only to see my handwriting change.

Transitions happen from
Dark stiff steady
To light loose shaky.

swirl swift
sad glad
Add more sad.

Write poetry
Everything we do is poetry
Till death, we do art.



#blogger #rants #harshtruth #mentalhealth #female #writer

(TW: normalised abuse, anger)

She said she loved freedom
But was agitated when he groped her in public while she clinged to the nearest pole for support, guess he couldn’t see her unapologetic padded bra for support which she already owned.
She refused plastic equity
For every time she saw a reserved seat for ladies
There was an old pervert sitting on it staring right at her ambitious cleavage because that’s where all the aspirations lie right, hidden beneath layers of stereotype and prejudice of patriarchy!?
No wonder why pictures flaunting these curved ridges of naive audacity
Provides the bearer extra courage,
trashy viewers the right to call her a whore
And not to forget those increased likes
which are just a complimentary to the satire filled comments on ethics.
She wanted liberty
She carries a shrug every time she wears a sleeveless top
Because some days can become cold, ominous and bitter just within few awkward winks.
She loathed lame justice
There’s a separate line for her
Where she stands,
Numerous gauging eyes scan her as she reaches a few minutes earlier to grab the last bottle of whiskey “Women prefer wine”, utter muffled voices
She pulls a cigarette from her pants with pockets large enough to fit her untamed soul
Walks near the one already lit,
Lights it with poised panache
“Preferences are not slaves of majority
they tend to change,
Do not typecast”, her raging eyes scream as she walks out.
She doesn’t deny being flawed
Feels fiddly comfortable in her skin
While walking on
Spiky roads laid by society
She doesn’t crave, vile validation
For being what she is,
As she is unapologetically her.


Fake smiles and convincing lies

#blogger #poetry #writer #fakehappiness

Sometimes I just feel we are the saddest gen-z people with happiest faces and prettiest photos.
Turning grievances into heart wrenching though bewitching poetry about someone who won’t ever read it and for an anatomizing audience which will try to relate it in the most convincing or criticising way possible.
Posting best angles of the marble cake which shows our maddening mastery at creativity of hiding our failure
in attempt to seek faux validation
From folks who apparently have the superfluous(unnecessary) steering of our facile felicity(happiness),
providing passable(just enough) calm to just pass the day.
Putting status of watching movies on screens from 4.5 inches to prime privileged 110 inches just to feel those drilling dialogues, asking needy nostalgia to run through our mind and take us to a different zone far from this current saddening scene.
Putting stories of playing long lost game of ludo to make this fourplay of legit loneliness sound more intresting with no clue of craved climax.
Sending screenshots of every day count of increased patients with a promise of not to suffer alone,
rather more from anxiety than lack of so called constructive information.
Keeping display pictures of quotes slightly relatable to our vulnerability portraying positivity around our selves
to combat cruel issues which haunt us even during daylight. .
Guess not alone having hope would heal our feared to feel pain around us, we’ll have to Instagram about it.
I know doing and showing these to the world would somewhat lift the callous curtains of pity, doubt, nervousness, fear, seclusion, rejection etc
but at what crushing cost would we
put bare bandage on these and
till when?

~ Shriti

Lockdown escape

#blog #mentalhealth #lockdown #isolation

Brine fused with disdain, filled in my eyes
It’s 10 past 2 am
I stare at the night sky.
After my subconsciously repetitive lurking at my screen, It’s virtually dead
And I’m paranoid
I have watched shed loads of random Insta story, WhatsApp statuses,
Even snaps from the boy who apparently stays in my building and winks at me every time I enter the lift, Huh!
I try not to get lost
Amidst this chaotic rush of life,
which merely asked us to slow down now. And here we are trying to pace it with enthralling, monetarily competent humane activities.
Trying keep ourselves busy all the time.
True, it’s our need to escape reality and
make love with our selves
in our most safest place
Where our insecurities won’t haunt us
And thoughts won’t invite past
We get disturbed only when
we have to face our
fears and fragility,
feelings and futility.
We skip few steps to align with others and sometimes just to move forward
leaving voids behind.
Between those voids left behind lies this
Uncanny agitation I waltz upon, a little unsteady
I try to unwind these tangled emotions
Clinched around me
One ache at a time.
I know there are some parts which don’t belong to me anymore
Some which left me long before
Lately, anxiety intuit’s
Parts of me
portray as incomplete
As I watch the crescent
It’s freaking gorgeousness evokes
Trifling contemplations
Some things are meant to remain unfinished
It ain’t left undone for someone to come and complete it
or isn’t waiting for being complete.
It is just beautiful in it’s own skin of being un(whole)
The very thought of being in this state like that of an unfinished art,
where wait it denied and
time is no slave of it beauty
Sends chills though my spine and
makes me shiver
It seems
All what I’ve seen is just facade
And reality wants me to
delude it’s grandeur in being incomplete
As I lay
The wetness of my eyes lingers for my pillow’s touch,
I nestle deeper into the soft damp crest
While dawn morphs night gradually.
~ shriti

#selflove #thoughts #coronalockdown #poetry #blogger

Letter to the tough cookie

#blogger #mentalhealth #blogs #poetry #writer

Dear tough cookie,

There’s this uncanny feeling you pass on when I’m near. It took me a while to process it but I guess now its time high.
I know you’ve been hurt and I can’t erase those scratches even tho I want to but can dilute those acidic thoughts you have towards love.
I don’t want you to believe in this notion of love which leaves this self induced, imaginative fake happiness built by you around yourself which later just scrapes away parts of you. Those beautiful parts which you never wanna portray later, which have now turned into bitter areas of you. Like the guitar which you hate now and were a fancy man of it once.
I want you to feel that love can be giving also where you are free, can be who you are and haven’t been molded by the hands of expectations in the name of affection.
I know you’ve gone through a lot and to trust again with your whole heart is difficult, but I wanna assure you that just a part of it would be enough for me to maybe rekindle your faith on love.
Coz love has never betrayed anyone it is us who stray!

With a promise to love

#love #poem #tough #mentalstate

Lockdown diaries

(Felt blue might delete later)

#lockdown #coronavirus #islolation #mentalhealth

Shrank into this position where my hands hold my knees while I lay, longing for the caress which is lost. I felt like dripping water with no vessel to hold me; hold me with the promise to never leave.
Wiping my tears into the pillow beside me I decide to get up while grasping the sheets like crushing the paper. My rage triggered me to tear the torn me more, but the peeking sunshine from the window had already planned a different adventure. I stand and gaze towards the scorching sun, my pale body starts getting soaked with heat and sweat. After all, it was noon not a usual time to wake up.
Then I start searching for my phone as I unlock it I see 8 missed calls and 15 messages. Notifications are sometimes enough to decide whether to read and reply to a message or not and sometimes it is just some pings on the phone which can elite the whole mood or rather just sink it in. Yes, there was a notification after four months and fifteen days.

Mixed feeling encroached me or maybe this time something else grabbed me, not the way I wanted but the way my limbic system ached for.
I knew it wasn’t just me dealing with this pandemic, it isn’t just me whose doors are knocked by anxiety, isn’t just my place which mind noxious thoughts creep in. Maybe the longing for interrogating and grabbing those feelings or just to feel the bliss amidst nature outside freely kept distracting me.
But then I choose to stay home. It’s these hardest choices which we make that thrive us to be capable of self-help, also help others at this hour of need when staying home is the only help we can do!

With bobbing head and beats throbbing in my head through the earphones I try to gather myself. Yes, the unadulterated and raw word called self and welcome isolation with my broken pieces and cold heart which craved for warmth.

~Shriti Das


#worldlaughterday #laugh #poetry #sarcasm

I don’t know what laughter is
Maybe I’ve never laughed enough to know it
I’ve laughed.
Every time I saw life playing unfair, asking me to gather courage,
I laughed.
Every time I felt this pain piercing me, fright just nearing
I laughed.
Every time when Maa asked me about my swamped pillow, questioning my tears
I laughed.
Every time needles were inserted to check my pale body’s heamoglobin,
feeling agitation flowing through my veins
I laughed.
Every time someone looked at me with those creepy spine-chilling eyes,
averting aside
drenched with awkwardness
I laughed.
I laughed Every time you left unannounced,
While caressing my collarbone you said
these are just like those puddles
Does water stand here?
I laughed.
Every time I broke,was hurt but had to appear cool gen z girl
I laughed,
I laugh Every time someone asks me
are you okay?
Laughed enough?
Maybe too much
Oh c’mon just laugh it off!

~Shriti Das


#love #landlines #goodolddays #blogs

Long cables
Coiled up together
Travelling from faraway lands
Wires filled with
Rants, gossips
News and sometimes
cute schmooze
Crossing the narrow streets
Antique houses
With huge veranda
And of course
how can I forget the terrace,
you sneaking from those bandhani sarees on the rope
Throwing wrapped up letters with
stones of love in it wasn’t your first move
Early winters morning
Overly heated oil
You asking him to place a hotter one
Rikshaws honking in the background
A slight thud by falling cables
And there goes your hand on that
Steaming, hot, precisely one and a quarter plate of samosa with
just tikhi chutney
You yell at him
He shows you a balcony
You look up
With your rage loaded eyes
I just avert
my anticipation bearing
stare from you
Tryna escape
I run towards my room
We get a call exactly at 13:40
When baba didn’t return from work
And maa was still busy talking
with the tattle aunt of our mohaulla
I recently learned to dial numbers on it
Placing fingers on each circle of numbers
And swinging it all the way round and back to the next number seemed
Just like swaying fingers while talking in person
I hear a hello
It roved straight to my heart
Resonating with my beats in sync
Hanji was my reply
The only reply I was taught
You asked me, if it was me
And I denied
Placing my hand over the landlines speaker
I laugh with my cheeks all pink
And press the biggest button on it
Damn, the call gets disconnected
Next day it’s 13:32
With all my eagerness held together
I wait for your call
Maybe just to hear a hello
And hung up abruptly.
Since then,
the landline has been my favourite locus
Turning long waits into a pattern
Days into paas vaali Richa my pseudo best friend and
Late Nights into regular water scarcity in my jug
Now, my replies don’t just stop at hanji
But your hello still has the same resonance.

Letter to social media//

Dear Social Media( you know who),

Everyday I keep lurking at you accompanied by salt water infused with contemplation in my eyes.
You know there’s a mirror at a 45-degree angle of my bed; I just took a fleeting look into the mirror. It felt like dark black kohl which I occasionally apply on my waterline was increasing beneath my eye extending to a level where it wasn’t emphasizing the beauty of my eye.
But surely crying out loud that the three and a half hour long beauty sleep wasn’t enough for me to clear my eye bags or maybe it was a sign that I was still dwelling in the past and weaving my virtual scarf to cover my superficial insecurities.  Yet, I scrolled you for long hours, strained my eyes until it gave up and sleep overtook it.
It is quite fascinating how small things can bring such huge flashbacks of time, how looking at the feed and some dm’s make me revisit the gloomily stirring memory without my consent.
My conscience gets diluted with the fear of not being admissible, just like random stories and lately, I’m dealing with such emotions which make me reconcile with all my beliefs and reverences made earlier.
Maybe nothing is still in this world where one lacks self-worth and is unconsciously made to be enchanted of this daunting validation which will pave the way to being the epitome of wholeness. The whole which is glossy from outside and hollow from inside, here I am still searching the truth.
~ Shriti


She loves me, she loves me not! Hearts racing at the speed of horsepower. Maybe, she could hear it too. Yeah she was beside me.
Her ears were constantly so engaged with my count as if each time I said ‘she loves me’, it gave her eardrum an unlike beat and her state a glare!
And plucking each petal with immense anticipation there I was,
With the sound of my heart beat in sync with every pluck, every beat synchronised.
My heartbeat was now my tarot with all my love fortune infused in the smell of those torn petals, like Amortentia I wish I could make her inhale it too.
I inhaled them with this crave for her, exhaled with restlessness. One eye open barely looking at the petals… tryina count the left ones, doing my mental math.
I hear a snap, she looks at me I stop.
Sudden intervention in my melodious song of heart beat, creates an abrupt high pitch. I stammer, hii sounded he..shiz how could I, ruin my most persistently imagined moment.
She looks at me with those dingly-dangly eye balls placing her hand on my flower, I could feel her velvety skin from 3cm distance between our fingers during that exchange.
Now she gets a little dodgy, raving at her snatching it away from her. Yes she was beside me but I couldn’t take my eyes of her approaching towards us. She tried being my dahlia and all I wanted was this orchid in front of me with a pinch of requite expected.
She takes out this half bar of chocolate from her pocket and places in my hand. It just felt like a confirmation of my bubbling emotions for her. Felt like all my stars shined together and the lustre could be seen straight in my eyes filled with prodigious angst and timid hope.
She held my hand, I look into her hazel eyes masking something.
She whispers into my ears the most pricking truth.
Half of the chocolate was already someone’s and this half was just a keepsake maybe to forget her.
She saw me loving and breaking at the same time,held me really tight against her and never left.
I don’t like chocolates anymore and lately, inhale dahlias.

#love #poetry