Ek Saal Baad

A month of emotional turbulence.
Packing my favorite people in intangible forms.
Struggling to find a room with a balcony.
Cribbing about the humidity.
Not settling for the constant fish smell.
This city was just about okay for me.

Today, after 365 days.

Coming back to a not-so-tiny pink room, which is all mine.
Giving up on over hundred Delhi-Bombay fights.
Getting lost in the stunning sunsets.
Saving over forty boarding passes.
Fascinating the sound of waves.
Making friends that are my family.
The detachment made me so attached,
This city is not okay anymore.

Bombay, you’re my second home. For all the drives around the sea, for all the conversations I’ve had over coffee, for the zillion bar hopping nights, for some folks that I’m going to treasure as family, I’ll always cherish this one year that made me an adult, almost. I literally aged with each passing day, happily!

They call it the city of dreams that grows on you. & I struggled being in love with it or hating it, for a long long time. But now that I think of it, I actually am facing attachment issues.

Ek saal of #बंबईdiaries. DONE. DONE. DONE.
What’s next? Someplace else. 🙂



When something bothers you
When you don’t understand what
When the what becomes unbearable in your head
When it flows from your eyes.
When you feel lost
When you feel distracted
When you feel detached.
When all these things happen at once
When the what you think becomes too murky
& the when, the what, & the why happens.

The lump in your throat become too big to swallow.

What’s your story?

Being at an altitude of 30,000 ft., kicks the writer in me. Whatever little I am.

Yesterday, after a really long time I took an early morning flight back to the Okay city. & as they say about airports, I found myself amidst lot of stories. Stories with strangers, I’d like to put it. For once, being stuck in a long security queue at 5 AM didn’t really make me a cranky child. (Yes. I turned twenty six day before, but I’ll still be a mad child at forty. )

Well this story, it’s not a conversation.
There has been no exchange of pleasantries whatsoever. There is no judgment passed on it. It didn’t move mountains in my tiny heart. It didn’t make me giggle with funny thoughts. I didn’t cry feeling the pain. There were no secrets kept. There were no strings attached.

This story is a mere observation. It is a feeling of connection.
It is the eye contact with the boy in the blue shirt. It is the bitch face to the lady at the security check. It is the joy of seeing a 2 month baby struggling to open eyes. It is randomly meeting a friend who missed his flight. It is letting the gushes of pain in my heart reside.  It is about the promises made to dad to listen to him.

It is about the disconnected connections made.
That’s about it.

I live on stories. I want to know the zillion thoughts in your head before you made that silly expression. I want to know the reason behind the never-let-go hug. I want to know why we made that eye contact. I want to know how long our story will be. ‘Cause, we all have stories.

Stranger, I want to know you.
One story at a time.

Why riot?

A lot of things in my life happen randomly, except the things I wish for.
Anyway. Back in January’15 during a random conversation with the best friend, we decided to get inked. She was pretty sure of what she wanted, but I was struggling between “Oh! This or that”.
I just couldn’t zero down on anything that described me, or something that I was okay with to live with every single day of my life.

Later in March’15, I updated the name of the blog to Riot Writes, after a friend gave me the name Rioting Star, for all the mayhem my thoughts caused us. Chaos. Beautiful effing chaos!

If you know me well, you’ll know how terrible I am at prioritizing people over thoughts. I’d die for my people, but sometimes my mind decides to put me in a birdcage with the zillion thoughts & feelings to battle with.

It’s a chaos in there. Head & heart, both.
So precisely, a Riot : of thoughts, feelings, love, whims & fancies.

Few days after admitting to the feeling of being a riot, & realizing that I’ve been one all my life; I found a distinct correlation to another essential thing that defines me in this word.

The i & o, became 1 & O – delineating the binary behavior I possess in all my situations.
This. Or. That.
I can’t do maybes.
I don’t believe in second chances.
I can’t do grey.
& everything needs to be either black or white.
That’s about it.

& that’s how riot (without the title on i), became my namesake, & I was Okay to see it on me all my life. (You know Okay is my favorite word, right?)

Last week, after nine months; I finally got inked!
29 days of 2016 have been adventurous & I’m pretty sure it’ll get more chaotic & beautiful along the way!

Just can’t wait!
P.S. No picture, cause’ see it to believe it.

Twist it, silly!

I live on to-do lists. My life revolves around calendar invites and stick notes for every thing. (Including having green tea!)
But off lately, I’ve realised my routine is becoming too monotonous. 

My work is sorted, adapting to this new city is just about sorted, learning a new dance form is sorted, space from family is happily sorted, my hearts caged enough to wander, again sorted. 

But then, why do I feel fidgety? Why do I feel the need to move around in my space? In whatever little space I have. It’s like a bug itching me constantly. 

I’ve been in this city for two months now, without any holiday, without any weekend getaway, without moving my ass from home-office-bar chairs. 
So maybe it’s about the city.  But again, booked my tickets to a beach, & boom! Sorted. 

I’m starting to have issues with the word “sorted” now. I want some drama & I want some adrenaline rush & some yayness. 

Being simple never really got anybody anything, right? So why settle with a “sorted” life?

So decided. I’m going to twist around few things, tweak the monotonicity, & give some peace to the bug. 

I do. I don’t. I do. I don’t. I do. I don’t. I do. I do!
That has more “do’s” than “don’t’s”. Maybe just how we all need to look at life, from a twisted angle! 

Howsoever. What so ever. I’ll keep it happy & twisted. 

Bombay, I’ve arrived!

3 months in Bombay. Done. Done. Done.

Not that I am counting days, but this ‘magical city’ hasn’t sprinkled the love-dust on me yet. To be honest, I haven’t parked my ass in this city for over two weeks in a row. But all said and done, something should be felt. Just a happy heartbeat, or a crying night; or maybe an extremely adventurous day that gives me a rush. Basically ‘something’ that makes me feel for you.
I am the hard-to-please kinds, and Delhi is imbibed in every sweat & blood & tear of mine, but. Something.Should.Be.Felt.

90 days. No. Just about 60 in this ‘okay-ish’ city have been fun.
From moving away to moving in; from adjusting with parents, to strangers; from ordering food to cooking; from finding things, to getting them; from living to surviving; it’s been a fun ride. Not denying any bit of it.

I haven’t started hating the city & that should be commendable! Some special few things/ people have made me live, LIVE. You know the kinds you hit off really well with, who pamper you, & feed you home food, & watch silent sunsets with you, & try hugs, & protect you like a baby in a new monstrous city- I’ve found those. S- If you’re reading this, I’m sending a squishy hug {}. Just try and make it squishy, okay?

Not to forget. A happy work life does lead you to a stress-free mind, & lets you concentrate on all the chaos. Thank you LinkedIn, for letting me focus on all the randomness in my head and letting me being a riot.

You’ve made me a stronger and an independent person*, Bombay. *More, precisely.
Call it the perks of moving away from home, but I do miss my folks back home. & that’s allowed, right? I miss those holding-her-hand while sleeping nights, cuddling with my babies, those random eye contact conversations with my girls, few off-hand dates, sudden drinking nights with the boys talking shit serious stuff, and ghar-ka-khaana! Sigh 😦


Choices & decisions. This is what I chose, & I’m almost on the track of making it big.
I just need to learn the art of saving, which is going to be difficult, BUT.I.WILL. (Everybody who’s laughing, SHUSH!!)

So Bombay, I’ve arrived.

I’m giving you all of mine to make me feel something for you. Love or hate. I don’t like the grey zone, so let’s settle on either one of them.

Let’s move beyond the ‘okay-ish’ tag, shall we?

This place called Bombay!

5 April, 2015- Bombay.

(I prefer Bombay to Mumbai, somehow)

While I’m at some 36,000 ft up in the air, I have random thoughts in my head pacing 100 km/second, the lump in my throat too huge to swallow, & the weird turbulence in my stomach just refuses to stop. 

It’s done.
I’ve left my home; and I’m just about to step in a completely new phase of my life.


Ever since I’ve made the decision of moving away from Delhi- from my people and the place I call home; I’ve been facing a lot of whys & yays.

The answer to the “Why Bombay?” one is pretty simple. Reset was needed. Reset was demanded. Reset is happening.

But the honest reaction to the “Yay Bombay!!”, is a mixed emotion of 80% sadness & 20% happiness. 

I honestly don’t know how am I gonna live through the night knowing my little one isn’t next to me. I honestly don’t know how am I going to fight everyday with mom on Skype. I don’t know how easy is it going to be to get my reasonings & logics & answers with dad on a call. I don’t know how am I going to have my gossip evening coffee or spend the night drinking, without my bunch of people. 


But. Despite all this, I am eagerly looking forward to “my own time”. Explore the new city to find my own self. I think I’m just going to distract myself with all the adventure & challenges that await me. 


Here’s to a new city, new set of people, lot of travel, lot of humidity, & cats and dogs of rain. 

To new “happy” beginnings.