The blonde coffee!

Stranger 1: What do you want?

Stranger 2: The blonde coffee!

Stranger 1: One Vanilla Espresso, please!

Did I mention the smirks exchanged? Beauty!

For your context, I live in a metropolitan, and here is what unfolded on a chaotic Monday morning…

As the sun gracefully bathed the winter morning with its golden rays, I found myself nestled in the heart of the bustling city, seeking refuge from the chaos in a quaint coffee shop.

Amidst the gentle hues of dawn, two strangers (to me) embarked on a serendipitous rendezvous, their first date or a decade old madness, can’t say. It was unfolding like a delicate dance between fate and chance.

Sitting across from each other, they seemed to steal a moment of respite from the relentless rhythm of urban life, their eyes reflecting the quiet intensity that enveloped the space between them.

In the tranquil ambiance of the coffee shop, the constant urge to touch something of the body of the other, time slowed down, allowing them to savor each fleeting moment with an almost palpable anticipation.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of ceramic cups. While they exchanged tentative smiles and anecdotes, there was an undeniable warmth in the air, a subtle energy.

As I observed them from my corner of the coffee shop, I couldn’t help but be captivated by the raw authenticity of their interaction, the way their laughter danced in harmony with the melody of the morning. And how alien were they to the existence of anything and anyone around them.

In a world of chaos and uncertainty, they had found a moment of solace in each other’s company, a fleeting glimpse of magic amidst the mundane.

It was the undeniable intensity that blossomed between two strangers, and my chest, a shared connection that defied explanation and illuminated the path towards a future filled with infinite possibilities or maybe none at all.

Also, signing a petition to call vanilla espresso, THE BLONDE COFFEE!

Zooni!

Zan chekhav zooni aftaabas zaamitch
Zan chekhav noora peth paeda gamitch
Dekas chui tikka tai nasti chay chuunay
Tche kasu zoonay zaamitch chaykh
Haeri asay oas tamanna chonui
Tchaaikhav waerivik darwazaii
Tamhich koori tcholum armaanai
Tche wuchithh patsh nai cham yeewaan
Hawaal hai kermakh peeri peeraanas
Sui rachi chaenis shuri paanas
Dil chav taarav rechmakhav haeri
Bakhtawaere pooshnaii!

Anya,

Every word of this folk is the truth of my being, since you.

You by all means are the Noor of Zoon & Aftab in my darkest days.

And so shall it be!

– Mum!

Learn To Quit!

I’m heavily in a phase of life, I ref-checked from a few past incidents, where my approach has gotten into leaning the process of everything. Basically, cutting the crap out. Work/human/etc.-wise.

Call it the lean six sigma approach, but for living a less Chaotic life!

My 30s have pushed me into questioning everything, like my 2 yr old. So, recently I was in a conversation to understand the pride people take in saying- I’m not a quitter!

I mean what is the big deal about not quitting.

Quit it dammit, quit pestering a girl who said no, quit trying to force opinions, quit killing babies in the name of peace, quit calling mass murders a way to jannat, quit judging wonderful sportspersons for going wrong once, quit traumatising a 16 year old queer child into suicide because it doesn’t sit by your glass bottle ethics, quit it. Really!

My mind goes into a a dark space pretty quick thinking how easily can one flow catastrophic words out of their filthy mouths behind anonymous handles to act on their freedom of speech. How inconsiderate does one have to be to disregard the impact it would create in one’s life. If it leads to a little boy choosing to die for being queer than fight it, imagine the heartbreak it must have felt and the amount of courage it must have taken to decide to end it all.

A 16 year old mind is so fragile, that words broke him. Was it worth not quitting?

I have learnt a way to EarPod my way through pretty much any conversation that I don’t feel the need to be a part of, it’s pretty amazing to have a deaf tone to everything. 

Having said that, it does not change the fact that I’m raising a girl in a society full of non-quitters. And hoping to god, she knows when to draw a line, pick a deaf tone, and quit it. 

Hoping so hard that she knows not all battles are worth fighting!

It’s Been a While!

It’s been a while. Hi!

No, it hasn’t been a while since I wrote. Just been a while since I posted. The thin line I tell you!

I think with age the need to seek validation burns out. And I have experienced it first hand, and by day. I mean, there is only so much you can think of yourself, and be absolutely deluded and blinded to my nonchalance to your agreements to my opinion.

The autistic expression of maintaining a validity log seems unworthy of my attention.

Which part of voluntarily permitting anyone to tell you ‘what is what’ is a good idea? Baffles Me.

However, I do feel the need to log things under the demonic fear of the usual ‘What ifs’! Topping the list is what if I lost all my notes and my little girl won’t have anything to go back to! Damn! Hence, this!

The irrevocable damage it will do to sincerity towards the constant time heist, from work, for her to create as much and as many memories I can with/for her, would go in vain. Nope, not risking it.

Having said that, Laters!

Kashmir, Bloody (n) Paradise!

Or as we call it Kasheer!

I have not seen heaven (given that there is any) and honestly have never understood your comparison with it. I’m sold on the idea that chances are you are better and your value is largely inconspicuous and understated among humans.

Either way, you are beautiful. I have traveled with (and to) you so much, that you almost feel like a person now. Over the years you and I have only gotten better, ferociously co-dependent of course, but better. You make me happy, you are awfully erratic, addictively gorgeous, sometimes distressed, and a lot demanding. You are like the ex I know is toxic, but what the hell? I mean, you know if you know!

Your quiet has the right amount of noise!

Anyway, the more I talk about this city, the more I want to go back and never leave. And one may feel it is because I feel like home there, No. It is exactly what I do not feel. If I wanted to feel at home I’d stay home. It is more like living in a Time Warp (or in hyperlapse). You can hear yourself breathe, your heart pounding, the sound of your steps on dry Chinar leaves, the wind steering through mountains, the rocks and pebbles in Jhelum, you can hear it all loud and clear.

There is a lot of white space in that city!

It hasn’t still surrendered to the 60:40 revenue model. If you are a reader living in India but serving people outside the homeland you know what I mean.

It may seem like it is the perfect city for romantics, but it is not, or maybe it is and I am just not a very romantic human (not complaining), more of a doer than a dreamer. For me, it is a perfect place to channel your thoughts. Align your chakras! Come down to a point zero in your head if you have been waking up bewildered lately. Works like magic. This also was Nia’s (my first born) first trip to native, the first flight ever, comparatively long travel, etc. It was overwhelming. This girl is astoundingly calm for her firsts, her calm often scares me.

Does she get excited or impressed by anything or is there a bit too much of me in her? Well, I’ll figure that out in time, until then I hope she keeps the bars high! Always!

My Little Wild Girl!

Stay wild, Stay free

Let no one tell what to be or not to be!  

Be made of fire, be enchanted

Let yourself be the magic that exists, never taken for granted!

Be a myth, a legend, maybe a story untold

Let no one tell you what you may or may not behold!

Be the star and the stargazer, be your own light

Let every ungodly mouth be another reason for all your might!

– Mum (Yashasvi K.)

Mine!

Anya,

You are yours, and then mine!

My girl, You dazzle my world! You are the silver line of my cloud, and that’s all you need to know. Cheers to your first equinox. To you & I. I hope you grow up to be fiercer, sharper, and more unforgiving than your mum ever was. You’ll need it. Thank me later!

I was born with you, the same morning,

The one in which I realized I would rip myself open for you!

The moment you were placed on me, I knew, I have my albatross!

And at the risk of sounding cliché,

I miss my time with me, my body, I miss being able to sip my poison too!

But I don’t miss the person I was before you!

You feel like my heart was cut out of my chest and placed on me!

The sleepless nights with you feel right, You feel right!

Like you chose me, I did too.

And I will, every day!

⁃ Mum

Your Sunset Vs. My Sunrise!

If you’re deluded that it was love that kept you going, no it wasn’t!

Let me enlighten you!
Contrary to popular belief, I have always understood love as just another emotion, in-fact in my head rage is stronger than love. People push their limits harder in rage than in love, don’t trust me? Go back into your life and reiterate.

Love is given so much weightage because it carries many more essential, far-significant, and nerve-wracking chemical reactions in your head. And that’s that. It acts as an escape, a reason to vent, a permanent shoulder to cry on, self-consuming and nasty make outs, opening up without the fear of being judged, and a long list of other perks. So honestly, no love keeps you going, it’s the transactional benefits that keep you going.

A part of me was glad, I haven’t had a transactional, self-benefiting experience. However, I’ve had a loud and clear – Oh God, I want you! – kind of experience. And I wouldn’t trade that for something as small as love.

Personally, if I’m in a narrative, it would open with,

“If you still have a space permanently in my head, it’s not because there was love. It is because your actions enraged me and so did mine. Because I touched the dragon and made love with its spitting fire while it burned my nights and days for senseless hours, till our bodies turned into a fragrant carcass. I fought, screamed, and scratched the mental peace out of you, and so did you. I had found content metaphorically, literally, and rhetorically.”

So, honestly quit it, you can’t convince me and neither can I. Not on love is bigger than want for you and want is bigger than love for me. We do more things out of want than we do out of love. A raging desperate want, in my head is a purer emotion, far stronger than love.

You live through sunsets and I through sunrises. We are different, in ways hard to comprehend. So, for us to co-exist in one moment, together, even for a few seconds, it would take the sun, the moon, the stars, and the universe itself to align. Or maybe, just take a tans-Atlantic flight, the dawn and dusk co-exist beautifully (I say it with personal experience), and a for a few minutes you’ll know what I mean.

If you don’t make me angry, you don’t matter. Easy!

Sinful Black!

I cannot begin to tell you…
How much I knew
That he & I had allied souls,
Allied in terms of wrath and warmth.
The kind that would come around once,
Once in a gazillion years.
And it dazzled me,
The way we were synced,
Synced without trying.
It was implausible to see,
That every sunset spent together,
The universe would witness two souls,
Turning to the color – sinful black!

TOO FULL OF ME!

It’s a pity you aren’t here with me at this moment

Or you weren’t there in those,

That I am surer than you would be for yourself,

You would want to be in with me more than you want anything else,

In all my travel stories, or cafes I went by, or the roads I traveled, or the oceans I drowned in,

Across countries and borders, warzones and conflicted lanes, woods and skyscrapers,

Everything, anything, and nothing!

There is a part of me that has stopped trying,

Stopped forcing myself to believe it was just another passing wave,

Like a million others I have tamed!

No.

Not really, it isn’t ‘love’ either, I don’t do love.

It was something else, something I’m yet to name,

But when I do think of a fitting word for it,

I’ll write.

I’ll write around, and about it.

I am less consumed by the absence of you and more by what I was when I was with you,

It overwhelms me.

I don’t have the time to stomp my feet through the vacancy, there is none.

I’m too full of the moves I made at every swirl of those fingers around my curves and lines,

Too full of my aggravated blood that pumped through each inch of me at the sudden push and pulls.

Too full of the music I heard and the books I read, through the days and nights of burning one day at a time.

I’m too full of me, seamlessly screwed,

But then, aren’t we all.