Posted by: psychedchick | March 9, 2010

Jhansi ki Raani!

Took this picture in the train on woman’s day. I call her modern-day Jhansi ki rani. She moved when I took the pic so maybe you can’t see the kid in the ‘bag’ at her back.

Posted by: psychedchick | March 8, 2010


I try to be strong and god knows I am pretty strong. But why o why am I feeling so weird today? Went to a cancer awareness thing today. It was awesome in a bad way. When I was there, I had tears in my eyes because for the first time, I knew what my mom went through. I knew how difficult it must have been for her. Yet I hear stories of how strong she was. I wonder what was going on in her head? Was she just putting on a brave front? Was she truly not scared? Not scared of death? Of leaving me behind? Did she know that she would be my guiding angel? Is that what I just say to make myself feel better? 

Guarding/Guiding angel. How weird that is. It almost sounds like a childish idea but somewhere deep in my heart I do believe it. A long time ago, I had decided that I would do something, something to make some kinda difference to this cause. What I knew not. I realised I had forgotten this resolve of mine. It is now time to do something about it. What I still don’t know but I shall renew my efforts in this direction.

Posted by: psychedchick | March 6, 2010

Time Travel

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 8; the eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

She walked on the beach she liked to believe was her own. Beautiful clean sand and deep clear water. She walked on the horizon where the waters silently kissed the sands. She walked thinking of days to come and the days gone by. Of all the people she had met, those who had made a difference in her life. Mostly she thought of him. It was 10 years she had heard his voice. The voice without which she could sleep, once upon a time. She wondered where he was now. Whether all the dreams they had shared had come true for him. Of all the worries they had spent nights thinking about and how the worst among them had come true. They truly had grown apart.

Suddenly, she saw something cold hit her foot. It was a bottle. There was something in it. A message in a bottle? She smiled. It was letter dated 12th April, 1916. The World War-I. Her curiosity grew. She sat down on the warm sand and opened it slowly. Afraid she would tear it. She read. It seemed like a leaf of a diary.

12th April, 1916

Dear Diary,

It has been a year since he left me. He seems like just yesterday he was hugging me. Holding me close and now it is all gone. The pain too is now dull. Never will it be gone completely but now my brain is clearer. I realise that he isn’t coming back.

I wish I could speak to him just once more. Talk to him. Listen to his voice. Tell him what he meant to me. My beacon. My soul. I wish I could tell him how special he was to me. All I wanted was him to be happy wherever he was. I wish I could hold him once more. I wish I could feel his strong arms around me. Telling me everything would be alright. I wish I could see his deep intoxicating eyes once again.

Most of all, I wish he knew I was all his like I was no-one else’s. I wish he knew I loved him and still do and probably always will be.

I wish he knew.

She stared at the letter long. For quite some time. Then she knew what she had to do. She put it back into the bottle and tossed it back into the ocean. And ran back home. She ran like there was no tomorrow. The sun was setting but in her heart, realisation had just dawned. She picked up her phone with shivering hands. And dialled his number. Just as she was about to dial the last digit. She remembered, she remembered all the nasty things said and all the hurt she had caused.

It was like a slide show of not the good times but the bad ones. In the life they shared together, the sadness was there for around 10% of the time but those were the only times she remembered. Suddenly, she left like the hourglass had turned and the time had gone back.

Should she dial or let things be? He probably was happy wherever he was. Even if he wasn’t (she gulped at that thought) what right did she have to disrupt his life? With all these thoughts, she placed the phone back.

She smiled at herself. For that brief period that she ran from the beach to home, she felt she was alive. Like she was in love once again. Like she was alive. Like she had travelled time.

PS: Thanks Vipul for the “inspiration”

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Posted by: psychedchick | March 5, 2010

oh so random

I have been thinking who do i crib to about the really bad days i have been having. Somehow telling friends yr sob story every single day seems weird. And then voila i remembered I've a blog. Which is my space and i can do whatever. I need not apologise for what i write here and more so, if my friends want to know they can log on. So this marks the beginning of my ranting days.

I had this teacher in college. Psychology professor, we all were pretty scared of. She, while on the topic of stress, said that each aspect of our life that we deem important is a pillar that holds us high. When something is wrong with 1 pillar there are still other things to hold you up. Like you are having bad days at work but your family is supportive, they act as a buffer and work doesn't affect you that much and somehow you find strength to deal with it.
Lately, however, i feel like everything is crashing down. Like I was told i was making an issue of small things. But then maybe the person is right. I've to give this a serious thought but moment i think of it, i feel like my head will explode.

A friend of mine, once called me 'a reservoir' which is content independent and hasn't shown that it has reached maximum capacity. In a long blown way, what he meant to say was that I tend to listen to a lot of people and their problems. But the weird part is turning to
some1 when I need help. I tend to think they wont understand. And very frankly, very few of them do.

I think I'm going to make a list of things that i want to change, big and small. And then find effective ways to tackle it. That would be the sensible thing to do. Wish me, luck.

Posted by: psychedchick | March 4, 2010

What you mean to me?

Happiness dont impress me much
Its a nice place to be
Sadness is uncomfortable
It inspires.

Yet, now, I look
Everywhere, at everything
For something, for someone
to inspire me.

I lost it, when
I lost you.
My penchant for
anything fine.

I wrote when with you,
I fought
I wrote when with you
I made sweet love.

I wrote always for you
Now, without you, there is
No-one to fight, no-one to love
There is no inspiration.

The desperation,
The frustration,
The inspiration I craved,
Numbness has been paved.

Whatever prevailed
Whatever it was
It is no longer there
Just a void that you left.

Come back to fight
Come back in sight
Come back in my life
Come back, be my wife.

I loved you, I still do.
Selfish you were, still are.
I loved you, without a care.
You loved me, just as a muse.

Your penchant is lost
Took it with me, it seems
But it is that you miss.
Coz without it, you are in a fix.

Life is incomplete
without inspiration.
Is that all I mean
To thee?

Without me,
Your words lose meaning
With you,
My existance begins waning.

Come back to fight?
Come back in sight?
If just you had asked me to
Come back to love!

Ps: Just in case I have to explain this, the first part is the guy talking and the next part is spoken by the girl!

I hope no more explanation is needed! 🙂

Posted by: psychedchick | February 23, 2010


Somehow my hands didn’t shake while I signed those papers but then why was I crying now? It felt like it was over. Final and for sure. I did what was best for him, I thought. I could never. I can’t. I just can’t take care of him.

So small. So fragile. I cared for him since the first day. How could I let him go? I just had to. Rational decisions are the toughest.

I sat on the chair and stared at the setting sun. And thought of the brief but oh so beautiful days that I spent with him. His first smile. The first time he opened his eyes. Memories and images of him flooded me. How do I get rid of them?

A text message telling me I have an email. That could be a distraction. I log on. This email has an attachment. A picture. Of him. With his adoptive parents. They looked nice. Rich too. He was smiling. Maybe he was happy. He was happy.

Oh wait, didn’t I ask them not to send me any updates. Damn! There must have been some goof up. Do I correct them? But then, that would mean never seeing him ever again. I had already decided that I didn’t want to be a part of his life anymore but seeing his face melted me. I never wanted to be out of his life.

Yes, keeping him with me was good for him. I have to find a way to be with him without wrecking his life.

No, I wouldn’t stalk him!

Posted by: psychedchick | February 21, 2010


He called me one day and said, ” I am in town. Meet me at the same place. Please. I need to talk. I need to talk to you.” I was shocked. We hadn’t spoken in ages and in the 7 years that I had known him, I had never heard him like that. I immediately left my office. There was something in his voice that made me leave work immediately.

When I reached the cafe, I was shocked to him there. That handsome face, that tidy hair, that crooked smile. Nothing. Just an empty stare.

It was like he was waiting. Waiting for something to occur, something to happen. I saw him at the cafe. Disheveled hair, clothes ragged. His eyes held an empty look.

I went and sat next to him. He looked up. Still no smile, no spark in the eyes, no him.

“What happened? Are you ok?” I asked.

“She is dead,” came his reply.

“What? Who?”

“Her. Yesterday. There,” he spoke slowly, breathing heavily like each word weight heavily on his heart.

“What happened?”

He took a deep breath and then looked at me, with tears in his eyes. I couldn’t believe it.

“Why did they? How could they? Why her?”

I tried to put things together in my head.

“She called me a month back. She said she wanted to get back together. It was tough. She was there and me here. We spoke about it. A lot. You know how I can be. I never took her seriously but I was happy.” He gulped.

He continued, ” Yesterday, I called her. She didn’t pick up. She almost never picked up when I called. She didn’t call back that entire day. I saw the news. Pune blasts. She was in Pune. Something within me shifted. I don’t know why. I called and kept calling her.”

I was dreading the worst. I knew what was to come but I hoped that wasn’t it. I was hoping that there was some other end to this story. I just didn’t want rationality to win.

“That blast in Pune killed her. I am just coming back from Pune. I had to see her one last time. ”

What do I tell him? How do i console him? What do I say to make it better when nothing can make it better?

(Based very loosely on true events)

Posted by: psychedchick | February 6, 2010

What if…

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 7; the seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Age 3 years , 9 months and 2 days: My first memory.

Baba came in drunk. Heard Aai and Baba fight. Baba hit Aai.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 5 years, 1 month and 7 days: My first beating.

Baba came in drunk. Heard Aai and Baba fight. Baba hit Aai and then came after me.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 7 years, 4 months and 3 days: My first abuse.

Uncle came home. He put his hand on my mouth and touched me. I bled.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 9 years, 5 months and 5 days: My first burn.

Baba came home to find me reading. He took his bidi and burnt me. I had to learn cooking.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 13 years, 2 months and 9 days: My first proposal

Aai got me all ready in a saree. I had to serve tea to a family. She told me I was to get married. I didn’t know that meant.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 15 years, 5 months and 20 days: My first hope crushed.

I was married to a boy I had seen once before. Maybe this life would end. He came home drunk on our first night and beat me after having sex.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 15 years, 11 months and 28 days: My first abortion.

I was pregnant for 3 months where they tested that my baby was a kill. They had her killed.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 16 years, 10 months and 13 days: My first child.

I was pregnant again. This time with a boy. He lived. All the time I had with him was when I had to feed him. I wanted to be with him more.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 17 years, 11 months and 15 days: My first girl

I was pregnant again. No testing this time. They already had a boy. I gave birth to a girl. Her father never asked to see her.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 20 years, 7 months and 23 days: My girl’s first memory.

He came home drunk. He hit me. She watched.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 22 years, 3 months and 1 day: My girl’s first beating.

He came home. He hit me and then lashed for her.

What if I had spoken up then?

Age 22 years, 3 months and 2 days: My first realisation.

My girl was living my life all over again.

I had to speak up now.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Posted by: psychedchick | January 30, 2010

Taming the lioness

There was not a sound in the house. Just the slight humming of the fan above her and the click of the keys on the keyboard when it was her chance to type. She rubbed her neck. She was tired. But she needed to stay away. This, right now, was familiar but when, it would be morning, it would start all over again. There was a tinge of pink on her cheeks. Not from blush, the natural or the made up kind. It was an allergic reaction to all the weird make up her mother was making her wear. She had to look like a bride.

She wondered what that meant. She was a would be bride and everything she did would be what a bride would do. She had never followed any rules. She raced cars in the middle of the night. She smoked like a chimney. This was the longest she had gone without a smoke. She needed a smoke. She couldn’t in a house full of people. She couldnt wait to get married and get done with these shenanigans. She continued to ramble on. Then, suddenly said to him, you are the reason for all of this. You bloody had to come and ask my parents for my hand in marriage. We couldn’t just run away. Like they could have caught us in my car. Damn you!

He was used to this. He just smiled and said, “I’m taming the lioness.”

Posted by: psychedchick | January 28, 2010


I was so excited to meet them both finally. I had spoken to both a couple of hundred times, met them too but individually but meeting them together was something I looked forward to ever since I first noticed their chemistry.

It has been 3 yrs since he called me one morning and told me about this amazing girl he had been speaking to lately. Soon, he introduced us over the internet. One or two conversations later, I realised what he saw in her. She was this amazing girl with a great sense of humour and soon, we became very close.

He was an important person in my life. I had known him forever. He was 5 years elder to me and knew everything about me and I knew everything about him. He was my anchor and the voice of my conscience.

She was an important person in both our lives. She made him happy and that made me happy. They refused to start dating or give name to the relationship they shared. I hoped they would.

I was the one who resolved when they fought, if they ever did. When I called him and he would be talking to her, he would me on conference and I didnt get the opportunity to say even a word. I would be laughing crazy. I loved them.

Today, she was finally in our city. I was going to meet them. Sigh. I couldnt wait. He called me. I am on my way. I asked him where she was. She’ll come. I havent spoken to her, he replied.

That was odd, I realised but didnt say anything.

He came in with a somber face. A face I had never seen.

“Did she call you?”, he asked.

“No. Why?”

“When did you last speak to her?”

“Before she left, I guess.”

“What did she say, then?”

“Why are you saying me all of this? Havent you spoken to her? Dont scare me.”

“No. I havent spoken to her.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means I havent spoken to her. What is so difficult to understand?” He yelled.

His eyes met mine for just a second. I saw pain in his eyes. I felt my insides churn up. I sat beside him.

“Tell me what happened,” I said softly.

“Will you believe me if I said I dont know?”

“Tell me what you know.”

“I know we have been fighting a lot and then, one fine day, we stopped talking. We havent in 2 weeks now. I dont know where she is or what she is doing. I dont know if she is coming today. We made this plan ages ago and I was hoping she would keep her word and come here. I was really hoping to meet her here.”

I looked at my idol almost break in front of me. I was stunned and didnt know what to do. I was finding words to say something to comfort him.

Suddenly, it seemed like someone was behind us and looked behind.

“Just because we dont speak, doesnt mean this is over,” she said with a smile on her face.

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