He took a pen into a gun fight. He flexed his muscles out with all his might. With the end not near and victory far out of sight. He pinned his hopes on his comrades, his pen and his mind.

The world spun out of control as she waltzed into the room, dancing slowly, moving swiftly to a beat of her own. A letter stopped her advances as his pen took its chances. Leaning closer to the parchment her eyes longed for detachment, the letter sucked her deep into a magical abyss, amidst the pain and the pleasure of a wonderful eclipse, reminiscent of a time when words mattered. Yearning for a space where their insecurity shatters.

A dot put an end to a magical beginning, she rubbed the top of her nose as the fireworks ended, the Curtain closes and the lights are turned down, two fingers and some candles igniting her thoughts.

There’s magic in sin, its about letting out everything within. She bites her lip and let’s out a pant. He springs his pen down and casts a spell.



Don’t go out on your own, you probably won’t find home. 

As the world around you swallows you, you’ll be just another kid, floundering yourself in the abyss of a thousand daydreams crashing down and burning in reality. 
Be just like your father, stay home with your mother. Life will always be good. 

You’ll find all that you’re looking for in the same old streets you’ve been roaming on for all your life. 

Just dare to dream, just follow your instincts and be all you can be. 
So go, live in that 6×6 room in the middle of nowhere, collect the hardships and keep them in a boat. 

And let it sail, down till that 6×6 is a 10×10 an then a thousand yards and a large estate on the darkest dayd when you’re dreaming another cigarette away. 
But don’t stay. 
Don’t even listen. 
Don’t find comfort in your life, burn yourself to the ground. 
I’ll stand in my 6×6, on my own. 

It’s not much. It’s not enough. 
But for now. 
It’s home. 

Finality in normality. 

I did something good at work recently got me a lot of benefits and praise.  

Did something no one ever thought i could achieve hell i never thought i could do what i did. It made me..  Change.  As a person as a human being I developed and morphed myself into something better than before. Stronger than before.. 

Life is good these days,  better than i could ever ask for it to be,  better than anything I could have hoped for.  Im moving up in the world figuratively and in a few days quite literally. 

I still see reflections of my old life from time to time.  From before the world ended. From way back when I was an insensitive twat with a corner full of more insensitive twats. My corner these days quite honestly isnt the same as it used to be.  It isn’t what I wanted it to be. 

But it is what it is. And im proud of what  it is. My little shell is what I lived in my little comfort zone was what I was content with. These days it’s different.

There’s a new challenge for me to conquer every day. 

I do look back on the things I left behind to be who I am on the two roads that diverged in the yellow wood.  And mind my Robert frost references but I chose the one less travelled. 

A lonely road to walk on.  A lonelier one to look behind on, for you haven’t known dismay until you see  former lover chose another road with your friends in her steed. You’ll look back on the pack of that rag tag band of stags and wonder.  

Did i make the right choice? 

Was I wrong? 

Maybe I did overreact. 

But if ive learnt anything in the past six months it’s that the only things that matter in this world are facts.

And when the fact is that you’re in a better place as a result of your choices. The trade off of losing people and feeling terrible as absolutely worth it.

3 Years in the making.

Life was different back then, I was a college freshman sitting in his hometown, feeling like I didn’t belong, like I was somehow better than the rest of the inhabitants of my beautifully deranged city, like I somehow needed to do more, to achieve, more. So I lay my fingers down on my keyboard and started to type, I kept typing, I kept on going till my eyes hurt, I dug deeper with every word I wrote, staring into my own soul, my text a mirror for my brain, a reflection in a turbulent river. I kept on going, the mundane became extraordinary, the more I wrote the more I fell in love with words, the prospects of my blog, every new follower that I gained, every hit that I got kept me going, observational prose turned to mysterious poetry, comedy turned to satire, slapstick became my weakness.

I typed away my thoughts till I had nothing left and then I dug even deeper and the deeper I went, the more I thought, scrapping every idea and opinion into a blog post and out of my mind, it kept my mind on edge, kept me wanting for more, waiting for more, Needing, more. I started writing professionally and realized I hated it, I started working on more experimental pieces, like Little Timmy, SSS and a few more things that never made it past the pages app on my mac.

I started writing a novel, about myself because I am after all a narcissist, I finished and deleted it. I wrote another one that sits in the recycle bin of my old Sony Vaio till this day, then I started working on another one and the process still works.

This blog has been a very personal journey for me. A journey that has changed me forever, A journey I wish all of you reading this text would undertake. Because sometimes, the only solution to your demons is to let them out into the world and onto the internet for all of eternity. I was a shy little boy sitting in my room when I started this.

I’m the man I am today because I started this.

Thank you for support, thank you for the love, thank you for the faith.

Bhavya out.

So long and thanks for all the doughnuts.

We bought a pack of 12 doughnuts and three bottles of soda. Two Fat ones rolled and a bottle of whisky primed. 

She moved like perfection on my dingy central delhi matress, she was quite literally the most beautiful thing in a 12 mile radius.

Her face was pretty and her soul kind, her mind was focused and she left all her baggage behind.

She looked at me through the haze, the hot box asphyxiating her gaze, with a stutter and a jitter she held me close.

Told me she’d love me forever and that she’d never let go.

She meant every word she said and i held perfection by the neck.

Two years later i left all of that behind over one lousy night and having too much to drink. 

Today i sit in front of a mirror staring at the man that moved the faith of a nun. I could’ve been her savior and i could’ve had it all, instead im forced to sit on the sidelines watching her gratitude fall.

Surrounded by shelves filled with shelved apathy i look upon my face with nothing but regret. Give me a do over and I’d switch it all over on that, my whole life, i could bet.

Days go by.

You’re checking your phone for a message. One that never comes, you’re waiting on a person who’s waiting on someone else. 

Your expectations lead to experience, your mistakes make you wise, your accidental encounters encourage you.

You refresh that page again. Maybe this time. Maybe now. 

Maybe today.

Maybe tomorrow.

You wait. 

You wait like all of us, waiting for your own personal perfection to breathe its way back into your life, your breath grows heavy as your heart grows wild, your phone just chimed. 

Your life stops and the blasphemy of free will interrupts your day, you take that phone in your hands and open it up.

There’s a sale at vans.

Your pupils dilate and your chest feels heavy, you look away and keep your phone back in your pocket. You’re trying  your best to function but the prospects of her messages keep interrupting everything you reach for.

You’ll dream tonight of a world where you never cheated on her. A world where she never became the person she is now. There’s a song you keep listening to. It says there’s a very pleasant side to her, a side you much prefer especially on these days when she’s all argumentative and shes got that face on.

You’re a shell with a soul, you fight this battle but you know you’re no soldier. The aura on your face depletes with every second that passes, the bag on your shoulder grows heavy and swiping om people’s faces doesn’t help anymore, the world is screeching down to a halt and yet it keeps moving.

You’re stuck in a train heading down a tunnel. A tunnel with no light at the end.

Welcome to the real world. 

Say goodbye to your fairytale

Fingers dimming the lights

I achieve that state again the state where the rotten fish in my mind outweigh the smoked salmon I prepare for my mental dinner.

I achieve the state where a profound sense of sadness grips my oesophagus, slowly but like a vice that tightens with every passing second, it moves and it tightens, its grip cold like a hand dipped into a mixture of ice and water for too long clutching my throat on a hot May afternoon In New Delhi.

It tightens around the oesophagus and clutches the rest of my thorax in a quick but scathing action, leaving my face expressionless and mournful, leaving all the good things in my life scattered and placed around the periphery of my consciousness.

I promised myself I was not going to feel like this anymore, but here we are again, sitting on the hood of Convertible Chevy parked on a cliff overlooking the most beautifully abysmal lake in the world, waiting to make out with the sadness surrounding us.



A lighter bagpack

The self imposed exile thats been jotted  upon my usual place of work impliments a very curious turn of events for me and my fingers. 

Usually by this time Im busy pressing the buttons on my keyboard to form legoble sentences that inspire thought and are designed by employing the strength of all my neural networks at once.

Today though im in the zone and my fingers are ready. I don’t have my computer but I still have a keyboard, its not exactly ideal but it does the job pretty well. However I sit here on the precipce of creation, a nanosecond away from achieving an idea that would change the world, like most writers. 

But theres an inhibitor to my process, this pane of glass I clutch in my hands becomes a burden too heavy for my fingers to support, my thumbs usually rest on the spacebar and shift keys. Today they’re in the driver’s seat, taking this text to the destination it deserves to be in. 

Today I write and today I question, today I ask myself If it’s me who’s the creative ot is it the machine that makes me smart. Is it all me or is it a fancy keyboard? Are my thoughts, my thjmbs and this text editor that wordpress desperately needs to overhaul enough for me to make something good enough to inspire thought? 

Today I type with my thumbs, postponing the efficacy of efficiency in favor of a lighter bag.

Deep cuts

Ive got nothing to say. Ive got nothing to say. Ive got nothing to say.

Harmless goons roam the streets, spewing blood and painting the syreets in my name. 

I look upon my work and think how it got this bad, I liked to run, i liked to read, I always wanted an army, but I dont like to have something to lead.

Ive got nothing to say, I’ll take you down to survive, make sure no number of Phoenix Downs can let you revive from all the things I will put you through.

I’ve got nothing to say, this cuty is the reason i feel like a needle surrounded by metric tonnes of Hay.

This crop at which we stare

The tube moves at the speed of a turtle on acid as my eyes try their best not to stare at the man in front of me or the people that sit.

I was standing before I sat down, they were glaring at me when I stood, they’re still fucking glaring at me, oh god they are talking, Oh my god there’s a baby in the goddamned vicinity. 

I shit you not someone just let one rip,this guy’s scratching his balls, beautiful, thats what I wanted to see when i woke up today,  the one shot perfectly set the scene of my insecure dreams.

A stranger with a stranger’s strange baby, laughing. God dammit. its a kid, it shits and eats, not much more, please stop, someone, make this stop. 
YES. Rajiv chowk.

You’ll save me.



Get off . You guys are supposed to get off. Fucking hell, the bimbo handed the kid her phone, an old couple is standing here too, they look calm, pretty serene to be honest NO FUCK NO not you too aunty.


There’s a different guy infront now, guess what, even he’s scratching awat.