Testing 1 2 3

The afternoon sun beats down on the man I can hear yelling from my window,
pushing his cart, which I’ve never seen up close, except once-

younger than 9 years old and
excited to finally have occasion to do so,
rushing down stairs I’d spent countless evenings imagining to house the vilest of monsters in its hollow banisters
(whispered into this hollow, watched them glow bright and blinding, dull their claws and razor-teeth on lemon-juice secrets sour that reject whatever saccharine relief comes their way; some days I’d whisper them a story on the way back from school; others I’d send them messages to deliver to other realms I cannot set foot into yet)
There was a rumor among the kids that he kept children in the burlap sacks under his cart
fed them overripe aubergines and tomatoes until they too turned purple and red
for all eternity. constantly.
I tried to poke at the sacks as he weighed out herbs and roots
(they were empty)
he smiled, toothless, told me to run straight back to my mum no detours.
I told the hollow that I’d narrowly escaped capture at the hands of the town orc;

knew that to be too unkind; came back once the guilt got to too much and told them that the orc is friendly and counts out the exact change. And that he isn’t an orc at all.
Put my ear to the darkness and try to hear if it forgives me.
It does,
I tell myself.

I’m not so sure of it, anymore.

On nights I threatened to run away,
Clutching paper souls in my hand,
I imagine I could melt into this hollow
and I’d be peaceful–I would.
I could cradle every whisper I’ve ever sent into this space,
hold it close and press warm kisses to its knuckles

I have loved for less.

I love for less, still.
It isn’t as fun anymore.
Movies in Technicolor and
crackling black and white to batter home your beauty.
I’m trying to hear if you’ll forgive me.

You do, I tell myself.
You would. If only, you’d press your ear to the hollow.
I have so much to tell you.


Yer Lad’s journaling again kinda sorta maybe and you get to see them a whole 48 hours later!

14th November, 2018

Hello friends, it has been a minute. Mostly because my laptop malfunctioned, and once I managed to get it up and running again I discovered my preferred medium for recording my priceless musings, Microsoft Word (peace be upon her), is no longer included in the device and I must buy Office 365. ???

Technological expenses? In my good, Christian society? Nah bitxh. Wordpad, it is.

In the meantime, I got done with my first university exams! I passed! I will not be detailing the experience–mostly because it wasn’t the best and I don’t want to relive it, but also because it was so many (3) months ago! In fact, I had my 2nd-year orientation today and I have a migraine. Fun!
Speaking of migraines, I also got my driver’s license and discovered driving gives me a headache. Why do people do it? Are they aware they’re responsible for the lives of multiple complete strangers during it? Are the aforementioned complete strangers aware they’re responsible for my life while they’re driving? Because, it’s high time you start acting like it, buddy.
I’ve always considered road rage extremely silly but it took me being on the road for all of 0.78 seconds before loudly questioning the sanity of every single person on two wheels, and also three wheels.

I’m back at my aunt’s place. I got to go back home for an entire month and a half, which was great, would 10/10 recommend. I touched, smelt, and thought of zero textbooks and did all of that with zero guilt, so that was amazing. I’m trying to ignore the fact that currently, there is no hope for a substantial enough break for me to be able to visit home again in the next year and half. But maybe something will work out somewhere, somehow. Positive thoughts.
One thing that was surprising was the lack of extreme repulsion and melancholy at the sight of this city and the college this time. Which is a good sign, maybe I’ll spend this year (and a half lol) considerably less homesick and less generally unenthusiastic about my immediate future. Who’d have thunk?

I also got a ukulele. It’s sea green and I have zero musical knowledge and this is my first instrument! Although, that’s not strictly true; I used to have a mouth organ when I was very young. It was gifted to me by my mother, and I played it all the time–with great fervor and barely a quarter of the talent– until it mysteriously disappeared after several pleas from those in my general vicinity to stop making that noise. I think about it a lot.
I also think about this music box with a mirror and a dancing lady I think I used to own. But I’m not very certain if one of my friends owned it, or if I’ve simply convinced myself that I owned it, knowing I’ve always really wanted that. Fickle thing, memory.

I’ve decided to get my shitake mushrooms together this academic year. Not just academically, but general mental and physical health too. A lot of the first year of college blended into each other, and I’m not going to have this time or be this age forever, and I feel like I’m not savoring it like I should? I feel like I say that every year. Not to needlessly romanticize every moment but also yes 100% I want to do that? I do want to be less stressed and not leave everything up to the last minute because my heart can genuinely not take it, I can feel it struggling to propel the sludge during anxiety attacks and I don’t want to do that to myself anymore. Not to put all my mushrooms in one basket, but I feel like this is one year where I will have the time to make whatever permanent changes or habits I want to implement.

I lost a lot of the fledgling poems I’d been writing during my absence when the laptop decided to just quit on me out of nowhere (rude) so this is all I have for now.

Tune in same time 2-3 business months later for the next update! (I fricking hope the frick not. I’d like to write more this year too, it’s part of the permanent changes I want to implement)

Scar Tissue

we followed the sun
rested our blistered soles on the moon and spun around the earth
over and over
far above clouds we bounced over with lighter hearts

by which I mean we fell in love
–and fell out of it–
survived it anyway.
threw up a little from the motion sickness.

tomorrow will be different
drink 8 glasses of water and not miss a single call for prayer
shower in the morning
walk in the rain
have a stranger punch me in the face
(feel something)

by which I mean we cannot crawl into each other
and shut out the cold–
you cannot outrun the physics
gravity will pull you down
or your errant heart will buzz about in ever tightening circles until it self-implodes
or you will shoot out of orbit and find yourself untethered within static
I don’t know man, I haven’t touched a physics text in a year
I’ve always been better at rhyme over reason
although not even that. lately.

we swallowed the sun
to maybe soothe our burning lungs
(fight fire with fire)
melt away our insides thinking then we could fit better
I don’t want to end on a bad note
so let’s hitchhike on shooting stars
and press salve onto each other’s palms
hurtle through the atmosphere and sing the alphabet
pretend the heat hasn’t left us shrivelled husks
who (finally) fit into each other like puzzle pieces

there’s a garden here
tell me there’s a garden that survived the summer


A Highlight Reel of Every Thought I’ve Ever Had:


If I can’t lift my feet off the gravel,
I will dive headfirst into tarred roads,
chasing every cloud tethered to a puddle,
what’s one cracked skull, I have other bones

–this is not a metaphor.



I am tired of the weight of meaning,
of: this leaping toad is me,
I am the toad
and the moon is every possible thing I have ever loved
and the persistent buzz of the fly is the herding call
for all of my failures since the moment I slid out of the womb,
which rumble back from distant, foggy pastures into painful high definition
dragging me right with them
into the pit of endless despair.



Maybe if I talk to myself loud enough
I can drown out the high-pitched keening
from under my bed.



‘This is not a metaphor’ I tell myself
when I accidentally send the last blob of toothpaste down the drain,
already ten minutes late.



sling chicken bones into the parched night,
an offering in return for the promise of rain
(–pass it off as successful witchcraft when it rains 4 days in a row, nearly 2 months later)



You tell your friends I am still in love with you,
and I let you because it seems like you need that and it doesn’t hurt me.

A boy trips over air and I tell him I love him
unburdened of meaning
–and then the girl who sits beside me,
and the ruffled crow overhead as I walk home–
I don’t know much about astrology
but maybe Pluto’s in retrograde.
or was it Uranus?
either way, I fling all my affections onto whatever cosmic rock is willing to take them.



Buried and planted seem like polar opposites
even though they’re more or less the same thing.
–and I thought I was the first one to ever think of that
but I saw a picture yesterday that basically said the same thing,
only better.
So. are we all ambitious colonizers
bumbling their way into exotic lands
claiming to ‘discover’ them before afflicting the natives of debilitating disease?



It isn’t comforting to be reminded
that things don’t just happen and then dissipate.
it’s all right here in pockets that I’ve given up trying to empty.
sand clings to things
and I cannot tell what grains I gathered at 12
and what at 19
I went to the beach and I will have gone to the beach for all eternity.



if I hold my breath for long enough underwater
I won’t ever have to come up
but I can pretend well enough that my lungs crave the touch of air too much
for me to stay here forever
(–most days anyway.
on others, I stay away from the water)



Dear Raj,
I’m afraid we must cease our dalliances
for I have joined catholic school and am to become a nun
khuda hafiz.



I used to think I could be a fortune teller
Tea-leaves were the preferred medium;
I didn’t like tea, however.
A dilemma.
mum got me a set of stories from the stall next to the restaurant
whose name I can never remember
(it sounds like rose petals and kebabs, a hint of green)
I read about Musa (a.s) and thought perhaps tea could work the same way.
I hadn’t understood what sets magic and miracle apart
(faith, I think. I could be wrong)
For the longest time, I was afraid of getting into the pool.
the slightest of ripples was a potential miracle.



Imagine getting paid to look at the stars.
(imagine getting paid to heal people)



This is my last year of feeling.
I’m afraid I’ll grow up and nothing will ever be beautiful again.



Perhaps I could grow to be a lighthouse:
always in possession of the safe way home;
but only the ships know of monsters;
there is no value to a home I never leave.



I have moulded the fat that hangs from my arm
for maximum aerodynamic efficiency,
I could dive off a cliff and nothing could ever temper my velocity
(nothing would ever try to, I don’t think)



I don’t think I bruise easy
though you wouldn’t agree if you were to look at my forearms or hips or legs
I think it’s just:
every time I think I’m walking through doors (or walls or tall, metal benches)
I’m simply walking into them.
(where would I be if I were to keep count of every hurt)


On nights less gracious than most
I tell people you were born of fire
I am all the bitter brew I need to keep awake till dawn.
(clay hearts break easy)
Happy poetry month! This might not seem like it, but I wrote this over the course of the past month and I don’t think I have anything more to add to it. Also, the image is a sketch from a few months ago. That’s it. Thank you for your attention. 

fall asleep to the tik tik tik of the universe expanding

Dated: 23rd March, 2018

I…have my anatomy sessional tomorrow. It’s currently 7:03 pm. I’ve been awake since 4:30 am and been studying since. We had regular classes until yesterday. I had a good panic cry around 6pm when I realized I still have all of neuroanatomy and osteology and histology to go over, and I’m not even done with all of the gross anatomy yet, but I decided to stop and take a shower and I’m currently immersed in sweet-smelling body lotion. I haven’t moisturised anything other than my perpetually parched face since the last time my parents gave me a bath, which I’m guessing was probably like a good 13-14 years ago, so this is nice, I guess.

Look, it’s okay, I just have to breathe and do whatever I can, and I will have done my best, because I did try really hard this semester compared to the last one; I’ve been doing fairly okay in the weekly tests, I’m pretty happy with the majority of the test results but none of those will matter if I don’t do well tomorrow and there’s just so much to do.

Neuroanatomy is…it’s. It’s fun but it’s also very overwhelming.


Dated: 24th March, 2018

The exam got over at 12:30. I came home about an hour ago. It actually wasn’t as bad as I was expecting, or as bad as it could have been. I don’t know if I wrote as much as I should have, but I barely finished on time as it is, I don’t think I could have written anymore without completely missing some questions.

Physiology on Monday. I’m not looking forward to that. I don’t even know where to start with physio. It isn’t a difficult subject, really, but we’re doing several systems at the same time which makes lectures confusing. Only two of the professors actually pause to recap and it’s just such a haze.

In other news, I’m getting stress zits, which isn’t a big deal–just a mild inconvenience at best but I’ve also lost a third of my hair in the past 2 days! I’m going to be bald by 21!
I! Love! Education!
No, but I really do though. Even though they’re stressful times, I really like exam season—I only have to spend 3 hours in college every other day and they go by really fast and we get 4 days off after. 4 entire days! We have the practical exams on the day we get back, and those include both actual practicals as well as theory viva and discussion—which is where they give you a specimen and ask you questions about it.
So, if you mess up, you can witness their disappointment in real time!

I kid. I’m fairly certain I will mess up even if I know the answer just because of sheer nerves—but that’s okay! The purpose of these is to get us used to it so we learn to keep our cool.
Point is, FOUR DAYS! Plus my practicals only start on the 3rd, so I’m gonna take an extra day off.


Dated: 26th March, 2018

I have the physiology exams in 9 hours. It’s past midnight, I’m going to try to get at least an hour of sleep but there’s so much??????


It’s done! It’s done, it’s over with. Went…alright, I guess? I managed to get TWO and a half hours of sleep, I’m not even tired.


Dated: 28th March, 2018

I had biochem today. It could have gone better, but it wasn’t too bad; I should pass. I’m looking forward to catching up on sleep.
ANYWAY, I’m going home today! I enjoy packing my little handbag for travel so much? It makes me feel so grown up, hey here’s the book(s!) I’m going to read on the flight, and here’s the lip balm and the moisturiser I will forget to use and here’s a gold glitter pen and the little sketchbook and my credit card and passport.

I’ve also had to pack textbooks and notes because practicals (which include theory viva voce) start the day after I come back. But! I’ve also packed the first edition of the chronicles of Narnia (it’s been 10 years since I last read it, can you imagine? Ten) and the first instalment of a 3 part series by Stephen King (the other 2 parts are obviously not in my possession, how else am I meant to continue the tradition of unknowingly stumbling upon a series and causing myself great upset) so I’m all set to lead a double life for the next 5 days!
(the last day is 4/5th waiting around the airport, so I should have plenty time to revise)

I haven’t been home since classes started, which was last September, and I just miss existing in that space so much? Like, the night air is different and the lights are different and I miss the feel of the earth upon walking out of the movie theatre at 10pm with my mum.

7th grade

My heart skips a beat and I grasp on to it by its coattails, firm and unyielding– do not run. Do not run where I cannot follow.
If you’ve got your mind set. Take me with you.
up and up and up until my feet forget they’ve ever known solid ground
I float and dart and weave in between clouds
you are so tiny from up here
so far from real
I don’t know why I was ever worried.



Hello Hello! I haven’t been around for a while, during which I’ve turned 19 (!), flown giant kites (well kite. flown giant kite. At the beach! The night before my birthday! Nothing to cure sad and self-pity like giant golden kites at night. It’s in my room right now!), passed my First Semester Exams (The 2nd sems are coming up in exactly 2 weeks), scrubbed off and regrown the skin over my hands 87000 times and collected 6 new cardboard boxes I swear I will find some use for. Also this blog turned four years old.


Maybe this year, I will stop writing in code.
perhaps I’ll tell you I’ve been in love for a long time
with things other than the morning air or the smell of drying paint
maybe I’ll name you
say that your words sting sharper than the knife I’ve fashioned out of things I should have let fade but instead press over burning skin

say maybe I’m only half joking
say grief is a familiar poison I pretend to have the antidote to
(I got it from my mother who got it from her mother who got it from her mother or maybe I got it from my father who got it from his father who got it from his father who—either way)
there are no pretty words to say I spend so much of my time blinking back tears—I don’t like writing tears,
‘tears’ is an ungraceful formulation.
I’ve seen it displayed in crystal vases, but all I have is this old plastic jar that used to hold Nani’s hair cream that she never used. It’s an okay jar as far as jars go.
I don’t think you’ll like it much.

But maybe this year I won’t worry about that.
here, this is the jar.
take it, open it, pour it over your roses or into your bio-compost for all I care
I don’t care.

It’s a new year, it’s too soon to care.
that imitation moonbeam I gave you last week was about sexual harassment.
this soft blue blanket is about going swimming with my sister
this hilarious gif is about crying over being so far away from my family
this china bowl is about being stressed all the time
this green tea is about thinking maybe nothing will really ever make me happy
(except maybe being exactly 11 years and 2 months old, in an air-conditioned room with one green wall, wanting to be a middle-aged house painter with a fridge full of impressionable penguins–which is code for: I frickin’ love Mr Popper’s Penguins)

The jar’s olive green and promises to banish hairfall


Yours Truly,
Simran Can’t Curse On Paper

happy new year

the picture is from my aunt’s garden which is currently flourishing so happy new year to the plants as well i suppose.