Not enough today. 

She hit him hard. 

With a coffee mug and then a tiffin box.

“Baby, what are you doing? ” he yelled holding his forehead. 

She threw a wine glass at him, 

Glass got shattered on floor. 

Leaving a mark on left of his forehead. 

Just a lookalike of one Harry Potter has. 

He started bleeding. 

“Enough my love ? ” she asked. 

“Not yet babe !!  ” he chuckled. 

” You’re bleeding as fuck! It’ll need stitches. ”

” I’ll make you lick it”,  he laughed loud on his own joke. 

” Being funny? ” she asked and threw a beer can at him.  

The can hit his cheek hard. 

“Yeah, a bit. ” he said with a bloody face. 

And a white shirt turned red. 

” I’ll do better tomorrow. Get ready to bleed some more. ” she made a pout and started walking toward him. 

” All yours. ” he smiled. 

“Yup. Forever.”, she held his face and kissed his lips. 

“I love the way you taste. Now, let’s fix this Harry Potter mark first.  ” she said unbuttoning his shirt. 

He nodded and walked toward bed throwing his shirt on floor. 

She brought the first aid kit and sat on his lap. 

” You know, your that stuff tastes better than your blood ” she said and laughed on her dirty joke. 

” What? ” he asked innocently,  holding her hips. 

And they laughed out loud.  

A laugh full of love, of happines, of trust, of pride. 

Happiness of being together no matter what. Pride of being strong every time. 

For world, they were two psychopaths.  

For everyone, she tries to kill him during her panic attacks and he beats her when his work doesn’t get published. 

Nobody knew, it was a masterplan. 

They never fight at all. She hurts him so that he can write.

For he cannot write while being happy and cannot find another job. 

And getting apart was not an option now. 

Yaad hai tumhe? 

Yaad hai tumhe? 

Wo aaya tha.. 

Wo chhote bachcho jaise ladne wala ladka… 

Chhodkar apna sheher aaya tha ..

Tumhare anjaan sheher me.. 

Yaad hai na? 

Saari raat ka safar tha uska

Aur subeh tumhare bade sheher ki

Badi si bheed me.. Ek chehra wo bhi tha 

Wo laal ankho se tumhe dekhne wala ladka.. 
Yaad hai na?  

Ek tumhara naam to yaad tha use 

Saare sheher me

Ghar me mehfooz tha wo.. 

Par fir bhi tumare pass aaya tha. 

Wo ghar se bahar kadam na rakhne wala ladka 

Aa khada hua tumhare saamne meelo ka safar paar kar.. 

Wo kyu aaya tha? Yaad hai? 

Yaar hai na tumhe?


Texting a bro at 1 am. 

**This is the language we all speak. Atleast at times. **

They have late night chats. They are straight. They are bros. 

“You know..  relationships suck! World is mf you know.. You don’t get what you expect. Expectations suck.  World is full of motherfuckers“, he texted. 

“Oh no.. Not again. And What happened this time? ” he got the reply. 

” Nothing.. Its just like orgasm. I have it often.  Its not about her. Its about men, women and the whole world.  You know.. She is online now and she must be thinking I’m online at 1 a. m.  so I must be texting a girl right now, who knows what story must be going through her mind. Fuck this… “

“LOL, it may be true, She’s innocent. And you serious behave like a drunk! Anything happened? ” he got the reply. 

Fuck anything and you know what she cannot imagine? “

” What?” 

“She doesn’t know that I’m talking to an asshole right now not with a girl. Lol. Rofl. “

*Fuck you! “

” Fuck you too! But world is full of motherf****s, and you’re my bro”

“Love is overrated.  Everything will be fine soon. “

“Fuck the world bro, fuck everything, fuck #@#(%@):@@@:.. Society is like a pest.. Fuck Society. “

It continued for an hour. One cursed. They laughed. Rebel got satiated. 

“yeah.. Now sleep. Good night. Need to study . “

“yes bro, you study, get a job. Gift me a guitar. 

And you’re my true brother, fuck the world, and good night.  “


You cannot write when you’re happy 

He was sitting on his chair,

Diligent ; 

I will write a poem for her, he thought. 

He scribbled something on paper but blank. 
What could he write?

Everything he loved was next to him 

On his bed. 

To get a cue, 

He looked at her; 

Drowned in her books,  she was lying on bed. 

He started scribbling again. Nothing. 

He stared at her body. 

Her curves, her hairs, her fingers holding a pen. 

How can she make him write laments and melancholic verses? 

By saying a few words. 

Now she was there : perfect, happy, childish. 

Why wasn’t he able to write anything.? 

She turned, like she knows what he’s struggling through. 

He kept looking into her eyes. 

Asking for a silent muse. 

Smiling back at him, 

She stood up from bed. 

Walked toward his chair and kissed his mouth. 

A long lingering kiss. 

And then giggled. 

oh boy! You cannot write when you’re happy, 

Let me break you..  “

And all of a sudden, he laughed. 

He laughed at the situation. 

Surprisingly, she was true. 

I’m With you

When the sky was somber, 

And the wind was reeky

When his feet were wounded

And his faith; broken. 

When the remains of broken dreams

Made his eyes bled. 

When he couldn’t do anything but 

Scream! Scream Loud. 

When he was on his knees 

Praying for his death, 

She whispered in his ear

I’m with you, now and forever “

She whispered in his ear

I’m with you, now and forever “

And that has made all the difference. 

That has made him what he is. 


The Associate- John Grisham. 

We all have secrets. Some dark ones in our hidden folders of brain. The ones we don’t want anyone to know about at any cost. 

And what if someone knows our darkest secret? And what if he makes us do things we don’t want to do in return of keeping our secret safe? 

My copy.

Just finished reading The Associate by John Grisham. 
The best thing I found in the book was- its not a love story. After being a part of this bollywood and love story obsessed environment, the best thing you can do for a change is read something not related with love. 

Because love isn’t everything we can live for. World is facing crises, terrorism, global warming, space programs, wars, power and hunger games and everything else but love; and our fiction is just bound in love stories and… (oops, I got distracted) 

 I was writing about ‘The Associate’ . It is a thriller and the name of author makes it a worth read. This one is more special as its back cover reads,  “ Full of twists and turns and reminiscent of The Firm.  The Associate is vintage John Grisham.” 

This is the story of Kyle, a law student. He is bright and everything of a hero but has a a dark secret. Some guys have a proof of his haunting past and they want him to do things for him which required going against his work ethics. He is required to be a spy. 

This is the novel about actions, reactions, law world, pressure,  puzzles and introspection. Book covers a period of time where Kyle learn, acts, and fights for survival. 

He is under surveillance every second and what he wents through is something nobody wants to face ever. 

So in short I’ll conclude that if you’re tired of reading meaningless imaginary love stories and even if you’re not tired till now, read this one. Go for it. 

That’s all for today. 

Ek tukda tera 

Agli baar jab milunga tujhse

To poora na sahi 

Par ek tukda tera

Chura lunga tujhse 

Aur bhar lunga jeb me

Bina tujhe bataye 

Bina tujhe dikhaye

Taki jab akela ho jaun ghar aakar

To sath me tu ho thoda sa

Tu ho na ho

Par ek tukda tu ho

Jo mera ho

Sirf mera.. 

Bahot khali hai mera ghar

Itna khali ki ghar nahi

Ab makaan lagta hai

Kuch deeeware aur ek chhat.. Bas

In deewaro ke beech 

Rakh lunga us chhote tukde ko

Sambhal kar, saja kar

To shayad ye makaan

Fir se ghar ho jae.. 

Ho jaega na? 

Par ek baat kahun? 

Tujhe tod bhi to nahin sakta main. . 

Todna chahta bhi nahi

Thoda bi nahi

Kyuki tootna mera hissa hai

Aur jude rehna tera . 

Gone are the Colors. 

Gone are the colors. 

There’s no blue in sky, 

No yellow, no red, 

Neither green in leaves, nor pink in flowers

No brown, no grey, no purple

Colors have left us. 

Or they have been imprisoned in some paranormal dungeons. 

Science has left us. Life has left us. 

The only thing that has survived is darkness. 


A gloomy black shade of black.

Omnipotent, omnipresent black. 

There is some white in small patches. 

They are the carcass of shrine of an old poet. 

Else is black.

Prey, predators and scavengers. All black. 

Black is the color of time. 

Black is the faith. 

Black is purpose of life. 

Black is the meaning of life. 

Black is survival. Black is the color of death.   


Chester Bennington. 

This one is for the guy who introduced me to a new world of music, who taught me that there is enormous music in this world outside our India and music is the most amazing thing to believe in. One who inspired me and millions others to listen and create music. 

In the end ” was the first English song that I listened to and yes, that made me crazy, and of course, addicted to Linkin Park. 

And today when I got the news of his suicide, I felt totally numb. When I got the massage on whatsap, I couldn’t believe it first. It could’ve been a rumour, it couldn’t be possible. He was so young, so strong, so much amazing. 

I googled and wikipedia has changed his bio from “Chester is the lead…”  to “Chester was the..” 

That was heartbreaking.  He was and will remain a milestone in music industry. There will be a long list of popular artists but nobody can replace the void he has left. Nobody can replace Chester. 

He was truly an inspiration for me as well as millions others. 

I had a dream of seeing Linkin Park live once in my life, and that dream shattered today. It felt like, he took a dream with me. 

In the end, I’ll say you will be missed Chester. You’ll be alive forever. 

I’ll never fight again

And this is how it ends – 

Breaking the habit. 

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