Dear Sushant – our shooting star💙

तुम न हुए मेरे तो क्या –
मैं तुम्हारा , तुम्हारा, मैं तुम्हारा रहा
मेरे चंदा मैं तुम्हारा सितारा रहा
रिशता रहा बस रेत का
ए समंदर मैं तुम्हारा किनारा रहा
मैं तुम्हारा, मैं तुम्हारा, मैं तुम्हारा रहा
तुम न हुए मेरे तो क्या
To the humble artist who went out of the way to help others and make others smile, I wouldn’t know how to begin to pen my admiration for you.
It’s true that you were an actor, a brilliant one at that and none of your fans can really claim to know you personally.
But there was something in your smile, an innocence, if you will, which makes me not believe all the negative stories around your end. I cannot and will not, accept any blame put on you. I will not agree with all the mud slandering by the so-called ‘popular gang’. Period.
You can twist the narrative, but never the faith and love people have for each other.
None of us can even to begin to imagine the pain and sense of loss your loved ones must be feeling now. I’m pretty sure, that emptiness, that longing for a loved one never really fades away. It stays and you just learn to cope with it.
But truly, there is just something about you – I still can’t and probably will never be completely okay with using the past tense about you – which makes me want to protect the happy- go – lucky, multitalented and empathetic persona all of us fans have in our hearts. Recollecting the times when you quietly donated to someone in need without making a show about it, or when you visited an old age home and we’re blessed by an elderly lady and when you personally helped a state financially on a fan’s behalf, warms our hearts to you.
I don’t know what will be more difficult – watching you perform for the last time, or skipping the movie because your loss will be imprinted more in our minds, strongly after the movie ends.
Watching you rise from being a TV star to your impressive movie performances, all the while being blessed to get acquainted with your other talents like table tennis, your extraordinary performance at the physics Olympiad and the deep and beautiful self musings you often shared on social media, revealed that you were as well read, passionate and hard working as when you had started out in Pavitra Rishta. It’s true that I was in school, when you started out, but I still avidly remember how loved you were.
Listening to “मेरे चंदा मैं तुम्हारा सितारा रहा
रिशता रहा बस रेत का
Aye समंदर मैं तुम्हारा किनारा रहा
मैं तुम्हारा, मैं तुम्हारा, मैं तुम्हारा रहा
तुम न हुए मेरे तो क्या,” multiplies your absence manifold and I truly wish that things didn’t happen the way they did. You were supposed to gain more love through your performances. You were supposed to be more well known and loved, as the actor you created your initials after.
You were supposed to marry the love of your life, have kids and grandkids and die of old age, with your charismatic smile intact. You were supposed to go through with your dream of participating in the Mars’ Mission, read up more on Astronomy, have sessions to observe the rings of Saturn with your friends and family, listen to Nusrat Sahab in the evenings when you would like to rest and maybe write more beautiful self musings and poems. You deserved love, happiness and peace. You deserve justice. Justice is a must, for your talent, your goodhearted nature and the truth.
It’s at times like these, when you have much to say, yet words fail you.
I am just another fan, but this void seems personal. Your loss is personal, because you were more than just a fantastic actor. You were a kind, intelligent and beautiful soul and I’m sure all your fans, friends and family would second that.
Yes, we lost other talented actors too, this year.
But you will always be our सितारा, Mr. Sushant S.R.
I choose to always remember you by your good nature, of which we have several accounts and evidences and ofcourse, that smile. That damned smile, which made your eyes twinkle.
I choose to remember for your many talents and the goodwill you accumulated, over the years.
I refuse let the negativity soil my admiration for you. I can only hope and pray for your peace . I know you’re content because your mother’s with you now. It was evident, even to us fans, that you cherised her a lot. I hope her company is giving you comfort. I’m sorry for whatever you went through. You deserved all the happiness and much more. From Manav to Manny, it has been a spectacular journey. It has been cut short now, yes. But the people who think life is always fair are really kidding themselves. But your journey will continue to be celebrated, for innumerable times to come. I  truly wish this wasn’t a eulogy, but fan mail. S.E.R.I. – Some endings remain incomplete. Maybe your ending was abrupt and incomplete, too. But you proved that incomplete things could fill you with tears of happiness and joy, be beautiful, too!
I hope in another lifetime, things turn out well and you achieve all your dreams, and maybe bless us with your acting skills someday. ( If the soul truly never dies and the cycle of life is really how they say, I hope we can see your smile again, one day and that it makes your eyes twinkle, like always. )
You are a sensation, SSR. You will forever be our shooting star.
We’ll be blessed by your presence again, perhaps in another lifetime, seri?
Love and light, always.
– Just another fan

P.S. I do not mean any disrespect to anyone. This write up is just an attempt to express a fan’s gratitude and admiration for an artist. Thank you for taking the time to read this! Lots of love!

Wishing Well – Deep or Positive?

“Wish. Make a wish. Wishful thinking.” All these terms have one thing in common – proof of how much humans wish for. Ever increasing, ever adapting wishes. Illogical, impossible, ambitious, emotional or plain crazy; we as humans will be opening a Pandora’s box if we talk about our wishes.
Enter the New Great Depression. It is as omnipresent as it unspoken about. In some form, phase or situation, everyone undergoes this state of mind. Cynics say that it is up to the individual and his willpower to survive this black hole. Thousands of suggestions are put up, loose comments are made on how some people have less tolerance for stressful life events, or any stressors for that matter.   Amidst all this, an important aspect lies ignored. The pressure we put ourselves voluntarily in, as a generation, as a whole. Nobody addresses the elephant in the room. Guardians wash off any impending blame, stating that they never forced us to take any decision, (all the while passive aggressively having arrived at a decision by themselves already.) While we agree on a fundamental basis, how do we tackle a problem ingrained in our generation since childhood? Nobody probably indulges in it directly, but everything taught to us, including the number of stars a kindergarten student gets on his/her  hand for good behavior somewhere, sows the seed for  further hopscotch. “Self criticism is the most difficult and most brutal, they say.” But don’t we all agree , better us than them? We keep ourselves in check so that no outsider can put us in a tough spot later. But how much is too much? Who gets to draw the line? And honestly, even if you knew to draw the line, would you really be able to? You correct yourself once, and it becomes a force of habit. You strive to purge yourself of all wrongdoings, of all wrong decisions to the T. You wish and you wish for some more. I’d wish too, for a coveted position, then for the same position in the same city and then,  institute. There’s no limit to how much I can, or anyone can wish for. “There’s no stopping you”, is the saying. It’s pretty much the same when it comes to being your own critic. You can’t stop because you know yourself inside and out, no pun intended. You know what makes you tick and you know where it affects the most.
“I’m fine, okay?” The truth is, the monster underneath is ruthless. It’s been that way for a while now, because it’s your own creation.
All we need is to love ourselves a bit more, like how we love our wishes, like how we like to dream.
Loving our sanity and happiness more than our often erratic wishes is the need of the hour.

Hands off our bodies

Blues can either be the shades of the sky,
Or the feeling given to you by a weekday
Red can be auspicious for a newly wed bride,
Or a reminder of the moment when consent was forgotten
“Stay away from strangers”, Mum used to say. But what if they were someone under your roof?
People making you uncomfortable were commonplace among someone you didn’t recognize; you could find them in any situation. What if you were being placed under the same umbrella?
What if the main doors you entered and exited through were the same?
Would you stay strong, or cower in shame?
Is your life going to be a product of what happened to you, forever? Do you deserve to relive that fear, confusion and shame every walking moment for the rest of your life? The words ‘victim’ and ‘perpetrator’ are distinctly painted with a different brush here. You don’t deserve to second guess every well-wisher because of that one incident. You deserve to be held with love and care. You don’t deserve to cower in fear at every touch, because not every face will be his, not every touch will be his.
If there’s someone who needs to be ashamed of his deeds, it’s him. Perpetrator, not the victim. Sure, you can take all the time to gather your courage. There’s nothing embarrassing about it.
The best payback will be when you look him in the eye, stand under the same roof, unaffected by his foolishness. He will pay for what he did, eventually. You need to be stop being a victim and start being a survivor, whether you need 6 months or years, you’ll always find people having your back. Truth is, it never gets better. The hurt doesn’t go away. On days when you’re at your lowest, you’ll still find your mind wander to that one basement, to that empty corridor, to the eery room or your own bathroom. Given a bad day, you will find yourself back up there. The key is to survive. Never lose sight of the most important instinct of life : survival. If you just survive, if you just manage to get out of bed for one more day, you will slowly but surely regain your footing in life. Though it sounds impossible at times, you will someday manage to get out from under the same roof and thrive. You just need to shout at times. You need to scream at the top of your lungs for reminding yourself, that you’re a survivor. Not a victim, but a survivor. Never again.

Zindagi Gulzar Hai

On a rainy afternoon, I yearn for peace.
Silence and peace, can they mean the same? Amidst the chaos, I long for some quiet, some solitude. I wish for some sign to tell me that I did the correct thing, that I let you go for my the sake of sanity ; that I don’t wait at the window expecting you to turn up. Watching the downpour, I can’t help but wonder of the reason some people dislike the rain. Personally, I love the rain because it can signify a lot of things. It can soothe you when you cry, showing that maybe the universe is upset as well, at your sadness. It can uplift your mood, when you wait expectantly, for new ideas, new opportunities to take shape, ones which could change your life forever.
I stayed when you asked me to, when you didn’t receive my calls for 5 days straight. I stayed when you were ill, looking after you as though you were my own. I stayed when the first bruise changed colour and even when you said you needed time to think over things. Watching the rain, I wonder how I never thought what I wanted. I never thought of what would make me happy. After being told a hundred times of how to think, how to act, somewhere I lost the ability to make up my own mind. Be it something as mundane as picking out clothes, or greeting someone on the streets, I pushed it all into a latent corner of my mind. I was convinced that making others happy was of utmost importance. You see, when you’re fed a lie innumerable times, somewhere you begin to make it your truth, or at least doubt your own truth ; which is exactly what you wanted, to watch me suffer, because it made you feel superior. Finally gaining some sort of control over my confused, weak mind, if you would, I asked you to come clean to my kinsmen, about where you thought we were headed for. I will never forget your reaction and thank God for that. It seems I hadn’t lost all my conscience, after all. I picked up my bags, disposed off all signs of your presence in my life and headed out of that tall, beautiful wooden door towards the sunshine ; towards the beautiful meadows blooming with Jasmine flowers.
Thank God for that flicker of hope, when I looked towards the sky and realized that the universe was giving me a sign, an indication to let go. A sign that my peace could be different than yours and that it was perfectly normal. It was this one moment, this enlightenment that made a cynic like me thankful for a higher power. Something I could hold onto, something to find strength from, when everyone else left my corner. It was then, that I truly realized- Zindagi Gulzar hai.


Hey, little girl. Welcome back! My apologies that I kept you waiting all this while. What have you been up to? Have you been up to no good, as earlier, or have you heeded my advice? Do you have, yet again, some help to request from Santa this Christmas, or have you been protecting yourself, like I taught you last time? What of your social circle, your loved ones, have you been giving them numerous chances,as always, in the hope that they would understand your dilemma, that you wouldn’t need to raise your voice in order to be heard,above all the noise,over and over again? Have you disappointed yourself again, trusting and waiting for things that may never happen- for that one question to be happily answered or that one coveted object,which may be a necessity for you, but is only a luxury item in the eyes of you loved ones ? Are you guarding yourself too much, or too little, from even those you think you ought not to? So many questions and so little clarity. Too much of anything can be a bad thing, you know?
I know you well enough by now. You wouldn’t have come running to me, if you hadn’t failed humongously in keeping your promise. I see you, day in and day out, trying to look at the brighter side of going back on your word, but ready to light up like a matchstick at any moment. You took new vows, known only to a select few, forgetting our pact. Did you think there weren’t any repercussions of breaking your promise, the only one which you made to yourself back in your teen years? Did you think I wouldn’t tempt you back again into the deal we sealed, then, by showing you examples to strengthen your resolve in your vow which you had made to me? For this betrayal of yours, I will break you down everyday, bit by bit and show you how alone albeit peaceful life could have been, if only you hadn’t jumped in joy at the first moment of realization, or hadn’t agreed to the friendship on that fateful day, skipping the company of the people who gave you company in your daily commute. Cheers to your destruction, bit by bit. अगर इसे बचाना कहते है, तो बर्बादी किसे कहते है ?

Would you still love me?

Darling, do you like what you see?Take a good look. Would you still love me? Do you like the rivers of red streaming down my arms? Do you the glistening drops staining across my body? Do you feel satisfied that they aren’t taped up, bandaged or let to heal any other way? Are you glad that they bleed, cut open afresh everytime you pass a cruel comment? Do you know that everytime you say something unpleasant, I get an opportunity to again dub myself with golden words; words which you might shudder on hearing; words which you might not call someone by, even in your wildest dreams? Do you like it when I bleed? Do you like to stab me over and over again ? If you do, if it gives you happiness, I might just give in to your demand. Let you do as you wish. Because I love you. But, tell me, pray if the rivers would ever stop flowing. Tell me, if you want me to stop loving you. Tell me, if I can ever call myself by my name when I’m stabbed, rather than the golden words- irresponsible, irrelevant, careless slut. Tell me if unloving you would make the glistening stop. Tell me if you would meet me in 10 years and there would be unsaid regrets and apologies between us. Tell me if the butterflies in my stomach are due to my fluttering heart or the now familiar glistening which has become a part of me. Would you still love me? Would you stay? Or has the question now become, do I really want you or just the glistening to stop, because quite frankly, my love, I think it’s all become the same now. I can say in conclusion that you’ve changed the meaning of the word ‘love’ for me. I still love you, always have and always will. But I will hate myself equally for loving you. Would you still love me?
Would you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Still disappointed in my gender

Why do you slip away, my dear, when I think I’ve finally found you?
Why do you feel the need to cut all ties when, for I’m once, I’m truly happy about our equation?
All those laughs we shared, all those crying sessions we saw each other through, were they pointless, in the end?
Whenever I feel like jumping in joy, expecting you to pick up the phone and call me first, is that all in vain?
Do you not feel the need anymore, for me to be your 3am friend, like how we were in school? Have you found someone else, or is it just me who’s mistaken?
Whether there is a replacement, I need to know. For if so, I will train my eyes not to search for your number when my phone rings. For if so, I will let go of my dream of having a sister. For if so, I’ll go of the childish notion that people of the same gender can have a bond which is thicker than blood.
If so, don’t ask me to stop loving you. If so, just give me a goodbye, so that I know we truly mattered.


Perception. It’s a funny word, isn’t it? This little word in the vocabulary is supposed to tell you about the method of forming opinions on matters. This tiny fellow is supposed to make you understand human mentality. It’s used to give a deeper meaning to things. But is it enough? Can one word be sufficient to encapsulate all the emotions, the dilemma you face under varied circumstances on a daily basis? How is it supposed to explain the chill in your bones on holding a knife to your once exposed wounds, which now lay healing, with you in the ‘pinkest of health’ – the same object, which a mother uses to cook food for her family? How will it explain the overwhelmed feeling a homeless child experiences, when seemingly the ‘haves’ distribute a miniscule amount of their happiness out on the streets? Take fire, for example. It can either translate into a festival of lights in some countries or turn into endless anguish for a victim of burns, now laid to waste by a spurned narrow minded fellow being. How is one word enough to express all these emotions? Take the congratulatory word ‘mubarak’, for instance. For some, it’s a congratulatory message, filled with well wishes and love; and a bitter reminder of a ruthless dictator for others.
Some beautiful vocabularies contain words like ‘hiraeth’.
The devastatingly beautiful word: Hiraeth.

It is a Welsh word, that inspires a nostalgic longing, a sort of melancholic homesickness.

It is also a word used to describe a time or place you cannot return to, or one that never was. Similarly, hiraeth can be the yearning for something that cannot be experienced, attained or completed. The piece of music you won’t hear, or the garden you’ll never visit. Perhaps a person you won’t ever talk to, or a someone who never existed at all.

When you can long for something which never existed, how can one word be enough for all that I feel for you, my beloved?

Fairytale at last.

Wistfully watching the heroine’s bracelet getting stuck in the hero’s shirt. Little did she know, years later, her stethoscope would do the same magic with his labcoat


Reasons to give up are limitless. But you need to grow a pair, become strong and surprise me with your success one day. It’s not your time to go, yet.

Wishing I wasn’t yours,

The suicide note you wrote