Welcome to ‘The Pocket Diaries’ a global platform for every talent, a suburb for passions palpitating beneath the thick layers of necessities and indeed an initiative to unfold innumerable hidden talents forth you. 

A peculiar concept to bring your dreams to existence by providing you the very platform you always dreamt off. An opportunity to publish your works worldwide and indeed an
endeavour to provide you a ‘mysa’ in this contemporary incessant world.

Poetry, Quill

And…

And I look at my mom – I see a distant image of what she could be
If it wasn’t to be what she should be
If it wasn’t for dad, or for me, or for my elder brother
Only if she had a chance of being herself first – than being a mother.
I sit with her and I look into her eyes, as she cries,
And glares back to her younger side, through me,
And hear it say, don’t worry mom, you raised two good men,
It’s all gonna be all right.

And suddenly at four in the night, the insulin level
shoots and he’s sweating in the cold night.
He grabs a snack from the side and munches on it
while me and mom look into his eyes – they still ain’t watery
Maybe too dry to cry. These nights are so lengthy and
the sun doesn’t shine for even he- who fed fifteen at a time.
Yeah, that’s it, it’s his fight with the time,
Dilapidated and weary, he still smiles down at us
and says don’t worry, I’ve got it, you’re all mine.

And as I glide, through the streets of area four,
I look at the corner three-story house
that looks like coroner, and condenses a cloud
of memories and rains it all out.
I see my brother bowling the eighty bucks red cherry
and I swivel my bat it hits the ball and the window cracks
and my neighbor screams- that’s out just before mom comes out
and we run for our lives and we laugh as we hide.
I reminiscent the launch, the tenth, and the ninth
who do friends change lovers, and love is out of life
I glance at my wrist- gotta run- it’s ten past the class time

And I wonder if he also smiles seeing all this too
as sits back seven thousand miles tryna fit in the shoes
of a man, these times demand of him to be.
In a life, he barely got time to breathe
out a sigh, let go of to laugh or to cry.
But I guess, no matter our different grounds
we both smile cause we’ve got the same blue sky.

And now, I got to keep my quill down
’cause though I don’t really get it
but the benzene ring’s freaking me out.

Quill, Write Ups

Happy Birthday Cheenku

I really don’t get it why do I just fail to write good letters for those who really matter, but yeah here it is.

Friend eh?

A lot of times when I tell people, “I don’t have friends”; they confuse me with some sad lonely knob head. And maybe they are correct in doing so, for what they lack is complete knowledge behind this trademark phrase of mine. Now, I won’t go on sharing the knowledge, but I’ll tell you of someone who somehow manages to break all the bars I’ve set comfortably, and sit as my only undisputed friend.

And honestly I don’t really get it, how does he do that. You see he isn’t one of those famous brats of the school, yet somehow everyone seems to know him. He hardly does anything that would make someone like him, yet somehow everyone loves him. He looks far from fit to play, yet somehow his pull shot is one hell of a thing to witness. He’s more like a paradox and that is why I thought he and me we both were alike.

Well somehow he proved me wrong in that assumption too. We’re far from similar. And as I try to write this too, I just cant explain what is it that makes him so special. Is it that he was there with me from the beginning? Is it that he has seen me laugh and cry and rise and fall? Is it the way he just repeats the motivational quotes, I once wrote on the board, when I feel low? Or is it the weird business ideas that we discuss that makes our bond so special? Is it the way he bought that book as a gift for me at the airport? Is it those tears that he quickly sucked in when he talked of me leaving? Is it… actually the list wont end… Is it, it all? Or is it the fact that I never bothered to try and figure his mind out because I’m too busy living the little moments I get with him?

Actually, it’s maybe the only thing that I don’t even wish to understand for, he and me… we’re like those legends we hear and see…

Jai and Viru, Saadiq and Raees, Kamli and Sanju, Circuit and Munna bhai, Raju and Rancho… or rather the sum of them all

Cheenku and Manan

Uncategorized

TAKHLEEQ

This creation leaves me with the light fragrance of love, the gentle breeze that plays with her hair and the mischief in those eyes, those tipsy eyes. She seems like the lyric of my favourite song, playing in a loop every day of school, making me wistful, blind to the realization of the end of our time together. She stays with me like a warm hug, comforting me when the world seems too dreary to be true.

She was the oblivious to the storms waiting for her, struggling to make herself heard, hurt when her opinions would be undervalued and discarded. But she wore a smile, a facade hiding the pain she went through because Kriti ko Kabhi bura nahi lagta. She hid her insecurities in the garb of narcissism, which she never had. And while it entertained me to no end, I could never summon up the courage to ask how she was feeling.

And today I write to tell her, shake up her soul and make her understand that she is the most beautiful creation, khoobsurat takhleeq, as evocative as the ghazals she likes, as witty as the Shayari she reads. She is a wonder, capable of giving immense love and value to those around her. Even though she is sending memes at the height of evaluative apprehension and chatting away to glory, she has made a niche for herself in my mind and heart. The long line of suitors and her admirers made me laugh when the words of others had pierced my brain. She is my Hamdard ka tonic cinkara, a sweet melody, the sky with hues of pink and purple, the stream of water. She is my calm, she is my strength. And though I am extremely possessive about her, I wish to see her spread her wings and fly into the vast landscape in front of her, explore her potential and discover herself,

It fills me with emptiness when I think about the room of XII-A1 without the stupendous lessons by Ms Kriti Sharma, even the canteen bhaiya is worried about his source of income. It feels me with sadness, overwhelming me as I think about the days when the world was ours, laughter ringing in the school corridors. It makes me happy that I came across someone so genuine that she shines bright in a crowd, bestowing the world with her majestic smile and royalty. Your Highness, I will miss you sorely. You made my existence better, most importantly my jokes, though I have a long way to go.

While my mind fails to conjure more adjectives to explain your capabilities and tears fill my eyes as I wish you a Happy Birthday, I thank you for loving me so that I could love myself.

You are my Jaan. Keep this thought under lock and key.

Love,

Anhad

Art, Brush

Goodbye.

“Please don’t cry my love, Goodbye”
“Please don’t say goodbye, Please don’t say goodbye”
Poetry

Carnivore

Love.
Four words, one catastrophe.
You see love is a wrench,
It’ll lure you in with
honey coated lies,
It is a vicious cycle and
once you’re trapped,
It will bring you to your knees,
Begging for time out,
Love is like two way lane,
Our one tracked mind
doesn’t work in that way,
You wish to receive the
love you’re sending,
But reality is often disappointing,
Love is like plants:
Carnivore plants,
You’ll never know it’ll eat you alive,
spit out your heart,
And leave you all immobile.

Quill, Write Ups

Quieter

Stop.
Just stop, okay.
Stop counting the days since he last messaged you. No, stop thinking about how he hasn’t talked to you since 5 days. Stop staring at the blackboard and start listening to the professor, your melancholy isn’t going to help you with your grades.
Don’t sigh.
Take a deep breath,
in…out…in…out.
He has draped your love with feigned ignorance, stop checking his last seen. He’s not going to reply to your messages.
No, the sunset is not gloomy today, or the night is not quieter. It’s just the smell of cigarettes, not his. Don’t be a wreck.
Don’t hallucinate.
Take a deep breath,
in…out…in…out.

Quill

Thoughts…

Sometimes being stiff, rigid and relentless doesn’t make you strong rather love, tears and hardships do. Sometimes the person you love , hurts you. Sometimes, an unexpected thing just happens and turns your life upside down. Sometimes, you can feel so full that you might be overflowing with joy and happiness. Sometimes you can feel so empty , it’s like you are caught up in a world of perplexities , loneliness and darkness. And sometimes no matter how hard you try to push away a thought, it kind of just stays in the air. Sometimes you know everything and still know nothing. You could be standing in the front of truth , a truth that can hurt you deeply , & is capable of shattering your heart into a million pieces and still not know what to do. Sometimes you just want someone to hold your hand and say,”stay!”. But you see, that’s how life is. Life isn’t a garden with roses, bougainvillea’s , daisies or orchids rather it’s a battlefield. Life breaks you, it makes you suffer, it punches you in the face, it makes you breathless, it gives you pain. Life isn’t one word , rather it carries with it an infinite sea of words and phrases. Life is a lot of things. Life is pain. Life is ecstasy. Life is misery. Life is contentment. Life is heartbreaks. Life is darkness. Life is suffering. Life is a million things but most importantly ,maybe, life is just a delusion.

Poetry, Write Ups

Unfinished

And apparently
moving on is not as easy
as they show it in movies

Months after ‘us’ turned into you and I
I cry myself to sleep sometimes
and you probably smoke all your memories
Too stubborn, aren’t we?
we just can’t take that goddamn phone and
call each other

You know, one of these days
I miss you a little too much
alcohol may or may not have been
involved in the process
So I made you a list of things
I miss the most about you;
your smell, you running your fingers down my
spine, that 9:10 local & platform one

Quill, Write Ups

And So I Conclude To You

There is a humongous possibility that you may criticize me, to the point of where we shall rather call it, crucify me for what I am about to utter. But I plead you to try and understand what I say before the rant is launched.

“I have seen all the works that are done under the sun. And, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. I communed with mine own heart, saying: “Lo, I am come to great estate”. And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in such wisdom is much grief, and he that increases knowledge, increases sorrow.”

With contemplation, we non arguably agree, wisdom is but the prime virtue. And in accordance with Ecbert, such wisdom brings much grief. This brings in the fact that this is rather a loop of grief and wisdom. Where attaining wisdom gives rise to grief but wisdom itself, on the first hand, stems of grief. Creating the eternal loop with no bars on increase in knowledge or pain.

But what I bring to you is a different tale. Where grief is spoken as pain and wisdom, after all, is the sum of emotional and intelligence quotient of a man.

As to what it appears, pain is in a symbiotic relationship with both the intelligence and emotional quotient of a human being. A relation where more is the pain fed, more does the value of quotients rises. But, what makes this relation agathokakological is that pain feeds but only on the human spirit. And by eating the spirit gradually it strengthens the emotional and intelligence quotient of the very body the same spirit resides in. Hitherto creating a scenario where your spirit is consumed by the pain you carry which in turn increases your ability to reason as well as to understand your emotions more efficiently.

To link it to the more common examples in our world, we are well aware of the many stories of how the greatest of men who walked upon the surface of this planet, from inventors, to artists, to investors, to athletes had one thing in common in all their stories- ceaseless suffering. But unlike the eternal loop we talked of, this truth fits into our reality as well for there is a bar up to which a man can live.

This creates a limit upon both the wisdom and grief of a man. This limit is what we call spirit. The day we cease is the day when our spirit runs out, when pain runs out of food to consume. This day our ability to develop our quotients ceases. Our wisdom, our knowledge stands stagnant at a point, out of pain to consume to grow further. And hence, when the heart and mind get stagnant and the spirit runs out it is then that the body stops to function any longer.

And so I conclude to you, suffering is imperative for great intelligence and emotion as well.