Open Letters, Quill

Happy Birthday Eishta

Well, to be honest, I don’t know you much beyond your perfect brush strokes or your sublime sketches, but still, I guess, that’s not a reason good enough to not write this letter, is it?

So imagine videotaping rubbing an entire eraser into those residual spongy fringes it breaks into… And then, rewinding the entire video as a time lapse. Sounds foolish right?

Now imagine, each fringe is one of those little miniscule conversations we have – about art, about ambition, about religion, about suspensions – and everything in between. Then believe, the end of the video, the complete eraser, that represents a perfect alliance. And as for the time lapse – that’s life.

Yeah, so, fitting one chat at a time, fringe by fringe, into a seraphic mould aka eraser, I guess that’s the only and also the very essence of this co-artist/worker/acquaintance bond we share.

Looking forward to being lucky enough to the complete the eraser.

Happy Birthday Eishta

Keep creating wonders

Open Letters, Quill

Happy Birthday Nitesh!

Dear fufu,

This letter- it could have been another birthday tribute to you for teaching me everything that you did. For making me familiar with the ups and downs of a website, for making me acquainted to the technical aspects of both laptops and life… But this letter- it wouldn’t be one of those.

Today, I don’t want to acknowledge everything that you did for me but I want you to take a moment and appreciate everything you did for yourself.

Maybe it’s because of you that I find it funny as to how people say support is necessary to accomplish any considerable thing in life. For you, you accomplished a good, (beyond good 😉 life itself with the support of no one but your own enormous will power.

I read it somewhere, “Fast success builds ego, slow success builds character.” And today, I want you to give yourself a pat on the back for the man you carved yourself into.

If a person ever is asked to create a perfect human, then for sure you wouldn’t be half as similar to what he’ll be creating.
But I am more than sure that whenever a person, someone who knows you, would be questioned to name the most ideal man he has met, he wouldn’t think of anyone other than you.

And that is the beauty of you. You’re a set distinguished flaws and distinctive strengths , a set far from ordinary yet relatable to all, a set you can always look up to yet a set that never would look down upon. A set too simple to be put into words, yet a set too complex to be cherished alone.

Happy Birthday Nitesh.

Open Letters, Quill

What Do I Know

To What Do I Know,


Honestly, I don’t really believe in the concept of good songs, bad songs, or favorite songs at all. There are just relatable and not so relatable songs.


Maybe ‘Tu Koi Aur Hai’ struck a chord in the heart of that writer who was forced to pursue science- so it became his favorite song. Maybe ‘Phir Le Aaya Dil’ resonates the same pain, the same longing she has for her (not so) lost lover- so it’s her favorite song. And just like that when we all just couldn’t understand what ‘Gucci Gang’ was trying to imply- we tossed in the other can.


What synchronizes with your core, inadvertently, sticks to your core. Our desperation to be understood, to find something we can relate to, is probably what unites us as humans.


And for a man like me who just can’t comprehend ‘why are people so bad to each other, so often, why can’t people simply love’ What Do I know comes to my rescue. It isn’t exactly a love song and neither is it one of those freestyles that bombard bold political statements covered in beats.

It’s all about simplicity and maybe that is exactly how it fulfills its purpose. 

It’s listening to Ed Sheeran read Hafiz in Rumi’s field. It’s about realizing you don’t need mass movements to change the world- ‘we could change this whole world with a piano, add a bass, some guitar, grab a beat and away we go.’ A subtlety asking us to stop finding loopholes in our own moral fiber on the name of growth. It’s Ed telling us when another pandemic breaks or the stock market crashes, he’d still be sitting here with a song that he wrote, singing, love could change the world in a moment 

But what do I know?

Poetry, Quill

Business

I often pour cranberry blend into a decanter and leave it for a couple of days to rot.

Until it turns rancid and all the sugar turns sour. To sip on it is an acquired taste, more like inhaling cigarette smoke.

And while I lay on my bed, with closed doors closed and lights off, with this secret recipe of mine, I wonder to myself-

Am I allowed to feel?

I do know you can trick people but not yourself and I do try- to be true to my conscience- and let this gloom envelope me. But I fail

I fail to feel

A deep heavy voice strikes the back of my head, “You can’t waste this opportunity. Not often does this mighty sadness descent upon you. Stop mourning and trying to feel and go and create. Mould this gloom into a poetry or something before it vanishes.”

A good businessman gives his clients what they desire the most and also makes sure that he pounces on every good opportunity. And poetry, and this word play.

Isn’t it but- Business.

And isn’t this what this generation of ours, this generation of half hearts and half smiles, truly desires? Talks of pain and narrations of sorrow that tells them you’re not alone.

So I throw my hand on the switch right above my bed. Pull out the chair, and the dusty diary from the right of the book shelf. And I take a quick glance on the screen of my phone- I click your tab to check if there’s any new message, I smile at nothing, have a good look of your face and re read our previous conversations- all this before my conscience catches me.

And by the time, conscience could react to this cold heart of mine, I already have used that glimpse of you as a source of rage, of fuel, just as this pen uses ink and have begun to write.

Poetry, Quill

Top Of The World

[Intro Speech]
Ambition is a scary thing, mate.
But let me tell you this, what’s real tough is not the journey…
Not at all. It’s what comes after that.
While you rush for your dreams, even the hate acts a fuel, pumping up your adrenaline. You get to convert every emotion, form pain to love, into a rush that makes you even more dedicated towards your goal.
But once you reach there… then what? You can’t rush no more… What to do with all the love and the hate? When you can’t ignore everything anymore? When you can’t just run to the top any longer, cause you’re already there. And then…

[Verse 1]
Then soon they’ll discuss you to the point of imprisonment
until you’re left with no choice but to reminiscent
of the times when you hadn’t yet lost your mind
tryna figuring out
who was up there against and who was standing on your side. And now
the expectations exponentially rise
so to cope up
I started bullying my mind
exploiting it in ways I shouldn’t do
but it helped me pull out rhymes I otherwise
wouldn’t be able to
jot down. It’s like,
snacking on valium every single night
giving rise to a pain that
acts like the price
that you pay to the critics in return for their smiles. But now
I just can’t let go of this dine
cause twenty-four seven I’d be hitting this vibe
lying bare on my bed
hallucinating the crimes
that I’d be committing
if I hadn’t got these rhymes.

[Background Speech]
Now speaking of crimes… it takes me back… back to you

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
.
.
.
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
.
.
.
Waiting for you…
Lonely…

[Verse 2]
And the Sixteenth of may
would have been our anniversary day
but we parted ways
September twenty seven was that day
and ever since I’m trying to reach you
got some words to say but
never had a chance so I put them in this verse to lay.

You were always full of whats and whys
complaining the grass looked greener on my side
but you had to get your perspective wide
to understand the pain I hide.
My life was almost a homicide
that time I was so traumatized
I needed your shoulder to cry
but you pulled your back on me that time.

And now I get it too,
It was fine if you really wanted to leave
but was there any need to prick the bubble
right in me ears and wake me up from my sleep
Cause we were still together holding hands
sitting across the sunset point, in my dreams.

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
.
.
.
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
.
.
.
Waiting for you…
Lonely…

[Verse 3]
Now I don’t get what am I supposed to be-
a soldier who never loses his composure?
who never blunts, neither lets out a grunt?
And I’m honestly sorry for blowing off once
Though it still was better than disappearing for months
And even knowing that I was mourning that time
for the losses I had
It still wasn’t a reason big enough for you to call me back.
Instead you gave it to your friend, who went on and on
confronting me for the man I was
But tell me one thing love, did she even have a clue
of what that sting was.
So take this is as a gentle knock, on the door of your brain
to never mock again, a pain that you haven’t endured

Though this is not what it is all about
cause I know I crossed my limits and
you know you went out of bounds
But now it just seems too heavy to be carried around
this ego thing is pulling both of us down
Let’s make things simpler just how they were
Let’s get back along, both of us together

Cause I know, even though we don’t see each other no more
Deep in your eyes, even when you smile, you wanna cry
What kind of being strong is this, when you can’t even laugh
I’ve let my guard down already, enough of it cherubie, come back.

[Acoustic Chorus]
When the night, seems, a tad too dark
When you’re sitting alone, the life so hard
And a tear rolls down your ruffled cheek
Don’t throw your hand to wipe it quick
No more second thoughts…
.
.
.
Come sit by me…
I’ll be on the top of the world…
.
.
.
Waiting for you…
Lonely…

Poetry, Quill

Cost You

Genre: Subtle Horrorcore

How much would it have cost you, a lousy letter or a call
I suppose, not more than pulling that pistol out of drawer
Cocked it, aimed it, shot me in the head
but smart enough not to leave any proof
for anyone to find it was you who got me dead.

I was lying there bare, and my brains fell out
picked it, pushed it back in and tried to crawl out
As I regained my conscience, it was crazy what I found
The scene was all clear and no blood was spilled around

Confused, I dazed tryna figure why my head would hurt
Only to realize the irony that curbed
That the bullet was just silence, and the pistol were your words.

Now as I walk along the streets, people confuse me with alive
Asking all their whys and how the grass looks greener on my side
Until I start to tear it all out, let out wild cries
Just run in my room turn the system onto max, in a hope to hide.

Sheets rolled all over, I sweat hurled in a corner
Where gloom looks at me like a coroner
I picture your face in it, and start throw fits
like a crazy addict, cutting but air with his wild violent hits.

But soon I grow weary and start to lose my breath
I feel your hand at my throat, choking me to death
The vision blurs down and it all gets dark
And glad I lay, with no more tries.
Seems a happy ending
But soon a stark streak of light enters my eyes
The sun is back up, got to get back on life.

As I plod to the shower, I wonder to myself
How much would it have cost you, a lousy letter or a call
I suppose, not more than pulling that pistol out of drawer.

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

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 rise. 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.

Poetry, Quill

To The Stars?

Hey, people, this is my first ever rap. Hope you all enjoy it.

All characters and events in this rap- even those based on real people- are entirely fictional. The following craft contains explicit language and description and due to its content should not be viewed by everyone.

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Also, I strictly am against the use of explicit language, yet keeping in mind nature of the industry and the need of hyperbole I had to include 6 such words in this 1019 word long rap. So, I’ll still censor a 0.0059 part of the rap, for I dont wish to degrade anyone’s dignity, not even accidentally. Here we go

.

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Yeah, go again. That’s good huh?

.

Pick up the pen and open the pad

That’s a good alternate than look so sad

Now go back try vent out the crap

And vomit all out call it a rap

Then see them go crazy and mad

You write so well you must be crack

Well maybe I’m just a jack

But what if maybe Prodigy’s back

.

Prodigy made me and entertained you too

Can’t be gone already didn’t forget him, did you?

The crazy one, the one they call rude

And shrewd and lewd and the one who’s booed

When he walks up on the stage, yet without an apology

Maybe that’s why you take a bow, and call him prodigy

But how can I be so sure of his revival

When I, myself sit here struggling for survival

In this dark, in this abyss, where there’s no music

And no humming, and the beats ain’t drumming

And the rhymes ain’t running, and the quill ain’t flowing

And the flow ain’t going, and the fire ain’t blowing

And the eyes ain’t glowing, and this shit ain’t selling

And the pain’s only swelling and I sit with my head, weighed down

And raps ain’t spitting when I open my mouth

Got to put my hand in my throat and

Grab some lyrics and pull them out

Just to be sure I’m not knocked out

.

Knocked out from this game of pain and shame and blame

Where friends and lovers are changing every second

But I don’t wanna play this I reckon

Aah, you don’t get a choice, I’d rather die

You forgot it again, Kings never die

But you can always grab a corner

Where you sit and cry

You sure about that? Sure I can cry?

Oh yes I am, of course you can

After all youre just another man

That’s the best thing I heard, heard in days

Cause trust me dawg, I too want the same

Well in that case, I’m so sorry mate, it’s too damn bad

Cause now it’s something you can’t have

Whoa what’s that? Why I ask

But meanwhile three already shattered their hearts of glass

I rush to the sound, grab the pieces try to put ‘em back

But in the process, I cut my hand

And as if I’m some random woman, they see me bleed

And throw me out of their clan.

.

I sit back smiling trying to comprehend

Where when why in the wrong I went

How did I come in this position to vent

Was it in the fete or the texts I sent

Got to sit back for a moment and reminiscent

Cause let me honest I’m out of gas

.

Got to end this mess, stop being an over understanding a**

Seems like the end is near, got to pull out my finger dear

And not the ring, thumb, index, or pinkie dude

The one you pull out when you’re about to shoot

How many times do I tell you dear, I really just don’t care

Whether you hate me, or love me, or like me player

Just tell me where’s my God damn snare

Cause from this fake love of yours we are all so sick

And this ain’t for you, but the other one who’s reading this

The one who acted like a prick

Who created this illusioned love story of ours

Where I bring her the moon and all the stars

Well that’s the problem with all you girls

Talk to you nice, you’re singing with the birds

.

Now coming back to you, you go to my family and you cry

And tell them why he and me, we both should die

After all we force you to choose, and you get all so confused

Well guess what beggars can’t be choosy, and hear this from a beggar too

A beggar turned King, King turned poet, a poet who sings

A singer who’s dead, the dead who grins

I guess now its just turning into a diss track

.

Look at it yourself, even your thought is enough to distract

We’re now changing all its course, and getting on the opposite track

I’m steering it, this rap is a ship

I’m both zenith and nadir b****

any you don’t deserve any of it

Just stay a f***ing mile away from me

You better watch your language there

You better save it and shut up b****

It’s already enough of it

Can’t take no more of your s***

It’s a humble message to you all

Stop your a***s from bouncing on the wall

Gonna grab your throats and choke you all

And there’s no jokes or fun here kids

A simple warning gonna tear you in bits

Cause even I’m afraid devil’s back

He’ll put you all up in a sack

Light a fire beneath, and hear you shout

And wouldn’t even piss on it to put you out

.

But I don’t think I’ll be able to do that too

Seems, after all, I’m not so screwed

So once again, I’ll got the other away round

Pick up a two-point stick

And hammer it down my esophagus, till I can’t shout

And a lovely little fountain of blood spurts out

In the background, a profound harmony plays and trumpets fade

Creating a perfect verisimilitude, as to die I fall down

Like a man who tied his throat, with a rope

But the Gods cut it down, I touch the ground

But get right back up, horns start to blow and drums beat again

Just like that, I’m psyched back up

Did I fail again, or is it success

.

This Rubik’s– beautiful tangled mess

I look in the mirror all perplexed

Can’t even cry, nothing to regret

Just slide open your cupboard

Pull a suit, and get back dressed

Show the world why you’re the best

Everybody knows it’s lonely at the top

But I can’t just sit back and sob

Fit your shoes, the moon wasn’t far

Too easy dawg, now let’s get to the stars

Now let’s get to the stars

Now let’s get to the stars