Double Standards


I cannot wear a crop top because it exposes my waist,

But if I wear a sari, I am sanskaari to your taste.

It is wrong to sleep with the boy I met on Tinder,

But on the first night, I must sleep with the one who put a ring on my finger.

I am a girl so my best friend must be of the same gender,

But if I want to marry her, suddenly I become an offender.

If my brother is going abroad, he must learn how to cook,

But if he’s here, his wife will be the one with the cookbook.

My parents want me to study hard because my career will give me glory,

But studying abroad is a no because that money is for my dowry.

My brother and I are equal and our parents love us dearly,

But if he comes home at 2 am, nobody scolds him severely.

My parents have brought me up to be fearless, independent, and strong,

But I can’t go on a trip with my girls because men will have intentions that are wrong.

On some days my mother will wistfully say that she wished she was more than a housewife,

But when I mess up cooking or managing the house, apparently I have failed at life.

Women were once considered goddesses because of our ability to give birth,

But if a girl is born today, she will be tossed in the trash or buried in the earth.

Now before you call me an angry feminist and tell me that things are changing,

Where is your change when 75 cents to a dollar is still happening?

Perhaps if you were to shut your patriarchal mouth and just think,

The fact that standards are double and still are might just, in your brain, sink.

Seasons of a Constant


I want to tell you about the boy I love,

I know, I know, yet another poem about love.

But this boy is art and he is meant to be woven in a rhyme,

Cage your hearts though and try not to fall for him by the end of this rhyme.


Each year has four seasons,

Now I’ll correlate each one with him for no reason.

The seasons are mesmerizing and so is he,

Perhaps at the end of this, with me you’ll agree.


Spring is the time when the flowers start to bloom,

Slowly and steadily, gone is the winter gloom.

The days radiate warmth, but nothing too hot,

There is happiness in the air in which you’ll be caught.

He is like the spring because his smile radiates sunshine.

Like the flowers and the ivy, his fingers around yours will twine.

No matter how gloomy your day may be,

The gloom will make way for warmth when his face you’ll see.


Spring lapses into summer as the days become longer,

The sun shines brightly, the heat a lot stronger.

It brings with it those fruits which are oh so sweet,

All you would want to do is eat and laze in the heat.

He is like the summer because his words will leave you hot,

When whispered in your ear as his hands touch the right spots.

Spending time with him is like being on a vacation,

Everything is lazy and there is no frustration.


Autumn arrives with a reduction in the heat,

Seeing the vibrant colours of the leaves is a treat.

It is the second spring where every leaf is a flower,

A last bout of warmth before the cold starts to shower.

He is like the autumn because he is a painting splashed with colours.

His gaze on you for too long will send down your spine a shudder.

His presence eases the transition between difficult times,

His never-ending support prepares you for the tough climb.


Winter brings with it a white blanket of cold,

Reminds you to sit by the fire with the young and the old.

Christmas is around the corner and so is the end of the year.

You wade through the bitter cold because you know that spring is near.

He is like the winter because his arms are the ideal place,

To spend a cold evening in for the best sweater is his embrace.

You think about all those cold relationships you’ve had,

The warmth that he gives you unconditionally makes you glad.


Seasons change year after year,

Each one important, each one dear.

They teach you that change is the only constant,

With that you must learn to remain content.

But this boy remains constant amidst the changes,

The anchor to hold you down through the different phases.

He shows you how to find beauty in the heat and the cold,

Every day with him is watching the beauty slowly unfold.


WhatsApp Image 2020-01-06 at 22.50.20

Listen to your conscience, they said. It will help you to differentiate between right and wrong.
Listen to your conscience, they said. It will make you human.
Listen to your conscience, they said. It is a reflection of who you are.
Listen to your conscience, they said. It is the voice that embodies your soul.

Let me tell you about my best friends.

There is Harry who is suave and can get any girl he wants. His aim is to run out of bedposts to makes notches on.
There is Kyle who stutters his way through the spoken word so he makes do with the written one.
There is Chase who will get into brawls just so that he can prove that he has the bigger muscles.

And then there is me; a shy geek who wouldn’t be anywhere without these three. They are better than my friends because unlike my friends, they are always there for me. They make me feel better when people walk over me.

Harry fucks those men who say that I can’t get a girl. He later laughs and tells them that even if I didn’t get a girl, at least I got them.
Kyle writes beautiful letters to the parents of all the girls who laughed at me. The letters are beautiful because they always have the girls’ lips and tongues neatly enclosed within. The very same lips and tongues they said that I would never ever get.
And Chase? Chase would calmly talk to all those men who would walk over me. But only once he’s done slitting their throats.

I’d like to tell everyone to listen to what their conscience has to say. It is like having a voice in your head that looks out for you constantly. Especially, if you are lucky enough to have three voices like me.



Girls are beautiful.


Have you seen a girl smile?

It’s so bright that you can see it from a mile.

It is the way it lights up her whole face,

Crinkles around her eyes and as warm as an embrace.


The way they fuss about their clothes,

And take a million pictures, all with the same pose.

A cupboard full, but “nothing looks nice”,

Even in a sack, she would be a sight for sore eyes.


An inch extra on her waist would make her scream,

She would deny herself pizza and ice cream.

Going from a medium to large changes nothing,

More curves just means more loving.


She will love and care about you in the extreme,

Some days you will be mad, some days it will feel like a dream.

Fuss and fuss till she knows that you are okay,

Rest assured, for she is the one who will stay.


It is the little things that make her day,

Such has having a coffee from her favourite café.

Having a cat come and curl up in her lap,

Or a dog around her legs, wrapped.


They are always there for one another,

As a friend, a sister, even a mother.

They will help each other get back on their feet;

For they live by “empower, not compete”.


Girls are beautiful.

Colours are important


My parents don’t like it when I hold your hand in mine,

They say that brown and white cannot align.

They think you’re horrible because you eat meat,

And that my religion is superior and you cannot compete.

They say that you have me brainwashed,

And me accompanying you to church is hogwash.

They say that they have failed in their upbringing,

For they only sent me to a foreign land for some studying.

But home I came with you,

I bought a white man to the home of a Hindu.

Such blasphemy they could have never imagined,

It is your skin colour which has them saddened.

They say that you will divorce me in no time,

For your kind, marriage is not for a lifetime.

You see, it doesn’t matter that you love me,

Our future is a future they refuse to foresee.

Us being together is something with which they will never be fine,

Just because your skin is coloured different from mine.



I want to take a glimpse into my future.

I want to know whether my boyfriend will be my final suitor.

I want to know whether he is the one with whom I will have the picket fence,

Or whether one day, I will refer to him in the past tense.

I want to know whether I will be my daughter’s best friend,

Once she’s grown up, will she call me every day or just the weekends?

I want to know whether I will be able to whip up exquisite cuisines.

I want to know whether I will achieve a physique that is lean.

I want to know whether I will have a career in science,

Or become a writer, as a show of defiance.

I want to know whether I will be friends with the same people,

Or whether our strong bonds now will then become feeble.

I want to whether I will mother a Samoyed or a Golden Retriever.

I want to know whether I will be an achiever or a believer.

I want to know whether I will be living in claustrophobic high rise,

Or whether I will have a large backyard and a pool for my boys.

I want to know if I will still be re-reading Harry Potter.

I want to know if I will still be drinking coffee more than water.

I want to know whether I will make a difference.

I want to know whether there will be someone who will look at me with reverence.

I don’t want to know when and how I will die,

I just want to know whether or not I will try.

Try to self-love and to be happy,

Try to be kind and less nasty.

I would really like to take a glimpse into my future,

Even if it is not the entire movie, I will be okay with a few bloopers.



I was all of five when I first fell,

The skin around my knee had started to bleed and swell.

Only when my mother came did my tears fade,

As she carefully pressed on my knee – a band-aid.


Since then I have learned that for cuts small,

A simple band-aid is the remedy for all.

Once put on, everything will be okay,

Because the hurt and pain will soon go away.


Once older, I decided to experiment,

Whether for all hurts, would a band-aid be relevant?

It requires minimum effort in healing you,

So simple that a six year old could do it too.


But as I grew older, I realized one thing,

That it is not only the physical wounds that sting.

Pain and trauma of the emotional category,

Were the ones which were abundant in all their gory.


But to using band-aids I was so attuned,

So I used metaphorical band-aids for metaphorical wounds.

A metaphorical band-aid is acknowledging the emotional trauma,

And then pushing it away and labelling it as melodrama.


For a trauma one or two in number,

A metaphorical band-aid might just work wonders.

But to correctly deal with your problems you might just never learn,

Because a metaphorical band-aid might eventually take a bad turn.


An emotional wound that has been repressed and pushed away,

Is going to get aggravated and rear its ugly head one day.

For no amount of band-aids will help you,

No half-measures will make the trauma subdue.


From five to twenty-five,

I’ve used band-aids to keep me alive.

But now that the band-aids have started peeling,

I’ve realized that there has been no healing.


Putting on a band-aid is another attempt to procrastinate,

While it covers the wound, the injury does not abate.

At the end of the day, you will be plastered with band-aids,

At the end of the day, none of your scars will ever fade.

Dear Friend

Dear Friend

Come here, sit down with me,

I’m trying my best to understand you.

Help me out here; please don’t flee,

I’m trying to see things from your view.


I want to help, I really do.

But if you won’t talk, how will I?

Paint me a map, give me a clue,

I’m tired of seeing you hide your sighs.


Talking about your problems won’t make you any less of a man.

Shedding a tear or two might make you feel lighter.

Sit with me and we will figure it out.

Feeling sad doesn’t make you any less of a fighter.


Things have been difficult and they might get worse.

The proverbial light might be hard to find.

But together we both can nurse,

Everything that has left you feeling resigned.


Me helping you doesn’t leave you in debt,

Why can’t you see how much I care?

I’m a cure, not a threat.

I could be the answer to your prayers.


I understand that you need your space,

But please don’t push everyone away.

No one will pity your tear-stained face,

Some of us love you and we’re here to stay.


I know that you won’t talk to your family,

So please, please talk to me.

I’m not saying that all will be solved immediately,

But you’ll definitely feel less crappy.


I have loved you since I’ve known you.

I still love you in a way you don’t understand.

Seeing you like this makes me rue.

Let me be there, let me hold your hand.



(TW: Rape, murder)


They found the body of the third girl a week after the first,

She was posed just like the rest; bound and on her knees.

You would think that her being naked was the worst,

But she had also been violated and spread open for all to see.


The city was on its edge for three lovely girls had been dealt this fate,

No apparent connections between them and yet something should be there.

They called in consultants, whose past casework was shown to be great,

But just like the detectives, they could do little but pull their hair and swear.


The mayor had called for a curfew,

The days seemed to get shorter.

For a few weeks, there was nothing new,

Then one dawn bought with it the slaughter.


This time, he had posed two together,

The sabbatical had made him more savage.

The flaying was evidence of his displeasure,

There wasn’t much for the forensics to salvage.


However, in his rage and forced sabbatical,

He had made one damaging mistake.

He left behind a piece of evidence so radical,

That the police finally got their big break.


This led them to a middle-aged garage owner,

Who lived with his sweet, kind-faced wife.

A look into his basement and it was all over,

He was the one that they would put away for life.


The whips and other instruments all matched the crime,

To his credit, he confessed to all the murders readily.

The wife had no idea that her husband was slime,

All throughout the trial, she cried steadily.


The trial concluded and he was put away for life,

The people stopped looking over their shoulders.

Girls no longer needed to go out with a knife,

The police no longer kept a hand on their holsters.


Comfortable was what they became too quickly,

For it started again a week after the sentencing.

They were never going to be safe, not nearly,

Because the real criminal was out there, murdering.


The news of the new bodies reached the man in prison,

He put his head in his hands and began to cry.

He thought that confessing would help her reason,

But his wife’s lust had only reached new highs.


(Who is the murderer?)

A Cold Mess

A cold mess


I hope that there is this one day,

When you wake up and finally realise,

That all that time you spent trying to stay,

Was like a ship waiting to capsize.


You fell for that entire “I’m damaged” play.

You fell for that “I need a friend” game.

You turned yourself into his easiest prey,

When in his bed you chanted his name.


He speaks well because he’s charmer,

Cute because he wants between your legs.

Sweet words chipped away at your armour,

As you became putty enough to beg.


So now as you stumble around,

Looking for something to blame.

I hope you know that those frowns,

Are because you lost to his game.


You were another notch on his bedpost,

You were another one he claimed.

So don’t wonder why he ghosts,

Because honey, you should be ashamed.


You thought that you would tame him,

You thought that he’d take you to dinner.

So you put yourself out on a limb,

Believing that in this game, you’d be a winner.


You naive little girl,

You were so deluded.

Now watch the tears unfurl,

Because you let Bumble play Cupid.


Love is what you wanted,

Where people came to fuck.

Here, people like you are hunted,

As for validation, you’d bend down and suck.


I hope that there is this one day,

When you will finally learn.

That happiness only comes into play,

When for a boy you don’t yearn.