Men in Love

Over the years of my writing, I often pen down how women love and feel. I have written of a woman’s heart -how it can be crushed under the rocks thrown at her by the very men she loved.

And yet, not until this year did I realize something- I have rarely paused to think about men in love.

And not the loud, dramatic kind of love.

Not the poetic, bleeding-on-paper kind.

But the quiet kind.
The kind that sits in their chest and refuses to come out.

Maybe I never wrote about men in love because they are taught they are practical. Stable. Providers. Less emotional.
As if responsibility has replaced their softness.

But softness does not disappear.
It just hides better in men.

Men in love are easy to miss.

You won’t notice it when they are standing in front of you.
You notice it when you turn around to leave.

And something in you feels their eyes still there.

They look at you like they are trying to memorize the back of your head.
Like they want two more minutes of your presence in the air.
Like they almost say “wait” —

but swallow it.

They do not speak because they are terrified of being misunderstood.
Of looking weak.
Of caring more than you do.

Men in love look at you from the corner of their eye.
Not because they aren’t confident —
but because they are studying you.

Your smile.
Your mood swings.
The way you roll your eyes when they tease you.

They replay it later. Alone.

Men in love smile differently.

There’s the real smile — the one that reaches their eyes when you laugh.
There’s the polite smile-when they didn’t fully listen but want you to think they did.
There’s the impressed smile-small, proud, quiet-when you say something intelligent and they think, God, she’s brilliant.

They don’t always say it.
But they feel it.

Men in love carry old damage.

A heartbreak from years ago that they pretend did not hurt.
A betrayal they never processed.
A moment they decided they would never be that vulnerable again.

So they build a wall.

Not brick.
Not stone.

Something transparent.
So you can see them.
But you still can’t fully touch them.

Men in love get angry when you don’t eat.
When you don’t rest.
When you let the world mistreat you.

It comes out as irritation-but underneath it is fear.

Men in love become protective because they have been in rooms with other men.
They have heard how some of them talk.
They know what ugliness exists.
And they would burn the world down before letting it reach you.

Men in love try to hold your finger first.

Because holding your whole hand feels like too much to ask for.
Because rejection would crush them more than they will ever admit.

If you ever look long enough into a man in love’s eyes- really look,you will see it.

That softness.
That melt.
That surrender he will never confess out loud.

Men in love are not loud about it.
They don’t always write poems.
They don’t always cry.

But, they love in protection.
In silence.
In showing up.
In fixing things you didn’t even know were broken.

Men in love, will pretend to forget, only to give you a chance to complain. 

Men in love, will miss valentine’s day but will fill gas in your car, without you telling them. 

Men in love, will make some tea when you most need it just by the look of your face. 

Men in love, will send you flowers to your work place unexpectedly, just because. 

And, the men who truly love-they carry their hearts in their hands, pretending they are strong enough to survive another fall.

But the truth is —if it breaks one more time,they don’t know if they will know how to put it back together again.

To be continued..because I don’t yet know everything about Men in Love. 

The tall glass of water

After 11 years of marriage, Valentine’s Day starts to look a little different. You realize you don’t need vodka shots anymore, but you need a tall glass of water every single day.

This Friday morning was no exception—cloudy skies, sickness spreading through the house, cranky kids stuck indoors, and no plans for celebration.

I woke up with a mind spinning in a million directions, the weight of a week’s chaos heavy on my shoulders. I dragged myself out of bed to prepare for a meeting, hoping to clear my head and get through the workday. But as soon as I made it to the bathroom, the familiar sound of a tantrum followed by an even louder shout from my older one broke through my fog.

Glancing in the mirror, I sighed and muttered to myself, “Happy Valentine’s Day. You asked for this in some lifetime, didn’t you?”

The youngest came running into the bathroom, wailing as if the world was crumbling around him. Between his sobs, I caught a few words: “Chu-chu train.” Huh? 

I tried to ask him what was wrong, but all I got in response was more tears and a full-blown tantrum. I heard the words “t-shirt” and “chu-chu train” but still couldn’t make sense of it. I just stood there, frozen, trying to figure out what to do next.

Then, in the middle of all the chaos, you appeared—like a beacon of calm in the storm. There I was, a whirlwind of exhaustion, frustration, and tangled emotions, and you just walked in. You looked at me, messy and overwhelmed, and without saying a word, you wrapped me in your arms. Your warmth cut through the tension, and in that simple embrace, I could feel the weight of the world lift just a little.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you whispered softly, your words a lifeline amidst the noise. And, as if on cue, the background soundtrack to my life—a cacophony of wails and shouts—was suddenly accompanied by the high-pitched, nonsensical chorus of “Chu-Chu train.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, but the tears came anyway. Everything seemed to unravel in that moment—the exhaustion, the mess, the endless loop of chaos—and I just melted into you, feeling both fragile and strong all at once.

You gently pulled away and kneeled down to our youngest. With your patient calm, you asked him to repeat himself, even as his sniffling echoed in the room. And through the tears, he hiccupped out the words once more: “Chu-chu train. T-shirt. Yellow.”

And in that moment, it wasn’t just a t-shirt. It was the simple magic of you—holding me together when I was falling apart, even in the midst of a Valentine’s Day that looked nothing like what I expected.

And then it clicked. He wanted his yellow "chu-chu train" t-shirt.

I walked over to the laundry room, of course, because the house looked like a bomb had gone off. I dug through piles of laundry until I found what he needed. As soon as I handed it to him, the tears stopped. Just like that—one battle won because of you by my side.

And then there’s everything else you handle. Picking up medicine, doling it out to everyone, soothing cranky kids, managing my endless requests for attention, handling work, listening to my endless rants, all while stealing those little moments of connection in the middle of the daily grind.

They say a woman wants it all—or the cliché: What does a woman actually want? But in reality, all we want is the person who sees you at your worst, understands the chaos you’re swimming in, and still lifts you up. The one who picks you up when you fall, holds you steady when you’re standing, and crawls alongside you when you’re too tired to keep going.

The one who, without being asked, makes the perfect cup of tea and reminds you that love isn’t about flowers or chocolates—it’s about being there, fully, in the mess and beauty of the everyday grind.

Love is that tall glass of water, tender and pure, sipped daily, never tiring, always the cure.
Though the world may tempt with fleeting, wild vodka, it’s the tall glass of water that heals, quenching thirst when the night’s a blur.
For when you wake, hungover and heavy, it’s the water you crave, steady and ready,
A love that nurtures, simple and true, the one thing that always brings you through.

Of mommy's saga

This year marks seven years of being a mother, and you might ask what took me so long to write about being a mom. Finally, after so many years, I've come to realize that the portrayal of parenthood often bears little resemblance to the reality many of us face. The world seems to paint motherhood with broad strokes of glamour and fulfillment, presenting it as the pinnacle of a woman's life. We see images of blissful mothers in picturesque settings, with serene smiles and happy children. Yet, beneath the surface, the truth of motherhood is a mosaic of unsaid pain, sacrifices, and emotional turmoil that rarely makes it into the spotlight. Every single day, a woman doubts if she is making the right choice for her kids. Every single day, I ask myself - if what I am doing is enough for them to be better humans ?

When you become a mother, advices comes pouring in from every direction along with the most common dialogue - "This time will pass away soon, make sure you enjoy it". People tell you how amazing it will be, how fulfilling it is to raise a child. But amidst this sea of well-meaning guidance, one crucial question often goes unasked to parents: How are you feeling? How are you coping with the relentless demands, the sleepless nights, and the constant mental load that accompanies this role?

My younger child turns three this September, and while I've learned and grown as a mother, there remains an ever-present cloud of guilt that hovers over me. I question whether I am doing everything right, whether my moments of frustration with my elder child or my outbursts in front of my own family have caused harm. The constant cycle of self-doubt is exhausting, and each time I see the sadness in my children's eyes, I feel as though I have failed.

Nobody tells you about the intense emotional struggle of leaving your child at daycare, trying to appear strong and composed while your heart is breaking into a thousand pieces. The never-ending “mom, mom, mom” or “dad, dad, dad” can drain your patience and test your calmness. Did anyone mention that this unending call for attention would require a reserve of patience you didn’t know you had?

The truth is, parenthood is not just about the sweet moments of laughter and joy that we see portrayed in the media. It's about the sleepless nights, the overwhelming responsibilities, and the personal sacrifices that we often keep hidden behind a facade of strength. It’s about the internal battles we face, trying to balance our identities with the demands of raising children who depend on us entirely. The load that we are responsible on raising a whole new generation in the world of social media, gaming and peer pressures. 

I wish someone had laid out the complete picture for parents from the beginning. I wish I had known that being a parent is one of the hardest, most challenging jobs we could ever choose, but it is also the most rewarding in ways that are not always immediately visible. The world runs on the energy and potential of our children, and while that knowledge is a powerful motivator, it doesn’t always make the daily grind any easier. I wish, that someone would have said loudly that I will be holding multiple emotions at a single point in time. 

It is time to acknowledge the full spectrum of parenthood—the beautiful and the brutal. Let’s be honest about the struggles and support each other through the trials. Instead of glamorizing the role, let’s speak the truth about the dedication it demands and the emotional resilience it requires. By sharing these unspoken truths, we can offer a more authentic picture of what it truly means to be a parent, and perhaps, find solace in knowing that we are not alone in this challenging, but profoundly meaningful, journey. 

The Heartache 2.0

I walked over myself and crushed my heart one more time to tell you, that I needed to step back. Although, the heartache knocks on me, every minute. 

I distract myself and pretend to be normal but the tingling feeling of this slight pain in the heart, never goes away. 

I wanted to see you and feel as though I felt you. 

You asked me if I was bored of you? 

Devastation engulfed me; as if you believed our connection was mere entertainment, not the soul-stirring symphony that I thought we have.

How do I tell you more clearly that my stomach still churns when I hear your voice and I feel a little wet when our eyes meet. 

You asked me if the obligation to talk is a stress? But, do you never realize that talking with you is my daily elixir, a potion that I could sip on everyday, to fill the void? 

My heart speeds up a little with the non-stop thinking about you, as though trying to catch a breath from running behind you. 

I think, My heart had an ache, when you said, you don’t know how you will feel, when I step away. 

Because, then why do I remember, all the feelings that I ever had, like waves washing on the shore, they engulf me, pulling me towards you. 

You had written well that everything goes into the background but looks like, we will end up there without each other. 

In some life, I hope to be yours, to be besides you and never not leave your side, where the foreground and background will be same.

For now, I hope you feel so much depth about me as much as I feel about you.

Do you? Will you? 

I hope I mattered a little in your daily grind. 

Did I ever? 

     Will you have a heartache just as I do? 

"With People"

Someday in this life or in a parallel life, you will have the time for me and hopefully you will make up for all the moments when I did NOT cross your mind. 

Because, you are the "nothing" that is on my mind, when someone asks me what I am over-thinking about. 

I wish you will make up the time that you spent "With People" and not on me. 

Because, I know, If I was in your place, I would have found the time to talk to you, unlike you.

I wish your "Ttyl" becomes "I want to talk with you now." 

Because, you are never my later, and have always been my now.

I wish I get a reply to every single question I have asked.

Because you always get an answer even before you ask.

I wish you shower your love when you can’t, because anyone can do, when they can. 

I have so much to give to you and nothing to receive but I guess, I am too much extra to ask for, for you.

Go find something less, because I deserve a lot more of you.

The sinking situationship

This labyrinth of emotions, the intertwining of waiting for you or giving up on you, landing in a so-called realm of "situationship." 

Where are we? Rather, Where am I for you? 

Just like a ship, climbing great heights and plunging to profound depths, why does my heart soar up and plunge down in disappointment, thinking it needs you in any form? How more painful can this all be? 

A text, a call or just the intent of you wanting me just the way I want you?  

In the whirlwind, when I can calm myself, I realize, I don’t really need you. 

It's a stark fact, a truth I can't deny. I can stand on my own, walk my path, and face the world without your presence. 

But, Only if you knew, that you shouldn’t let me face this alone. 

The sun will still rise, and the world will continue to spin. I don't need you for anything at all, and yet, here's the twist – I find myself needing you all the F****** time.

When you're absent, everything appears to be the same, but it's not. It's a mirage, an illusion of normalcy. 

In the depths of my being, there is a tempest, a storm that rages with waves as high as a tsunami. 

I wish you could see it, feel it, understand the turmoil that simmers within me.

But, like always, its not christmas that my wishes will be granted. It is halloween, so all I will get is ghosting. 

You will ignore everything that I write in plain text for you and walk away sooner or later.  

Will the situationship sink ? Your favourite word for me is no, but the answer is yes for this and like the past, I will never see the sea-shore, let alone feel it. 

Octobers

In everyday chaos of my life, I am reminded on how much power I always give you to break my heart into a million pieces. 

How much power you have, to always make me feel alive and then slowly kill me with time.

And, Congratulations,you out-do your own performance each time, as you compete with yourself on, how you can trample my heart better, each time, winning every single time.

It is October, the trees are changing their colors and I thought, you have an October too.

Unfortunately, I have had only one season of yours. 

De-compartmentalize Me?

Someday you will de-compartmentalize me and ask me how am I doing? And, I will tell you exactly how I am doing without you - Very miserable. 

May be, it is hard for you to believe that my love runs so deep, because such love is rare to find.

May be, you are better at compartmentalizing and locking me away, and I definitely am a loser in that sense.

Your dimpled smile replays everywhere, whether I close my eyes or not. 

That little blush you got, when I accidentally blurted out “Love you”. 

Damn, what are you? Why do you make my heart flutter at small gestures? 

Although, I shouldn’t expect anything from you because yeah, you have mastered the art of not fulfilling them. 

But, someday when you ask me how am I doing ? I will tell you, what a volcano of love I have for you and nowhere to erupt to. 

Someday, I will tell you, I don’t know if I can ever, lock and compartmentalize you again ?

And, someday I will tell you that you invade my thoughts, without my permissions, more than you will ever know. 

And, someday I will tell you that I keep on waiting for you.

And, someday I will tell you, you are the ingredient that fills up the void in me. 

And, that you are the dose of poison that makes me feeling alive. 

And, you are the reason, why I can pen down everything, that I cannot tell you. 

And, in some season, I will wish that someday you will stop compartmentalizing me.

The Leftover Love

What is it about this leftover love that never seems to be done? 

The Sun succumbs to the darkness each evening but this leftover love for you refuses to? 

Why do I have a part of you in me? 

And, why do I feel you have a piece of my heart with you? 

Why do all the lines of my poetry lead back to you? 

Why, when I cry a river, it flows towards you ? 

Can you tell me when will the leftover love for you be done? 

Because, this hurts like hell knowing I cannot have you. 

Can you please take all these leftovers with you while you go? 

Can I have a piece of me back from you? 

How do you manage to tame my fire and yet ignite it as the same time? 

You asked me: Why I don’t get goosebumps? How do I tell you that I am dripping wet thinking about you and goosebumps are too minimalist for me?

When do I get answers to everything I ask for and un-ask for ? 

Do you know that somedays I don’t know if I wait for you or try to forget you, making me stuck at both things, at the same time? 

Did you know that I have entangled myself in the spiral of addiction for you? 

Will you detangle me ever? 

I wonder, if you will ever know all that I have for you? 

I wonder, Will I ever know if you have any leftover love for me, just the way I have for you? 

Do you know I have been falling for you again not knowing where I would land? 

The Blur

I tried to capture the fog through the lens of my phone, but all I could see was the Blur. 

Why not me?

You ask me why do I stare at you? 

I do, I feel I just want to keep staring at you, like someone would stare at the orange moon on a full-moon night. 

I try to find a little bit of love for me in you, like someone trying to find constellations in the sky. 

I try to find some answers that have no questions with it. 

I keep looking at you so that I can dream all about you later. 

I look at you and wish I could shower you with all the love in me that I ever had for you. 

I look at you and wait for you to shower all the love you had for me, but, wait, did you ever have any for me ?

I keep looking at you, because I wonder, if I ever will be able to look at you like that again? 

I look at you and still wonder, what would have life been with you? 

You don’t speak much, so I try to read your eyes. I try to follow your breath to see if it has my name on it? 

You ask me why do I stare at you? 

I ask, why not you ? 

I still ask, why was it not me? 

One Sunday..

I am in the grocery aisle..I wish you were on the shelf, so I could pick you up and check you out and take you home with me.

****

You said you make great eggs. You don’t know how crazy I am for all the egg recipes, infact eggs are my weakness. I had to make an omlette today, allthough it wasn’t on the menu. My heart said so, How does omlette and Aloo paratha sound to you? 

Who said you can only make things that are supposed to be on the menu? 

Who said I should follow the rules? 

Who said you should not break any? 

Can you break a rule for me ever? Because, I can, a million times to be with you. 

And, one day you could make a sunny side-up in the shape of a heart for me, please? 

And, I could devour you with them in my lazy girl pajamas on a lazy sunday morning? 

Ah, the could’s and the should have been’s. 

****

You posted a pic and that is not mine. It looked as though I had seen a STOP sign when I was on 100 in the 65 zone. 

I put the brakes and jolted from the inside. 

****

Lazy sunday afternoons, a little rain in the forecast, Fall coming soon, chai with extra adrak in the making. I hear you calling my name. 

Do you think I will cocoon myself in the yellow comforter watching the rain from my bed or will I get drenched in the rain? 

Rain and you go back years ago. But, it feels just like yesterday. 

Have you ever felt the rain in early Fall?

Have you ever felt the way I feel for you? 

****

Clips of the day

 When you aren’t around but you still are around. 

I have been washing away every possible thing in the laundry room today, thinking I can wash away your thoughts. 

I could not. What a thunderous shitshow. I walk, I stop. I close my eyes and see you. I open my eyes and still see you. 

****

The bedsheets are crumbled under your thoughts. The bed remains unmade. Will this straighten out ever?

Can I strip the bed out to see if I can strip off the feelings for you from me? 

**** 

On an another note, Can I have some bubbly champagne today to celebrate my lonely satin sheets?

******

I might have written about gravity before but here It is again, because I feel that gravitational force one more time. Or, it never left. 

Can we slow-dance together and slowly lip-lock and never leave each other ? 

Why do I feel so alive when I write about you? 

******

You, sundowner. I saw the bottle said 5.5% and you asked, how am I drunk already? Little did you realise, its not the bottle, its you. 

Someday I will look at you without guilt, because you will be mine. 

Mine, forever and may be, I will not have to stay miles away from you or from your touch. 

****

Date night

Did I tell you I can write about the three letter word that everyone wants but no one wants to talk about out loud?

Your eyes might lit up or you might be in awe or in utter shock or dissappointed. 

Do you always think what will the world say? Or for even once do what you really wanted to do? 

I couldn’t figure out, just like the countless other things about you, but did you for a moment think why I should not write about it?

On the airport last weekend, I saw a sign called Rebels make it happen. I wish you were the Rebel in my life.

 

A full moon night, with a burning cigarette in hand, three drinks down and high, Can I Stand in your balcony looking over the city lights, with my hot pink satin robe on, my hair down, kiss-ready red lips and my eyes wet, to drown you down a little? 

As I see the cig burn, I feel a little fire in me, thinking about you. 

And, may be you will call my name from behind, to ask if I needed some wine with it. Hmmm..my name on your lips..creates a “zafraan” in me.. 

I gestured with my kohl eyes - “I want you” 

You flashed your dimples but did not come anywhere near me. 

You have this little arrogance in you, everytime I see you. 

I took the last puff in, blew it out in the city’s smoke. It blended in, just the way I was about to blend into you. You knew I would come to you. No matter what. I always did. I was dying to come to you. 

I stubbed out the cig. Walked towards you. 

You in your black tshirt and boxers lying on the couch, pretending I did not exist. 

I saw your whiskey, I saw you. 

I could not resist both of you. I gulped it down and slumped to the ground, near your feet. 

You were looking at your phone because you knew I would come. I always did. 

I was a little offended with the piece of ignorance that was served to me, so I pulled the strings of my robe. 

You tried to take a peek and our eyes met. 

Did I start a little fire in you? Or not yet? 

You bent down to gulp the last whiskey drop from the lip-stained glass and carried me over your shoulders. 

    

     Did my robe fall yet? 

     Why do you think I will remember?

Because, you put me in a trance with you. 

Did you throw me on the bed? Did you ignore the imperfections of my body yet? 

The soft moon light coming from the balcony, straight on the bed turned us into love seeking animals quickly. Did I say Love or Lust? I don’t care, as long as you are involved. 

Oh! How much I missed you touching me so deep! Your lips on mine, our tongues clashing into each other like the waves of the sea. 

Did I feel my heart beating? I wanted you! All over me. Over and Over again. 

You sensed that and made me beg a little for you. 

You moved away, I pulled you closer. 

You licked me on my neck and I could feel a little thunder in my body. 

I din’t know if you were mine or not but my body din’t care in the moment.

Did I lit a fire in you or not yet? 

To be continued.. 

Cold mess 2.0

This is repetition. But, this is also being drunk in you over and over again. This is also being high without the weed. 

What is it about you that makes me go weak in my knees?

What felt like a million years ago is now fresh as pasta made from scratch with a hint of neat vodka and on- the-rocks rum mixed together. 

I am reverbing a slow death with you, so, will you please come and move my ruffled hair from my face and maybe I might not stop you. 

Can you hold me in a way that I cannot go? And, maybe I will give in?

Can you crush me against you so that I can crumble into a million pieces for you? 

Can you stay in me forever to amplify these ripples in me?

OR 

Can you go away again ?

 

“I cannot stop thinking about you” sounds cliché but that is what my apple watch heart notifications say. 

Should we feed the f****** fire 

or douse it off before it explodes? 

I know the answer and it sucks because I am on a path to destroy myself with you, all over again. 

Did I become a cold mess version 2.0 already ?

 

What Women Want - Unlocked

To seek attention from one to many, to want to flirt and not want to flirt, to commit and to be free, to travel and netflix-chill, to wake up early and sleep in late, to go on adventures and remain safe at home, to cook and to be taken to lazy girl brunches, to long showers and unshowered days, to tea in snowy days and wine on warm nights, to dress up in sequins and lounge in pajamas, to curl the hair and don messy-buns, to grocery shopping and instacarts, to cupcakes and green salads, to feel happy and to feel in vain, to dance and to shavasanas, to be enticed upon and remain fiercely loyal, to feel crumbled and put together back again, to red lipsticks and unkissed dry lips, to be a boss lady and to surrender.

To flowers and chocolates, to surprises and shocks, to chess and ludo, to fiction and reality.

To feeling gut butterflies and springs in feet, to constantly worry and think F*** that, to caring and not giving a s***.., to picking up the call and declining it, to always texting first and leaving on unread..to pray and to cuss..to be bold and be scared, to be independent and yet be chauffeured, to be a rebel and to be a dutiful lady, to be a free spirit and to be a butterfly yet cocoon herself. To writing and to being read to, to endless cups of tea and being coffee-less.. to pour wine or being poured to!

To be unread and re-read a million times, to be silent and be chirpy all the time, filled with void and pumped in love, to unknown mood swings and known issues..to footprints in snow and being sun-tanned. 

To drunk nights and sober games, to dance like no tomorrow and wiggle carefreely on the floor..

To not have to decide if dal-makhani is better or punjabi kadhi should be devoured on the buffet. To have both served on the plate without the guilt!

To dampen the fire, douse the flames and to light it up. 

To receive soft, caring, healthy love and be aggressively, passionately loved. 

To be given up too soon and to be pursued forever.

To each on their own, but we eventually find out what we really want.

To having it all.. to women who want to have it all.

                       Embracing the AND and Navigating the OR.

Peaceful Chaos

Where do I fit you in the present ? We do not have a future, so I choose to live in the past and recreate my own peaceful chaos. ​

Unsaid

|| सुइयाँ भी इतनी न चुभी, जितनी तेरी खामोशी ||

For the love of unsaid conversations

2021

I asked you how is 2020, just to tell you how mine is. 

You haven't replied yet, so, I have been writing everything under February, hoping you will read it before 2021. 

9-5

How is it that people think going 9-5 is productive and sitting and thinking about you from 9-5 is not ? 
How do they not know that I feel the most alive in the latter ?
How do I not know that I shouldn't care what they think ?