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“It’s only when that single pawn crosses an ocean of 64 squares does it have the power to rise as the most powerful of them all- a queen.” The tired voice advised his little princess sitting eager eyed to learn the game of a strategic battle of chess.

The professor taught her everything there is to know of the royal battle. Everyday since the age of 8, she would come along with a wooden chessboard to learn the game from the master himself.

64 squares. 32 pieces. 2 players. 1 battle.

The girl sat with her grandfather as the clock struck 5 right after his favourite television show. And then they played, day after day until it was time for ‘Ramayan’ .Despite an overdramatic cast and a cringe worthy dubbing from Hindi to Malayalam, a fulfilling game of chess, ammamma’s crunchy snacks and ‘Ramayan’ at 6:30 somehow went together to make it her favourite time of the day.

She sits writing this now, trying to relive every small memory that made that 8 year old so unforgivingly happy. But thunderstorms outlived the light and by 2014, the master was no more. The same man who taught her to win the battle of strategy lost the battle of life.

We often think trying to forget people eventually makes it easier to move on. It doesn’t. But refusing to acknowledge pain provides an illusion that it never existed in the first place. So she did exactly that. And it did work, until…

21st November 2014. It was 12:00 in the afternoon, the last match of the day. She stood at the Interbhavans summit of an entire district with gold around her neck. She beamed with pride at the thought of her winning move – a pawn promotion.

As she stood atop the podium grinning from ear to ear, the smile fell short. A few feet away, in an ocean full of people, there they stood ; wildly clapping, with tears of joy at their granddaughter….who came in third. She looked down to see the rival she had ruthlessly conquered, laughing at the joy of her overenthusiastic grandparents. And at that moment, the gold felt heavy around her neck. She didn’t want it anymore. For she knew, that despite the battle, she would’ve done anything to be wearing bronze that day.



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I am drowning in the same air I’m breathing.


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It was his father’s favourite time of the day,

A sky set on fire, kissed the waves.

Besides the view, the old man found no motives here,

But the rush of the waves never resonated with his hidden fears.

Father and son, stood face to face.

The wrinkled skin, held in a hollow embrace.

“I’ll be back, Appa.”

The words echoed in a deafening silence.

Foresaking the pain of a guilty conscience.

Following a toothless grin, a tired old man smiled,

As his ‘honourable son’ walked away from his eyes.

But as time passed by, he began to feel a sunset’s burn,

As he waited for his ‘honourable son’ , who would never return.


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Once in a blue moon,

I take out my silver spoon

Polish it and scrub it, so it never stops to shine.

In a plain wooden cabinet,

with their old wooden companions,

My shiny little silver spoon

Was the jewel of my eyes.

Once in a blue moon,

I take out my silver spoon

Polish it so hard, my fingers start to bleed.

Its shine and sparkle bedazzled my eyes.

Hypnotised by infatuation, I readily concede,

To every hardship and pain, this beauty puts me through

The blood and the tears, must be worth it too?

Until the day I realise, my silver spoon was a star no more.

Superficiality wasn’t worth the pain any more.

Cause beneath that shiny coating, was a toxic breach of trust.

But that’s the paradox of betrayal,

Pure silver never rusts.


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The lights maybe broken, but I guess I still work.
Being a vending machine never has its perks.
The dents and the scars won’t make me last long.
But how come if you kick me hard enough,
I give you exactly what you want?


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Gave you my roof on your rainy days.

But when I was caught up in the eye of the the storm, you couldn’t even lend me an umbrella.


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It’s so much easier, keeping stuff bottled up.

Yet so much harder once it starts to crack.