Creative Writing

This is Not a Poem

This is not a poem

and I’ll tell you why,

because it lacks meaning,

but you’ll still try.

It follows a rhyme scheme

and uses elaborate words –

I used the thesaurus

to identify and make myself feel heard.

This is not a poem

yet it has repetition

to exaggerate the same thing

and convey a meaningless erudition.

Ye still ponder over every line,

to prove thyself intellectual

and use a system of knowledge

to derive the hymn.

This is not a poem

as it has no message


Poem: “I Am One Of The Lucky Ones, Whose Religion Is Not Stamped On Their Soul”

As the chaos enfolds in my city,

I feel the memories of the past rush by.

This city doesn’t feel like home anymore,

my grandma’s tales of partition no longer seem like distant lores.

Bigotry, hatred and violence spreads throughout, as we try to recall what we were once taught.

Nehru and Gandhi curdle in their graves, for this isn’t the India they fought.

Love thy neighbour, my first learning;

is it still cognisant as my Delhi is burning?

Our voices of dissent are curbed and their t


Depression is debilitating and essentially present in all humans, at any given point of time, in different intensities. We can’t really do anything about it, as long as we are thinking about it continuously. But this isn’t the best advice to give someone who’s going through it. Because they probably are more capable of understanding themselves than you are of them. Because possibly they don’t really need your advice, and like most just want an listening ear, not hearing but listening carefully t


I was talking to my aunt yesterday and she told me that she loved what I wrote but it could be more structured in paragraphs. So anybody reading my wavered thoughts, I am getting the hang of this so bear with me.

My writing portrays a side of me which is pure and represents the strands of my consciousness. It is who I am, incoherent as Lucky in ‘Waiting for Godot’ and a deep thinker as one might say.

So, I start by congratulating myself for turning 21. It’s been quite a journey, from a cheerfu

Calm down!

I have heard this phrase so many times now that it’s not even funny, ‘Calm down, Saumya’, or ‘Take it easy, lady’. In the past year I’ve been told to be calm so many times that I’ve stopped thinking where it came from. Be it me having a nervous breakdown, pouring my heart out to someone or talking about my feelings; this phrase has had a punching echo to it, better than any kick I could ever get it.

But guess what? I’m not calming down any time soon. In a world where issues need to be talked ab
Thinking Pathways

Self- Reflections

I started this year hoping I’d learn something and hell I learnt a lot. I took a generic elective course of feminist theories which not only I was passionate about but also wanted to garner more knowledge of due to the hidden inequalities and prejudices I had faced my entire life. Coming out of a bad relationship, I had learnt the harder way that toxic masculinity wasn’t going to solve itself and my sexuality will only be stopped questioning if I knew what I was facing. The more I studied the fe
Fox Searchlight

The F Word

When people usually ask me whether I am a feminist my answer is, “obviously, why wouldn’t I be a feminist.” Most men are afraid of answering this question either because they are misinformed or they support equality not understanding what feminism really is. Feminism is equality is not the idea usually understood by most people. They believe that feminism is the superiority of women while equality is the true term we should use. They feel that feminists are these raging ‘feminazis’ only propagat

Me too

The harrowing experience of being objectified, I may have not dealt with the agony and pain but, should I call myself lucky or am I privileged to not go through this trauma?

They say you don’t know what it feels like. How can you put yourself in my shoes when you have not even walked a mile in them?

But those eyes letching at you can be felt through and through. Even if you’re wearing a Burkha, you would feel them inside you.

Maybe I was too young to know what it truly meant but now that I fu

My Experience With COVID-19: We Should Not Belittle Our Own Struggles

My grandparents were COVID-19 positive, and then all hell broke loose. We all were quarantined in our separate rooms. My father called me on FaceTime. I could see his sad smile, one of relief as well as despondence at the current state of affairs. He was scrambling around looking for medicines.

My mother, a homemaker, became the sole caregiver of the family. As none of us was leaving our rooms, she would wear a mask and leave our food outside the door.

My brother, so used to isolating for a ye

Poem: Wonder

Have you ever wondered whether someone

has had the same dream as you?

The same motion of flying through those swirling clouds,

the same way you fall down endlessly,

and rise up into the night.

The same old person knocking at your door,

with an axe in his hand,

and the same faint noise as he slashes

through the throats of all you hold close,

and you wake up, with a heavy feeling your chest,

drowning in a pool of your own tears.

Your mother heard your whimpering in your sleep
News D

Opinion: The Curious Case of Divyangna Trivedi

Yet another video pops of Ms.Trivedi pops up on Instagram talking about why she hates modern-day feminism. She very easily compares it to misandry. Her point being that feminism is the superiority of females over males. After a quick google search, she finds out that it is the advocacy of women’s rights, and thus, having the word “feminine” does not mean equality.

She vehemently denies that she’s against feminists of the past and says that she has a lot of respect for them, but goes on to say t

Poem: Love In The Times of Corona

Social distancing has left people craving emotional connection and physical intimacy. In times like these, this piece identifies with the goods and evils of the Coronavirus. It is a poem of sorrow and recreation, on introspection and the bizarre ways of life.

What an awful time to exist,

when all that you love stands amiss.

Miles of indifference in these turbulent times,

and thus to forgo my worries, I write this hymn.

Nature has taken its course once again

to flourish amidst the greed

Politics of the Mind

My imaginative take from the movie, ‘Green Book’, a friendship between a black pianist and a driver, Tony, an Italian man from the Bronx who serendipitously finds a job and a friend in Dr Don Shirley in 1960s USA. Tony is often found writing letters to his wife Dolores. In this rendition, I find the pianist in turn writing letters to his mother with the same name as there is no known blood relation in the movie. He and Tony are diametrically opposite in mannerisms, race and status but are often

Lost Spring

‘Like a rusty pane above the door, a woman once fell with a scar. She pulled herself up again. She did not require money or fame.’

She is a lady who selflessly devotes her self in changing 40 or more lives each day. ‘Welcome home’, she says with a beautiful smile on her face. This is how she treat those innocents, as if they were her own.

She does not come for recognition. She has not one identity but respect and reputation she never seeks. She happily teaches those kids like a mother tea

The lady and the tram(p)

The woman sat alone on the train of thought. Knowing nothing about the future, she awaited her destination. People used to call her Sam, but nobody knew her real name. Everybody thought Sam was short for Samantha but that’s another story. This was the last time she would be taking a train journey. It was high time she got a promotion for the work she was doing. She was consulting with an agency, if I’m not wrong. ‘How I wish to take a flight next time’, she mumbled in her head. It looked as if t

Stripes set us apart

The train was due at 12:3 0 am, just missed it by a nook. Aunt Anne perspiring,’’ Not again darling.’’ Uncle John, the miser he was, said, ‘’It is because of you, all that dressing up could have waited.’’ She replied, insulted, ‘’What’s with the attitude, I forgot my pearl necklace.’’

They ended up in bogey of another train’’. ‘’I am not sitting here’’, she answered. ‘’We have no choice’’, said Uncle John, all ready to sit in the most economical space ever. But they felt a sense of belongingnes

The true purpose of life

Some people say life is what you make of it. It’s in the becoming of some person or emulation of one another.

My dad has taught me, that in the quagmire of responsibilities, one can find one’s inner calling. He has made me unlearn certain negative attributes I apply to myself. He has shown me the path to not identify with one identity only. He has made me realize my true worth, not in money or material but, in happiness shared and good done for oneself and others. I have not found my purpose ye

An open letter to the Stanford rape survivor

You are glorious.

You are more than that one night behind the dumpsters. Do not let anyone yet yourself place your honour in your vagina.

It is not your fault, it will never be.

It is the fault of the mother who did not teach her son to respect.

It is the fault of the father who could only cry in agony but never teach.

It the fault of the society of thinking the

victim to be the culprit.

It is the fault of our mindset to correlate a girl’s clothes with her promisicuity.

And forem