Welcome to inkthink.

In this huge universe moulded by the different galaxies consisting of solar systems containing stars,planets and what not, I, a tiny, thoughtful resident of Earth would like to ink out my thoughts and make an attempt to get you entangled in a series of thoughts that I, myself chance upon often.Well, I earnestly hope that this blog of mine succeeds in spreading a precious smile across your face and gets you trapped in the web of mesmerising thoughts.Thanks for stopping by my blog !

Distance. Distanced. Distancing.

Picture courtesy: Pinterest

I’m aware of the different forms of the root word above. I particularly chose this set. Let that sink in for a while. 

Distance (noun).  

Distance is a numerical measurement of how far apart objects or points are. Distance is a factor that you chose, or are bound to follow to favour situations. Perhaps you have to head to another place for greener pastures, but physically you are forced to leave precious things behind. Perhaps you are to head home but your parents stay in a different place than what you call “a home”. But to the people who move often, one’s gotta fix that situation and call people their homes, rather than the existing concrete ones. Distance is a product of an involuntary circumstance or a remainder of a near-perfect division. In short, distance, to me, is a bitch. Of course, I can’t be expected to keep everyone I love close to me always. That’d be silly for I can’t take claim of their individual lives. But. Distance is notoriously known to make conditions a little harder. Maybe we can’t help it considering how migration is rudimentary. That being said, to the ones reading this, and to the ones who were/are close to me, here’s sending you a little extra love. Out of sight, out of mind is easy but thanks for choosing to keep in touch, even if it’s just a hi. 

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Image courtesy: Pinterest.

There’s no orthodox start to this article. That isn’t a well-thought title either. It is plain. A cathartic release of thoughts having a rented yet untimed session of squash in my head. I’m the only one in this room. But, strangely, I feel eyes on me. Are you watching me?

Let me lead this prose with a fact. It’s not always you’re surrounded by sweet company, it’s not always that you have at least one person to turn to at any point in time (as much as they quote on ‘teenage posts’ or the otherwise cheesy articles, wake up child, life likes to handle you rough). Before you start shaking your head, please note: exceptions exist. When you’re sitting on that swivelling chair, aimlessly pivoting about that one spot on the floor, you begin a chain of events in your head. The first mistake: to think. Because then you go tumbling down, a swarm of thoughts buzzing around and you’re struggling to break free; to break free from that buzz that makes you want to pull each and every single thought out and swat it left and right. But they’re thoughts, duh insert Billie Eilish’s ethereal voice. They’re intangible. They’re abstract. The second mistake: thinking that your first mistake was a mistake. I mean common dude, you gotta cut yourself some slack, right? Thinking is only human. You’re still only watching me play squash.

I know I’m lucky. I try to convince myself I’m lucky because I kinda feel I have it so much better than the others. And while this angel is placating me with real facts, there’s a devil on the other shoulder poking me with his pitchfork, trying to tell me that my thoughts are valid, my supposed pity fest can now be a party. I try not to choose this view. Ah, very lucrative though, let me tell you. But I’m sure you’ve seen the Roadrunner show. In that show, gravity never worked until the wolf looked down. In my case, the thoughts didn’t come barreling my way as long as I didn’t think about them. Like I said earlier, now there are two sides. You’re debating with yourself. You try to convince yourself that you’re special. There’s another side connivingly telling you that you’re average. While Statisticians love this word and I love Statistics, I hold a special hatred for that word, “Average”. So deceiving. The word average makes you feel like you belong yet there’s always a possibility of you being that outlier. Data glitch.

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The barter system.

Picture courtesy: Pinterest

There’s a man beyond these screens I see,
Standing tall with his grandfather glasses,
He holds two books with pages astray,
And a palette with colours deemed to no reality.

They say one cannot imagine new shades,
But one can differentiate the layers of warmth.
He takes a tinge of colour from you,
And gives you a hue of dew laden grass blades.

On his book, he scribbles this new colour,
A page dedicated completely to you.
Now you know, his books are made of people.
A series of observations askew.

His white palette now full,
With colours brimming over the edge,
No, they are colours you still can’t see.
But a new warmth seeps through, indeed.

Missing you.

Picture courtesy: Pinterest

Missing you comes in waves,
Or like the trickle of a forgotten tap.
Missing you comes in the new dishes I make,
The salt sometimes less, sometimes a lot more.
Missing you is me watering dead plants,
While spacing out of the window.
Missing you is seeing you in colours,
To paint a rainbow in my skies for the day.
Missing you is letting out a scream into the void,
Hoping that the air can make my voice reach you.
Missing you comes easy,
Like gliding ink across a piece of paper.
Missing you is now almost a reflex,
Hidden in parts of me I don’t notice.
Missing you is a frictionless fight,
Between love and long-lost logic.
Missing you is raw and real,
For I miss all of you and not the habits we made.
Missing you is the new normal,
Unknowingly having made its place in my daily routine.
Missing you comes in knowing,
My bounds and yours,
Yet missing you is what I do,
To keep this emptiness from filling all of me.

A page from the ‘COVID’ diaries.



So, this one’s a tad bit personal. But I’m writing it with a purpose. My grandfather has had a variety of ailments due to old age but a little over a week ago, things suddenly took a turn for the worse and he had to be admitted to the hospital. In a normal scenario, this would be okay but with the pandemic reigning over the world, he had to undergo the “dreaded” COVID-19 test so that he won’t pose a risk to someone else’s health. The entire process of getting the test sample was super smooth but the nail-biting bit was the result. Any guesses? Ding, ding, ding. He tested positive for COVID-19. I’m not going to delve into the details here because living in an area that’s surrounded by forests, it’s hard to trace how and where he got it from but this entire ordeal made me realise one thing and it’s that we’ve got a lot to learn.

Steering slightly away from this narration, I want to thank the doctors, nurses and all the social workers living and dealing with Corona, standing real brave at the frontline, from the bottom of my heart. I have seen people wrenching their souls out from the distress of having a family member test positive for COVID and I can only imagine what you and your families have to deal with, having you encounter it on a daily basis. We are all super proud of you. And with that pride, comes a powering surge of gratitude too. To each and every one of you reading this, I know you have your own personal battles to combat and with Corona Virus adding the cherry to this cake, it’s become even more cumbersome but here’s a tiny shout out to you too! I know each one of us is definitely doing our bit to thrive and in that way, we are contributing to this fight too, so here’s to us!
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Old Couple Painting Couple Art PRINT old Couple - Art Print - from original painting by J Coates Original Oil Painting or Print

Picture Courtesy: Pinterest

I was sprawled over the sofa on a Sunday afternoon when I saw daadi slowly creep into daadu’s room. Switching the Netflix drama off, I craned my neck to watch her put the blanket over a blissfully unaware, steadily snoring daadu. Daadi pulled the curtains close and I pretended to scroll through my phone as I watched her tiptoe out of the room, not before throwing a subtle glance at daadu. She walked to the table where they kept their medicines and where daadu’s carvaan radio sat atop a faded album. She carefully blew the dust off the radio and adjusted the channel. ‘Abhi na jao chod kar’ spread its aura in our house.

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Remember to forget.


Art by: Steve Salo (Saatchi Art)

As the sunlight falls on my face,
It dawns on me that it’s a new day,
10 steps to the sink, I freshen myself,
13 steps to the kitchen, my fridge is empty.
I map my steps to the sofa, my feet dangling off it,
And while you bask in the blurred memories you’ve made,
I start making mine for the day.
Retracing steps, one at a time,
I walk past the wall to the room I cocoon myself in.
The clock has run out of batteries a long while ago,
The calendar stays yellowed, the pages frayed at the ends.
Splotches of paint stay smeared on a canvas,

Brushes unmoved and the piece of art seared.
The day, the month, the year, all forgotten,

I stay at the mercy of the Moon, the shadows and the sun.

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The Sound of Black and White, Encaustic, 18 by 11 inches

Image courtesy: Pinterest

Ropes of responsibility, strings of stress,
Coiled around you, now intertwined,
There are cuts on your skin,
There are clots in your blood,
Oh dear, how you wish to let loose!
You try to trudge ahead,
The weights of all the ropes on you,
Every step, you’re crumbling,
Yet you choose to move forth.
You come to a crossroad,
A myriad flickering all green, amber and red,
The air not breathable anymore,
The chaos encroaching, seemingly closing in on you.
Stories of a happy ending,
They seem to be a common folklore.
Your world now runs in monochrome,
The zebra crossing and the piano keys,
Black and White goes overpowering the coloured.
Butter fingers on the black and white keys,
A symphony unleashed, a sonata overpowering.
Vagabond, to the rest, the composition of the ballads travel,
To you, they hit straight home.
Every note she plays, not a tune she strays,
A memory replays itself, a fear vanquishes itself.
Mighty and strong you’ve stayed,
Every struggle through, your Kintsugi you made,
For every key she hit, broken bridges you crossed.
The signal, now, plain green, did you know?
You’d always manifested your ikigai.

Clouds and some rain.

So,it’s been quite some time since I hit the blog, well, more of a writer’s block, you could say? Anyway, with that slowly evaporating, I think I’m going to gear up to get the ink grooving in me. 

Update. I shifted to a new place. How long has it been? Almost a month. What I learnt? Living. In its true sense. Right from my childhood, I have been moving places – new people, new faces, that’s a ubiquitous scenario in my life. Now, that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for this lifestyle. I cry every time I leave a place and I cry every time I enter a new place. Before I let loose my Bakugans for that lane, I’m gonna stay firm on this one. Presently, this sounds more like a rant and well, at this point, I admit it is. 


Watch your step.

After two, make that almost three weeks of cooping up in the room, except for the routine of heading to work and coming back to the room, I decided to step out. To a place that’s like 5 minutes away from my location, but progress nevertheless. Who said moving to a new place is easy? You think it is? Well, good for you. Google mapped the place, got the time and location ready and I set out for the much planned solo trip. As I locked my room, I realized there’s no one to say bye to. As I stepped outside I realized, it’s cold outside. Maybe cold inside too? As I walked slowly, I realized how busy people were in lives of their own. Well plotted areas of interest with people moving about like spiders weaving their own webs and building their domain with utmost intricacy, the only difference here being we are trapped in our own webs. Pause. Think about it. 

I couldn’t help but feel isolated. Here’s a note. This is not a cry for help. It is not cribbing either. It is just what transpired. You know how they say every single being is basically barely a speck in the cosmos. I felt that. Nobody who knew me, nobody whom I knew. It was strange because it gave me a blow of confidence and with that, it took some away too. With everything moving about at a roller coaster-ed pace in my life, at this point, I felt – for every step I took forward, I was taking ten back. I trudged ahead, came across a beautiful lake. One step forward now. There was a serenity it possessed. A stark contrast to the storm brewing up in my head. Still, it overpowered and for a brief while, it managed to subdue the raging rains of thought in my mind. There comes a point in life where one starts to question everything. Probably, that phase arrives twice. Once when you were an infant oh-so-eager to know the working of the world around you, the second when you’re an adult and you’re now exhausted from knowing the working of the world around you. Right? 

But. Yes, there’s always a but. There’s a purpose we are all here to serve. I suppose so. There is that one cluster of people out there who are looking out for you. Maybe one yet to come or maybe one that’s already there. *Quick note, if you know you’ve been there for me, here’s a Thank you and while you’re reading this, you know who you are.* I have this habit of pondering over my own questions and finding answers to them by planting it carefully into conversations and finding different points of view and then rationalizing them. Seen the clothes in a washing machine after they’re washed? They seem to appear in a mess but once you untangle them from each other, you’re free to hang them up to dry. I give this example to reinforce the fact that I’m learning to live. And then, you pick your OOTD. Much the same way, I go about my thoughts. A clusterfuck of them, but somehow I get them straightened out and the saga continues. However for that period, when I can read my thoughts, the world seems to be a better place to live in. Don’t you think so too?

I know you maybe tired of hearing that there’s a plan out there for you. And for the ones who are tired of the suspense, I feel you. But I think life’s a puzzle, it’s a picture of pieces scattered around and it’s waiting for you to have the courage to pick those pieces up, let alone placing the pieces together and this is regardless of the fact that the puzzle might seem tiresome to finish or that you feel like you have less time. Well, nobody’s figured out a puzzle at one go, right? It’s through iterations. Frustrating ones and some simple ones but an intertwined one, nevertheless. Life’s giving you chances – take it up. You wish to write? Write. You wish to dance? You don’t even need to have a song, loose yourself to your rhythm. You wish to sing? Get that melody out. You wish to study ahead? Yes, spread your wings across and fly. But you get your trial, cut it through. At the end, you know, the picture you’ve placed together, with your own effort, will be worth it! It’s clouds and some rain, then it’s a clear sky. Endrant.

Anglicized tongues.

Picture Courtesy: Pinterest.

You enter my field of vision,
Sporting a little black dress, well fitted,
The heels clicking past the wooden floor.
The world blurs, a phase out here.
Your perfume casts a spell on me,
Your eyes, kohl lined sighting my soul now.
Not the first time this is happening.
Whipped, I phase out yet again.
You trip over your own feet,
Unable to keep the pout anymore.
Baby, how do you do this, every single time?
I stare at you, mesmerized,
Whirlpooled in your honey brown eyes.
You mumble a few words I fail to decipher.
And then you begin pedaling a rant.
My anglicized tongue falls like a wounded soldier forth your slurred words.
Your sobriety of thoughts getting me drunk this time,
I stutter, I stammer, while you speak your mind.
So unfettered and untethered, time stands still.
Careful with my words, I trudge like a camel with water.
It’s bubbling, it’s stirring a mess with my emotions.
And I phase out, this time, surprised at what I say.
Strangely enough, it is I who utters the three words,
I love you, I say and you pass out in my arms.
I get a mumble back and I already know the answer,
As I carry you safe to our home.



Picture courtesy: Pinterest.

————————-TRIGGER WARNING————————-

1. A piece of paper you are. A valueless blank sheet. White and pale. I adorn you with black ink. Scramble and scribble right across the freckles on your skin. You tell others you’re shadowed by me, virtues of yours muddied with my habits. I pick on you only because I don’t know how else I can grasp your attention. I feel a part of the spotlight only when I share the stage with you and you tell me you’re better off being a vacuous sheet of paper? That you’re better off being alone? How am I to agree with that? A pen, just idle with ink, I wish to make you feel beautiful. A bully, you call me. Is it what I am to you?

2. Ever had your heart fluttering to the sound of someone’s voice? Mine has. Hence, I choose you. I pick you from the budding and blooming flowers out there. Plucked out of existence. She likes me, she likes me not. You are my medium. Convince me now. Common, tell me. Pushed into the superstitious worlds I am. Hold my hand and lead me to a place that makes me believe a utopian world exists. With her. Tell me that she will be mine. Ended up with one petal of you. Stopped at she likes me not. Pieces of you lay scattered on the ground. Pieces of my heart next to you now. A bully, you call me. For tearing you apart. Can’t you see me torn?

3. I hold the blade. Sharp and shining. I look down. Stare at both my hands. A hand of mine pushed forth, the other slides past. Reminds me of how I play the violin. The melody, this time, coming from my own skin. The blade goes past and comes back. Drops of blood trickling on the floor. An odd calm through the chaos. A numbing sensation welcomes me to the realm of joy. An eerie silence. I, my own bully. What have you got to say now? Were you a participant too? You think you were the cause for this? Causation and effect, they call it. Calm it. Broken yet beautiful. I have my reasons. I needed the trigger to make myself realize that I am capable too. I paint my own horizons and the trigger did it. A bully, I call myself. But this time, the good came out of it. The violin? I stopped playing it. Metaphor. Pause.


The Art Showcase — Girl by Xi Zhang

Picture Courtesy: Xi Zhang

Today I hold the doors of my mind open for you to venture in. There’s this massive blend of overthinking, passion, happiness, love, melancholy, a little tinge of exclusion, an element of a recluse, there’s excitement, the zeal and zest, there’s insanity and then there’s you, waiting at the entrance where it’s all calm. The calm before a raging storm. Can you picture it? You standing at the doorstep? You don’t know what’s at the other end of this. Oh honey, think twice. Are you ready for this? Aren’t you curious to know people? Is there an air of suspense fogging up in your mind or is there a -how does it matter, I don’t even know her- kinda vibe buzzing in your head. I’m telling you – stay cautious. Wanna be a rebel? Bring it on, bitch. What if you see a shard of yourself in me? Wanna figure out? Step in. Uh. Watch out. There are shards of glass too. The state right now? Deranged. Completely deranged.

I like you. You’ve outplayed your mind here. There’s this labyrinth. Downright crazy. A wave of apprehension strikes in. Hold on, I think I’m having a panic attack. How did I let you get into my head? I do not let anybody see my mind. Opaque? Pshh. More like a mirror. What you see is what you want to see. You choose to not look into mind. But, wait a second. You want to. That’s what you did here. Then what are you doing? Confused? Stay confused. You think what you think it is but to be true, it is not what you’ve been thinking all this while. Okay, this is getting too convoluted. Pause. Stop. Play over. I think I can give a context. It’s easy to trick the human mind right? Not your own, someone else’s. This concept? Deranged. Completely deranged. Continue reading

Black and Blue.



There resides in your body,
A space, so black and blue.
You choose to hide it under a cloth,
Or with a patchwork of your skin.
The mark, it colours itself,
Getting purpler everyday.
Your nerves, a tangled web,
An intricate passage to a bloody mess.
A painful portrayal of Van Gogh’s painting,
An artwork to be reckoned with.
A cycle of seasons all connected,
To a space so black and blue.
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