I seal my lips with thread unseen,
Trying to not hurt, trying to not curse
I trap my soul with mantras for the untold,
I am an imbecile, well, I let you think so,
My dreams are stained, I see blood everywhere,
My nights are cursed, my breath scares the light.
I want to smear cold iced ink on your heart
Write my nightmare, Let you know,
I am my hero, I am my sinner.
Let me dissolve you.


-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair




उसके दबे पाँव पायल की छनक
मेरे हर खट्टी मीठी बात पे गूँज उठी |
मधुर एक सागर की लहर बनके
मेरे दिल के कागज़ पे गज़ल बन गयी |
छम छम एक राग वो, कभी मधुर, कभी नटखट
वो मेरे जिंदगी की हसीन तकदीर बन लिखी |
कुछ इस तरह तुम्हारे रंगों से उल्फ़त हो गया
की कभी आप, कभी तुम, तो कभी हम हो गये |

-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair

Our’s is the kind of Love…

Our’s is the kind of love you read in novels,
The ones that touch your soul, and melts your heart.
And my love for you is Old,
Born way before our time,
It’s a look that keeps us warm,
Like sipping on that glass of fine wine.
And we loved, to not be together,
To not die together, But we loved.
Like old tales sing, we never gazed,
But you are the sun that hits my face,
And I am the wind that caresses your neck,
So Look up, for our’s is the kind of love that makes the sky rain.

-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair

Graces of King’s.

PC- Hanson Chen (A very good friend)

Departure. Arrival. Delayed.
Eventually. Everything flies. Everyone flies
One last night in London airport, Waiting,
Hoping, Smiling, Reading this unwanted piece of literature,
A poem, to the times we laughed, to the memories we made,
One, for those merry men, One, to the Big Ben,
The beautiful Hyde Park, One by the Marble Arch,
One near where the Thames flows,
A glimpse of the St. Paul’s Cathedral for inner peace,
We stand here, right where it all started,
And I hear Adele sing,
“It made us restless
It was just like a movie
It was just like a song”
Here, at this airport, 
We stand, some Graces of King’s. 


-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair

An epistle to my younger self.


Ramen Rants

I want a love story. I want Romance. I want to have that head over heels kind of feeling for someone. For something. For me. I want to have my own version of the Titanic. A parallel universe version wherein the ship of my life didn’t sink. Where Jack didn’t die on me. Where Rose decides to share. Where we were rather in some hot tub than the North Atlantic Ocean. I want to have my own version of “500 Days of Summer” where I knew,  Summer was indeed at the end somebody’s Autumn. I want to be the Michael Cera of my movies, where I am the narrator as well as the main hero, and that after being torn between the page of my life, I will have the perfect end. I want to not be juggling my emotions every night, arguing with myself and having a quarter-life existential crisis. I want a million things. But I want to do these million things with this one version of me. I want to be a million version of that perfect ending.” The writer wrote haphazardly as she wept about how Cyrus at the end of the movie asks Carrie Pilby for her middle name!


P.S. I had Ramen for dinner. That image is not of the Ramen that I had.

For You, Forever

I find me
An unsung hero, in your eyes,
In the lustful stories of your mind,
The tender kisses of our lips that never touched
Through the lightyears between our bodies, never twined,
I find me
Like the scent of my fears
Like knowing that the wanting of being wanted,
I might make it there, someday,
Just to be apart by a whisker, From you,
I find me
More in your laughs, Than in me of course,
Like that uncasted shadow of your presence,
Lingers, Inseparable you are, My dear, I fear,
Just how the poets praised, And sonnets sang,
I find me,
Above the ground, more towards holy,
Defeated you are, as I Surrender in your arms,
And I shall wait, for time to reverse, for seasons to change,
And for the sky to burn in flames, For you, Forever.

-Roshni Rajshekhar Nair

A fiction #3

This is a one-character story.

Part 1: A fiction #1 Part 2: A fiction #2

Diary entry 05/12/2017 04:51 GMT:

Welcome to the Sahara (well, my version of the Sahara). Welcome to my inner mind, the world where I literally have no idea of what’s going on every passing second. Like I was saying the past two days, life hasn’t been all fun lately, it’s a bit more confusing and things are not in place, I am not in the place I thought I’d be. So, taking a look back, what went wrong you may ask? Because I ask this to myself every single day. I had or still have let’s say four jobs- the first: I am a very lovely daughter, second: I am a nightmare of a sister ( but in a good affectionate way), third: I am quite an obedient student and fourth and probably the most important one: I am what I want me to be, I am myself. Of all my jobs, the one that I am failing miserably is the last one, perhaps the most important one. This job requires me to be Me, Simply Me! And be unapologetic about it. But, like that well-furnished piece of carved wood, I have acquired quite a patina to myself with the passing time, and to the point that I am not quite sure if this patina is making my inner, true self, shine more or less.

Now, Tumblr is filled with inspiring quotes, “Life is too short to worry/ to wake up with regrets/ to wait/ to wear boring clothes, etc., etc., etc…..” Hell no!!! Life is the longest thing possible. You are measuring life in teaspoons when life is actually more like that largest wooden spoon Guinness book record holder Romanian spoon (I know this sounds crazy, but yeah, The largest wooden spoon measured 17.79 m (58 ft 4.39 in) in length and 1.50 m (4 ft 11 in) at its widest point and was made by Centrul Cultural Mioveni (Romania) in Mioveni, Romania, on 7 June 2013. The spoon is an outsized replica of a traditional Romanian spoon (Source- The Guinness World Records ) And NO! I don’t have a picture).

So, if my today’s deserted adventure taught me one thing then that would be, CHANGE YOUR MEASURING INSTRUMENTS/ DEVICES, It not always about what you did wrong, or how you did it wrong. It’s more like, Could you use the crumbled cake to make a cookie kind of situation? IMPROVISE!


To be continued…

A fiction #2

This is a one-character story.

Part 1: A fiction #1

Diary entry 04/12/2017 02:51 GMT:

I hate Sundays. I strongly dislike Sundays. I feel that hate is such a harsh word to use. I know that for many people Sunday is a day to relax, refresh, a step aside from their everyday mundane, boring life. But here’s the deal, for a person who lives in their imaginary desert most days of their life, every day seems to be a Sunday. And I don’t want to waste my real Sunday entrapped in a sand-covered place. So this is what I do to avoid Sundays. I sleep through most of it. I wake up at around 18:00 or 19:00 just to avoid the chaos that humans create on a Sunday morning/evening on the roads, the malls, and the restaurants. And don’t even get me started with the malls on weekends, God it’s flooded with a sea of people. Gets my anxiety tickling. So to not keep you hanging on tenterhooks, here’s what happens with the rest of my Sunday, I face the realities and the fears of my life. I go out to the MALL. I know, shocker, right! See, the thing is people don’t go to the mall in the later half after Sunday evening, they’d rather be enjoying dinner at a posh restaurant or stay in at home with their family, and this is the time for me to actually go and shop around. Less crowd, fewer people looking and messing around in the shops, more time for me to roam and find what I’d actually like to buy. And no, I don’t sleep at all later that night or the following morning. I indulge in some kinda productive work. And Sunday is also a day when I actually drink smoothies. I like smoothies. They are cool and healthy.


So, yeah don’t like camels and Sundays.  

  To be continued…

A fiction

This is a one-character story.

Diary entry 03/12/2017 02:51 GMT

The last time I wrote something long that really expressed myself and my then emotions was early in 2017. A year goes by and life can take a complete U-turn or divert its path and go somewhere unplanned. The then I had the comfort of my education, a hope of a secured future, family, friends, and ME. After a year’s worth effort, countless hours in front of the screen, endless dinner plates later, I am here, in the midst of a neverending desert. Stranded. Alone. Ready to just be another mirage. And to add to my miseries I have no water, no passersby, no camels ( I know this is a desert, but you should remember that this is a fragment of my imagination so no camels, big teeth, scares me, but would be so reassuring if they were there, to be honest) or a someone/ something that would give me hope of a non-barren green land nearby. To bring you back to reality, I have a complete obsession with tea and of course I carry my tea bags around in this desert I’m stuck in. But here’s the deal, Honey there ain’t no water here.

These pillows are not fluffy, the cold has turned them to stone. I don’t actually mind a hard pillow but it sometimes interrupts my imaginations and pop there breaks my bubble, leaving me alone. Again. So here it is a daily log of my life living as a prisoner to my own imaginations. Stuck in a desert or at least that’s what my head wants me to think of, could have been a cruise but no we are in a desert! At least I plan to age well.


To be continued…