Month: October 2015



There is a chill in the wind.
Winter is here.
But I dont feel it.
Caged within fear.

My knees are crumbling.
Incessant rattling in my head.
I am supposed to take the world,
But I’d rather be dead.

This daily struggle.
Is making me hollow.
Its too much to comprehend.
Too much to swallow.

In my 6*4 room
These demons get amplified.
They cover the walls of my room from
the walls of my heart.
Till no seperation can be realised.

Who says the past has passed.
When it continues to hunt me down.
The past will always last.
Even after I am 6 feet underground.

– Fictionatrix


Who is she?


That girl,
With the wild laughter.
That masked away her pain,
her scars.

The girl,
With the twinkling eyes,
Her heart,
Was a graveyard of stars.

Who is she?
You wonder.
But no one ever tried to know!

There are oceans, forests, a universe within her.
But she shall never show!

(Yes that is me, under the beautiful Chinar leaves in Kashmir! 🙂 )

Taken with a Micromax Canvas A1

– Fictionatrix


is about trees revealing colours they have hidden all year.
People have an october as well.”


Taken with a Micromax Canvas A 1
At the Shalimar Garden, Srinagar, Kashmir.

– Fictionatrix

Loving Yourself- On society,self perception and self acceptance


Self love doesn’t come easily.
How am I expected to love a body which society has made me hate?

For the past two decades, I have been mocked for the way I look. I am over weight. My body does not conform to the “conventional” standards of “beauty”. 
For society and culture decide what is beautiful, what is acceptable, and what is a deviation.

I am a deviation. I am ” abnormal”, an abomination, a monster. For I am fat. The dissent was so powerful that I mocked myself the way society mocked me.

I believed I was the hideous creature they said I was. I believed that a view of my thunder thighs could blind people, so I wore longer shirts.
I believed that my jiggly arms would cause disturbances so I covered them, never raised my hands in public. Scarred them, cut them, tried to dispose the adipose.
I believed that my flabby stomach was an eye sore, so I starved myself.

I believed that I could never be beautiful, so I ran from everything remotely feminine. For feminity is associated with beauty, grace and charm and I seemed to have none. I believed that nothing could be done, so I gave up trying.

On reading Foucault, one comes across how Power “disciplines bodies” to be a certain way. Society has that kind of power, it constrains us into boxes. And if you don’t fit in a box, you are given hell. Be it the box of the gender binary, of heterosexuality and of feminine beauty.
Society expects individuals to be extraordinary, but if they don’t conform with the ordinary, it shuns them.

Our world is beautiful and it has diversity. So there are bodies of all sorts, of all shapes and sizes, tall and short, fat and thin. But culture and society prefer just certain types. If you are over, there is fat-shamming if you are under, there is thin shamming.
(I am not promoting an unhealthy lifestyle. There is a difference in being thin and being healthy. People with bigger bodies are also healthy despite their excess weight. )

And after years of abuse nothing pinches. I sat down with my bullies and taunted myself. I made fat jokes and people laughed with me at me.
I am the abuser and the abused.
The scarer and the scared.
The internalisation of conventions is so strong that one does not realise the damage they have done to themselves.


So how does one love one’self?
To love yourself, you have to accept yourself. That becomes difficult when society doesn’t accept you.
Self acceptance is a long, ardous and painful process. It takes a lot of time, patience and determination. One has to mend the self inflicted scars. To break down the walls that surround them. To recast the categories and classifications with which you associate yourself because others put you in a box. Labelled Fat, Depressed, Stupid, Timid, Nerd, etc.

Either throw away the labels that identify you,
or accept them with such passion and rigour that they do not seem condescending and derogatory.

Make that slur your badge of honour.
Yes I am fat, hence there is more of me to love. I am so good, that God made me in abundance.
So what that I have depression? The black dog that follows me, makes me more empathetic. I can relate to people and be a rock in their sorrows. (Just a few affirmative examples of turning things around.)


Your flaws are ”flaws” only till you perceive them through the lens coloured by societal conventions. Everyone is flawed in one way or the other. You need to stop focussing on just your flaws, the way we all have been doing, and look at the brighter side of things. You need to identify yourself differently and not based on the categories which are given.

It is a difficult process indeed. And would take time. For you cannot change overnight- the mindset which has been forged, iron cast, bit by bit for decades.
But there is no harm in trying. Be willing to take the risk, for nobody but yourself.


Miracles happen for those who believe in their existence and for those who can make them happen. Don’t let society,others, your spouse, your family, decide categories and concepts.
They are abstract, relative and maleable. You need to take the reigns of your life in your hands. You decide what beautiful means to you. The day you can see yourself as beautiful, you have won the battle with yourself.

I have after much effort embarked on the path of self acceptance and self love. I have not been entirely successful, I admit that I think of myself in the lowest terms but there are some days when I think I can atleast like myself a liitle.
What do you think? Any tips regarding the same? Let me know your thoughts, and do share your experiences.

– Fictionatrix

Capture the Sun- Little Poem #20

“Since the time I have met you,
Deep inside;
I knew you were the one.

With you by my side,
I can fly to the skies,
I can capture the Sun…”


The glass pane of the window, in the corridor outside my hostel room is broken from the right hand side corner.

At a particular angle and time-the setting Sun post 2 p:m shines through the crack.

A dent in the crack acts as a reflective surface, creating a replica of the sun as it is.

I have a tendency to be in awe of the little things and thus accidently discovered this fact while passing to and fro.
It mesmerises me to see how a dent no bigger than a tooth, can perfectly reflect the sun’s image but only at a particular angle. I felt like Indiana Jones discovering some long lost treasures. 
This image was my way of capturing the sun! 😀

– Fictionatrix

Little Story # 1 Amnesia and an Unexpected Wedding Invitation


I was travelling in the Shatabdi Train alone, and was lucky to get the centre seat with the table.
(Felt fancy, plus helps while eating and reading :P)

The man next to me spent the 6 hour journey, seriously looking out of the window, contemplating some serious issues and writing them in his diary. Having spent my childhood writing diaries I was naturally inquisitive.
On noticing my curiosity we struck a conversation.

“Why do you write a diary?” I asked.

“You want to know the truth. I am becoming an old man, I live alone and have become forgetfull.
I may be suffering from amnesia I am not sure. So I write everything that has happened to me, and the chores I am expected to do.That way no one knows, and I don’t forget.”

“How do you remember to read directions from the diary?”

He proceeded to show me the dairy cover, on which was written in black ink – “If you feel confused, lost and unable to make sense of things read me.”

The first page had all his details, address, important phone numbers. While we were speaking he was writing about how he has to buy bread and milk once he reaches home.

“Will our conversation be mentioned in your diary?”

“Depends”; He said. ” Are you eating those masala peanuts?”

I asked him for a picture, he didn’t want people to know who he was lest it affect his business. Hence I took this image of the sunset light lighting his diary as he perused his mind for details.

The newly married couple sitting infront of us managed to leave behind their wedding album and de-boarded. This began an adventure.

My new diary writing travelling companion and I proceeded to trace them down with the photographer/publisher’s no. We got the groom’s uncle, then the groom’s father and finally the groom himself. We managed to hand over the album to another passenger who agreed to wait at the station for the newly weds who rushed from Ghaziabad as soon as they heard from us.

All in all, a productive journey.  The 6 of us in the central table area did get to virtually attend a wedding we weren’t invited to. It was a Christian cum Hindu wedding and it was beautiful.

I didn’t ask the person’s name, nor does he know mine.
I wonder how and if I was mentioned in his daily journal. 🙂

– Fictionatrix