How to open the door the correct way

I am sitting on the pot, locked inside my bathroom clutching an unusual realization with me, “I am going to die today.” I am aware that it’s a bit uncommon thought considering the location. After all, relief is what they call is a bathroom’s real forte. But I am far, far, far away from that emotion. I am drenched in anxiety. I am assailed by the kind of panic that surpasses my worst panic attack by hundred folds. I am going to die today. Right here. For a twenty-two year old young woman like me, who has been blessed with good health, this scenario doesn’t make sense. But how is it that I am dangling just a few inches away from jumping off the cliff into my after-life forever? It’s such a weird spot to have death embrace you but it’s too late and it seems that there is indeed nothing I can do to change it. Death is near; a potential groom – a mere mutter of “I do” away. I can already hear his steps approaching. Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart is in my throat. I am breathing at a frequency which even the latest computer processors can’t match. As a desperate attempt to distract myself, my brain performs an old trick – it throws me into a day-dream. It could be called a good move had it actually been a day dream. Even in the crucial times like this, my brain can’t let go of his sick sense of humor. He throws me into the dream that does the opposite of what it was supposed to do – It intensifies my panic. Can you believe that guy? In my head, as I time travel two to three days in the future, I can see my mother returning home to find our house in a perfectly normal condition. Perfectly normal condition except for the terrible stench. “Where is it coming from?” She wonders. She enters my room. The smell intensifies. Maybe a rat died in the bathroom. She tries to open the bathroom’s door. But it doesn’t budge. It’s locked! Now, she begins to grow anxious. Something is wrong. This stench is too strong to belong to a dead rat. Or the rat is too smart to lock the door. She tries to break open the door but it’s too heavy. She can’t do it. Her brain has already started formulating alternative plans. She rushes downstairs to the fifth floor immediately where she remembers she may be able to find a carpenter. The moment she enters the apartment, carpenter stops his work and stares at the woman’s grim face sprinkled with sweat. Something’s really wrong, his intuitions tell him. Slowly and calmly he asks, “Kya hua Madam?”
“Darwaza todna hai.”

The carpenter doesn’t ask any further questions. He abandons his work, accompanies her upstairs, to my home, to my room and ultimately to the bathroom door. The wretched bathroom door. It doesn’t take the carpenter long to break the lock. He takes a moment before opening the door. From the smell he can guess what he is about to see is going to haunt him for a long time. He slightly pushes the door and it swings open slowly, as if gracefully preparing them for a horrific sight. The woman behind him has already fallen to the floor, unconscious.

I never thought that the first one to see my dead body would be the person whom I had never met in my lifetime. I kind of always fantasied that my death would be glorious one. Glorious not in the sense that I hope to die at a war. By glorious I meant I die in the arms of a loved one. I die with smile and contentment. But this death is the exact opposite. I have never felt loneliness the way I feel right now. I never thought I would die in a freaking toilet! I never thought I would die grieving over my youth and all the dreams that I had once hoped to realize. I had always hoped that I would die with all my dreams already turned into reality. How cruel fate can be!

I had been so engrossed in my day-dream or rather nightmare that I had completely grown oblivious of the banging and voice coming from the other side of the door.

“Are you there? Answer us!”
“Yes, I am here. I am here.”

My friend had been standing outside the bathroom for a long time. I had been standing inside the bathroom for a long time. All I originally wanted to do here was to pee in peace. Since I had guests with me – my friends, I had taken extra precaution of locking the door behind in order to avoid any potentially awkward situations. We weren’t after all in a usual state of mind. Well, congratulations, there will be no awkward situations. They can’t get in even if they tried their best.
When I had been asked to pull the latch even harder after my multiple futile attempts to open the door, I had mustered all my strength and broken it instead. The broken piece is still lying on the floor. And yes, that’s why I am going to die here today. “You can do this,” my friend says again. “Wash your face. Breath. Breathe, okay? You will figure out a way.”
Figure out a way? Yeah. Right. I wash my face anyway. I am never getting out of here. Could be that my friends, on the other side (on the other side of freedom!) figure out a way to open the door. But it will be too late by then. I pick up the piece, to acknowledge how a tiny thing is going to result in my death and then suddenly I am greeted by a tiny ray of hope! I discover that there are threads in the end. Threads mean that the piece is not broken but just detached! Brimming with joy, I insert the piece in the gaping hole of the latch that had been terrorizing me until now and rotate it in. It’s moving in! Maybe I won’t die after all. Boy, I had been so stupid! Filled with hope, I try to open the door again.

It doesn’t budge.

Perfect! The carpenter has called my neighbors. My mother is conscious and furious. Furious. Not sad. Not weeping. Not wailing. FURIOUS. Because that’s how her daughter died? In a bathroom? From a drug overdose? And which drug? Cannabis? Seriously? No, that’s not my daughter. This is not her. I don’t know who this girl is. Take her body away. Take her to a morgue. Dump it. Do whatever. This is not my daughter—


That’s my friend again.

“Yes I am here. Not dead. Not yet…”
“Breath, okay? Try to open the door again.”

I take a few deep breaths. I approach this monstrous door, devoid of hope for any success. A funny thought strikes me then. What if you pull the latch on the opposite side?
The opposite side? But that’s the wrong side!
I would lock myself further into this hell! Crazy or what?
But what’s the harm in trying? So, I try anyway.

The lock slides with an unbelievable smoothness. The door is open.


I was pushing the latch in the wrong direction this whole time.
I am overwhelmed by relief and happiness and suddenly a deeply profound thought dawns upon me – Maybe that’s how it works with life. We are trying to push the doors open so hard but nothing works even then. Maybe we need to sit back and breathe. And the solution, an incredibly​ simple and obvious solution, will appear out of nowhere. Push the lock in the other direction. It’s that simple.
Door swings open.
Life swings open.
I am laughing. All my tears that contained panic a while ago contain nothing but joy. My friend, my beloved friend throws an incredibly annoyed look at me. I apologize to her. I need to. I must. I ruined her beautiful date with Mary after all. But did you notice how simple it is? Push the latch on the opposite direction and that’s how you open the door the correct way.




Consumed and rejoiced, too real to know
that some things are just lost in the sands of time,
Lying so adeptly that, “I will see you soon.”
they never quite come back to complete the rhyme.

Choose whatever you want to be,
Ignorant or furious or hopelessly drowned in sorrow,
But the truth will never change; you are nothing but deceived,
Keep praying and begging but they’re not coming back tomorrow.

Grieve no more, oh heart!

Sometimes I lay under the night, gaze upon a star,
Conceal a forgotten past, grieve upon a scar,
Some mistakes were made, not so cruel, not too intense,
But in arrogance and ignorance, that remain too huge to make a sense.

The footprints of those missteps, lay buried under time,
Too distant, too deep, unlikely to be exposed,
But what about the heart that stay frozen under guilt?
Will I recover? Will I forget? Will my shattered heart be rebuilt?

“Grieve no more, oh heart! Don’t let yourself be burnt,
Some mistakes have to be made, some lessons have to be learnt,
Some decisions, some choices are meant to leave you contrite,
Because unless you know what’s wrong, how will you know what’s right?”


A night enlightened without lights

At a distance, the gas flare keeps burning all day, all night, keeping it surroundings smeared with yellow paint, or sometimes by the black smoke, which are often concealed by the darkness of the night.

The streets are usually too busy flaunting off their diamond necklaces running on electricity.

The houses are mostly too involved in their own selves, their own brightness to notice themselves and be pleasantly surprised at how beautiful they look when they are seen  twinkling from the distance.

I am sitting here ignoring these beauties because I am simply too preoccupied  hoping for a better life, for a happier tomorrow, for a future where all my dreams have come true.

I am supposedly too busy to search for the stars ,which nowadays wear a blanket of clouds and urban lights to play a game of hide and seek, where the only rule is that they get to be the ones who hide.

I am too busy to notice the Moon that keeps shining, sometimes barely visible, sometimes barely invisible and the way she stands there, always, smiling brightly despite being told that she has an ugly spots-struck face ,which by the way, just makes her one of the most beautiful woman in the world.

I am simply just too much entangled with my life.

There is a fact about the sun and the moon; No matter what happens they never go away.

But the tiny suns and moons which we have created on earth are not that reliable. All it takes is a malfunctioning rotor or a broken transmission line and they forget everything they were given birth for.

And whenever this happens, whenever our suns and moons settle down unexpectedly, whenever there is nothing but pitch black darkness, it all slowly comes into picture.

Busy schedule hides away under scowls and curses to the transmission grid or more often to god.

With boiling blood and enraged mind we go out to catch some air.

And it is then we discover a night that is enlightened without any lights.

Why does it take a black out to realize how soothing it is to walk in nothing but a moon light.

To listen to crickets.

To watch the bats flying around.

To come across the cats with their shining eyes.

To get scared of dogs who are in turned too scared of you.

To realize how amusing it is to look at the faint but visible stars.

To compliment the moon.

To feel the cool natural air.

To realize how big the whole universe is and how, practically, we play so so tiny role in it.

How does it feel to be scared, to be crossed and to be in love with the darkness simultaneously?

How does it feel to break away from the world and be in the company of you yourself?

It feels good.

The past goes away.

The future stays hidden.

And all that is left is the present.

The darkness.

The amusement.

The fright.

The happiness.

The hope.


Random words on “familiar” strangers

There are so many faces in this world, some are meant to be forgotten , some are meant to stay nameless but yet familiar , some to be held  closest to our hearts and some made to keep miles away. Every day we come across different people .Every day is filled with strangers yet somehow its only a few who are able to make it to our memories. Out of those which qualify to become a memory, some are never seen again but yet they turn up in our heads for no particular reason and some mysteriously turn up again and stop being a stranger, and at least become an acquaintance.

There are people about whom you don’t really care. There are people who are highly unlikely to affect your life in any way. There are people whom you know but they don’t qualify the criteria of actual knowing. But yet, when you see them you feel something that’s not normal.

Recognition. Yeah, we easily recognize the people we know, but what about the people we don’t?

Oh, she looks different now.

 Woah! he lives in London nowadays.

She is married now. Even got a kid.

If you don’t really give a damn about that person, why do you find yourself wondering about him or her?

Why looking at her or him or talking about her(him) is necessary?

Why do we think about them?

Maybe because they are not simply  just strangers.

They are familiar strangers.

The ones who were once in your school or in your college or in your locality. The ones who have been topic of your discussions even if you don’t really know them. The ones you have envied ,the ones you have laughed at. The ones who pretended that you do not exist or vice versa.

And yet the fact that you might never be able to see them again in the future surprisingly shocks you.


So many faces, so many people, and all they do is to become a memory. And we so easily let them become one. Maybe  because we all  love memories. We all hate memories. And we all know that its memories who make us who we are.

So, even if it might seem that these people do not actually matter to you in your life but the fact that they were there around you, means somehow they do matter in some little way. Maybe just to be the topic of your useless meaningless headless discussions, but those discussions might have brought you closer to your present day close friends, or  sisters or brothers or maybe parents. Didn’t these strangers just made us stay close with one of the most significant people in our lives? In their own tiny way, they did.