Author Archives: Runa

About Runa

With words you can reveal, hide, confuse, clarify, rule, beg, love, hate. In speech words live momentarily and die with the moment. In writing, they are immortalised and in being unspoken and unwritten, they become omnipotent: God like. My words here could have remained unspoken. Could have. They're immortal and that's enough.

Thirty Going On Infinite

There are eight months before I bid goodbye

To just the second decade of my life

Yet, I feel infinitely old

Weighed down by an invisible hand on my heart

I struggle to sense authenticity in

Anything I feel now

I feel like a fake particularly when I laugh

I fear the tightening around my throat

When I struggle to let loose the words

That crowd within me

And when I do manage to say something

The release brings me no relief

Instead, I find I dislike the sound of myself

And the grass seems greener when I don’t utter a word


I now know that most people don’t listen

They only talk, often without listening to themselves either

And there are a few, like me, who are born

To just listen and offer no comment

To just speak when spoken to

To just breathe until I don’t have to




Money Found Me


I’ve made money before

Been paid my dues

But I never found value

In that money…

Instead, I’ve found value in money

I earned after years…

Years of being dependent

Of being indisposed

Of being nothing

And today, I make money again

Money that redeemed me

Money that I cherish

Money that lifts my head high

Money that gives me a say, and

Money that makes me an equal

In short,

Money that found me.

Why then?

Years after we became strangers 

I am riddled with thoughts 

Of a melded past

Of the reams of memories 

So unsatisfying 

Of those lost moments 

Just out of grasp

Tell me, 

Why must life be irreversible? 

Why must we always move forward?

And why then can’t we ever forget?

My Miracle

My very own miracle

You came in and I realised

My doors weren’t closed;

You took root in my insides

When I believed my soil was barren

You grew unnoticed until I could

No longer ignore your presence…

We haven’t met and

We won’t for weeks more

Yet I feel you more than

The tangible

And you need me more than

The fathomable…

A true symbiosis, we are

Feeding off each other;

And surviving because…

However miraculous,

You mostly are never a pleasure:

I’ve retched clutching

You with my stomach;

I am ravenous,

My thoughts forever on food…

I’ve softened,

My sharp edges blurring into

Motherly curves;

I’m nervous and euphoric

In turns; but mostly just worn out…

But I felt you kick and that was

Most rewarding;

From that ignorable flutter

You have grown to frolicking

Within my abdomen…

A surprise in each kick and every move

One that never wears off, but

Only intensifies my flying days…

So, who are you my little miracle?

My mother’s words come to mind:

Babies choose their parents and

Fight God to be born to them

And them alone…

Will you ever tell me why you

Chose to happen to me

And fought to be mine?

Indian feminists, ‘India’s daughter’, and sexual violence: The issues at stake*


via Indian feminists, 'India's daughter', and sexual violence: The issues at stake*.

With(out) You

Everyday I come home
I forget your absence
I open the door
To an empty shell
Which reminds me of
Your presence

There are no hugs
And deep sighs
The couch is cold
Without you on it
Smiling your
Come to me smile

My words are meaningless
For they aren’t answering
Your endless questions;
My jokes are bereft of
Your scandalized chiding
And my walls are silent
Without your echoing laughter

My city of a decade
Seems alien without you
The roads are barren
With snow and without you
Even the river isn’t flowing
Without your love

Within a year you’ve become
So much more to me
The magic of my days
The reason behind my work
The answer to my prayers
The life in my life
And in these days away
From you
I am but a memory of
You and me

Loving the memory

A trickster, my mind

It shows me not what 

I want to see; but what it

Chooses to remember

Completely out of control

I am at the mercy 

Of its cruelty

Intent on piling 

New memories atop

Old, cherished ones…

Under the choking weight 

Of all things new,

The old are dying a slow

Death; and their demise

Fails to move me

From the depths 

They have fallen into…

Today, I know most of them

Have escaped into the Universe

Where they float, free from all

That binding weight;

Free from being called upon

By someone who was

Reduced to loving them

Instead of the person

With whom she made them.


Words crowd the inside

Of my mouth

Unspoken and chained 

To my throat,

They jostle for space;

For expression.

Yet, my mouth remains

Sealed; the wax of

Solitude pursing

My lips together…

In this climate of silence

My ears fill with 

Painfully loud words

I wish I could release

Into this world…

But, no moment seems

The right moment

No person holds

The right key

And no monologue

Begs to turn into

A dialogue.

R.I.P. Robin Williams :(

What does it mean

When a clown dies

Out of sadness?

That there is nothing

Truly funny in life?

That what you give 

Isn’t always what you take?

That nobody really 

Knew you for you?

That you were just

A shadow pinned to

The ground by an

Intangible grief?

That yours was a

Disguise we completely

Believed in?

That you lived in

The blur between the

Joyful and the joyless?


It had a shapely bottom

Red and black, striped 

With white

But that was not

The real catch

That sudden little squirt

Of liquid that 

Shocked me was the

Real hero 

Of the moment

When I saw an insect