Tag: bloggers

padmavati; the symbol of sacrifice.

Padmavati was the Queen of Chittor in the 13th century. She was married to Ratan Singh and was known for her surreal beauty. People yearned to even catch a glimpse of her exquisite features. Alauddin Khilji was one such man. However his greed and lust caused him to declare war against Chittor. When it became clear that he would win, Queen Padmavati made a decision which would go on to impact millions. She committed Jauhar which is defined as the act of mass self-immolation by women in parts of the Indian subcontinent, to avoid capture, enslavement and rape by foreign invaders, when facing certain defeat during a war.

Although the goddess like Queen died, Indian history immortalized her.

And this is her story.

p.s: part two coming soon:)

Praises of her pulchritude,
Fill the ancient halls of Chittor,
Hira Mani tells tales of her beauty,
The rajput warrior desires to know more.

She walks in her ghagra choli,
Embellished with heavy gold beads,
Blinding mirror sequins,
Like a lotus flower amongst weeds.

He reaches the doors of Singhal,
Wins the swayamvar as his duty,
Marries the legend of folk songs,
Padmavati, the epitome of beauty.

Nights in Chittorgarh seem like bright mornings,
For her divine glow ignites the sky,
Maybe that’s why the moon hides behind the sun
The Queen’s royal glamour makes it shy.

Alauddin follows the tittle tattle,
With his desire to own every precious thing on land,
Ratan Singh mistakenly prepares to battle,
But Queen Padmini is Khilji’s only demand.

Yet looks don’t limit to her charms,
She allows a glance,
The catch? 
Seeing her reflection is his only chance.

Furious sultan deceits the trusting Ratan singh,
His lifeless body falls to the ground,
Men with armours clench their shivering swords,
“Jai bhavani,” they scream as mughals surround.

Alauddin storms inside the majestic fort,
A surprise beholds his eyes,
Sixteen thousand women in crimson red ghagras,
Dressed as newlywed brides.

They’re more than enough to take him down,
But they don’t,
Instead they fill the palace with echoes of their cries,
Chanting, “jai bhavani”
Ready to sacrifice,
As each second, a braveheart dies.

Yearning to catch a glimpse of Queen Padmavati,
Khilji sprints across the halls,
He screeches as the gates close,
And she embraces the fire,
With no tears in sight,
For they may have killed the rajputs,
But Padmavati won this fight. 



Aur yeh hi, Alauddin ki sabse badi haar thi.

Kaagaz Nahi The.

happy new year everyone:)

i was going to write a sappy poem about how great 2019 was but i figured i should be somewhat real and talk about how our country is doing right now as the world’s largest *coughs* ‘democracy.’

Here,
Just one shop sells dhokla,
rasgulla,
and halwa,
Just one whatsapp group sends eid mubarak,
merry christmas,
and happy holi,
Just one street has had ram mandir,
and babri masjid,
And when that one foreigner asks me about India,
The first thing that comes to mind is,
Unity in diversity,
Ekta mai hi shakti.
Lekin abh nahi.

For now,
When I visit that one shop,
I see that it’s once so welcoming doors,
Are now shut,
I ask kishore bhaiya why,
He tells me, 
‘Ahmed ke paas kaagaz nahi the.’ 
When I check that one whatsapp group,
I see that the ‘same to you,’
Has been replaced by,
blue ticks,
For sometimes,
Silence speaks louder than words.

And now,
When I walk past that street again,
Instead of groups of pilgrims,
with devotion in their eyes,
And faith in their hearts,
I still see groups,
But of people trying to scream loud enough.
For their voices to be heard,
Of people who haven’t gone home in 134 days,
Of people who seem to have lost the spark,
Who seem to have lost hope.

Hope that one day, 
They’ll see Ahmed again,
That one day their father in law,
will see past the clothes on their body,
And the name they chant,
And when that foreigner asks them about India again, 
One day,
Unity in Diversity,
Will be the first thing they’ll say.

When We Meet.

But when it comes to you,
You and I both know that’s not true.

I keep imagining, 
That when we coincidentally collide,
And my eyes get a glimpse of your familiar face,
All those memories filled with a mix of pain and hatred,
Would rush through my veins,
And I would put on a cold outside,
Murmur the most harsh, ‘Nice seeing you,’
And force my pierced feet,
To walk away.

But when it comes to you,
You and I both know that’s not true.

For darling,
It takes everything in me,
To not melt into your wide arms when I see you,
Because with your vanilla scented hoodie,
And stupidly charming aura,
I can just be. 

And when the world stops moving,
And the tik-toks pause,
Is when you and I will meet,
And I’d ask you how you’ve been,
‘Just fine,’ would form on your lips,
And I’d think how having long eyelashes,
With dark brown eyes should be a sin. 

And no matter how much I try to hide,
You’d read me so easily,
For my face would scream come back please,
And you’d know in a second,
The kind of power,
You so effortlessly,
Still keep. 

hope is what keeps us alive.

I finally have faith,
For I have realized,
That hope,
Is what keeps us alive.

empty streets, and empty roads are all that’s left of us.

I’m walking

on an empty road.

It has no end,

so I keep walking

hoping to see where it takes me.

As I walk,

I slowly lose faith

in it all.

What’s the use of hope

when you know there’s no end.

My hope fades away,

and I stop. 

Maybe this is the end.

I sit and put my head down

suddenly,

there is a tap on my head.

A stranger has come to help.

He takes my hand,

and asks me to go on a walk with him.

Who am I to decline

such a beguiling face?

I walk again

this time, 

a little less numb,

a little more content. 

There is still no end,

but I realize that

the journey is worth it all.

A while later,

a storm comes,

and his grip on my hand

loosens. 

Until, I don’t feel him at all.

In fact,

I feel nothing at all.

My soul has left me,

along with the storm,

and I stop.

I am tired,

of walking.

I want this journey to end,

and so I realize

I have to keep walking,

so that I reach the end.

Somewhere on the way,

I remember

there is no end,

but I can’t stop

for what if I meet,

another stranger on the way?

One whose grip won’t loosen

when the storm comes

but in fact,

become tighter

and so,

I keep walking.

I finally have faith,

for I have realized, 

that hope,

is what keeps us alive. 

A frustrated student.

hurt poetry is the easiest to write, 
maybe that’s why this mix of,
frustration and stress,
isn’t bleeding words tonight.
hurt poetry is the easiest to write  
maybe that’s why this mix of 
frustration and stress
isn’t bleeding words tonight 
For irregular menstrual cycles 
math homework deadlines
sore throats 
and failing to mug up why Israel is at war with Palestine
Don’t classify as poetry 
because  being a student is nothing compared to
the pain of  the syrian girl who lost her parents 
or the five year old who has lung cancer 
or the boy who got cheated on with his best friend 
because being a student  isn’t unique to you 
everyone deals with it but does that really make the pain less? 
does that stop the night outs we pull till 3 am?
does that stop the constant pressure on our heads?
does that stop the thirst for grades?
it does not because this frustration and stress we feel never bleeds 
but neither does it ever fade.

- poetry has no rules, my dear.