Kindness is turning into an obsolete emotion
I am tired of certifying my sanity and my worth, almost everyday

Our worth as a human
To be loved
And to love

This is the age of glamour
We compete to find jobs
We compete to find love
We compete to find acceptance
We live in our digitised megalomaniac fantasies!!

We are being sold ideas, dreams and thoughts
There’s always an option for everything and everyone..

I guess this is how freedom looks like

Maybe, we will never know the price we pay for freedom

The gold governs every bond

A picture governs our thoughts

I wonder what governs our hearts..

Philosophy always sounds good

Sounds better when written…

PS: Don’t take my words seriously!!

Star gazing

Star gazing is a natural human tendency.

Humans have been doing it for ages..

Do not underestimate the power of star gazing..

Astronomy, Astrology, Astrophysics and the idea of “fiction” were all born out of star gazing

So keep looking above..

*Cliche social media content ahead*

I’m hoping each of us have a tiny little diary
Filled with the most raw thoughts, ideas and random gibberish
Filled with lists of writers you would like to read
Movies you would love to watch
Vague interpretations of why Tenet was made the way it was made…
And why is everyone so amazed by Met Gala..
Glamour never fails to disappoint our short attention spans.

I’m hoping each of us have a tiny little diary
Filled with bucket list of our “dreams”
Well I know we have moved past that age of writing down our dreams in our diaries..
We have moved past so so far..
We have forgotten from where did it all began?
Can’t even say back to square one!!
My only dream is to have a good sleep..
Seems like an unachievable goal!!
Thanks to “Netflix & Chill”!!

But why do we even call it a bucket list?

I love to relax. Period.

Ps: My message to humanity…accept your handwriting!!


I’m on Instagram @akshayabobale

The Queen: a flash fiction

Sita gazed through the tulip gardens to find her daughter playing around butterflies and doves. She remembered her own childhood, her endless longing for her mother. Endless longing for love. And here she held the council today, discussing upcoming events. Matters that required an urgent attention, urgent action. The only thing that mattered to her today was her daughter laughing and playing in the tulip garden. All she wanted to do was protect her only daughter.

“Just look at her, how pure she is, I must protect her”, she said to her brother, Brij.

“It becomes easier to deal with a person whose intentions are clear. It’s easier to trace the source of their emotions and the possible ways in which they can vent them out. How does one deal with an enemy who smiles at your face and carries a knife underneath their clothes?” Sita said whilst turning the frail pages of the book called, “Yuddha Siddhanta”.

“Think like a queen and you’ll know how.” Brij advised.

Sita smiled, her younger brother, her confidant through these tumultuous times.

“As a queen all I can think of now is of the civil war, that’s waiting to befall upon us” Sita carried the title, the crown with grace,strength and reason all together. Her thoughts were running ahead of time. Whoever wins this war will decide the course of the future wars to come. If we win this war, a civil war is very certain. A civil war is a war without face but with hands and legs filled with aggression. It is more lethal as it follows no rules. Negotiation and mercy have no place in a civil war. Sita went into a deep slumber of thoughts, envisaging battleplans for the wars that have not yet begun. She was certain of their victory against the imminent war, war against The Queen of the forgotten army, Halima. The general consensus of the people favoured Halima over Sita. Halima, a fierce yet thoughtless leader of her army was marching with a physically weak, hungry yet determined army. And this very fact shook Sita, because hunger, not only makes a man kill, but can make him eat the flesh of his enemies. Hunger is evil and hunger for power can make anyone blind. Anyone.

“I think we should first get done with this woman marching towards us. The civil war that might arise after this war can be suppressed, rather easily. Don’t worry about it, worry about what you can see right now. Not about what is yet to take birth.” Brij Assured her.

“You are right, but these fears, I can’t stop them. I can smell vengeance and blood right here, even when I’m surrounded by the high walls of this palace. There are many who wait for her arrival with open arms. There are many, who at the slightest warning will be ready to rip our hearts out.” Sita expressed her fear, caressing the roses at her window. A thorn pricked her delicate yet determined fingers.

“I wish our father was alive today. Our enemies would have lost half their strength only by his presence.” Sita once again started turning the pages of the book. She wasn’t searching for any rules on war or politics. She only wanted to feel powerful like her father. Like her father, she had read all the great books on wars, politics and power. But unlike her exiled husband, she exercised her power.

The above fiction is a concurrence of history, mythology and modern fantasy fiction. The premise of the story is inspired by Cersei Lannister’s character from Game of Thrones. In Indian mythology I like the story of Sita.. I am also watching a Turkish series set on the Ottoman’s available on YouTube. Although I’m not aware if it’s been released on YouTube officially. The series introduced me to a character as dark as Cersei Lannister…her name is Halime Sultan. I cannot vouch for the historical accuracies of the series but I always have special place in my heart for broken souls.

Hoping to write more in coming days!!


I never had any issues with being honest..until recently when I had to let go off a life changing opportunity, since I decided to be honest in that particular situation.

After feeling bad for about a night, I woke up the next morning questioning my stance for being honest to people around us.

Fortunately, I can differentiate between being stupid and being honest. Between being clever and being dishonest. But I believe one can be clever and honest at the same time.

And here we stand with our baggage of principles.. principles we won’t ever leave behind for a handful illusions.

The spectator’s chair: a short story

“So tell me more about what happened at the plaza?” The question was accompanied with a deep stern gaze. His honey coloured eyes could see through the veil she casted on her mind. His eyes searched for answers. Hers made attempts to hide those answers. But silence and patience had already exchanged vows in his head. His curious gaze was accompanied with a tint of compassion. The softness in her black eyes blinded him. How could she resemble her so much? Almost the same heart shaped face with a pointed nose… almost similar almond shaped black eyes and those lips like the colour of ripe figs! There can never be any woman like her. Definitely not the one sitting in front of me right now. My past cannot haunt me today, he said to himself.

The smell of toasted bread dispersed in the air. It brought him back to his interrogation room. His present. The kitchen of his apartment. The white walls allowed the subjects of his interrogation to speak the truth..this is what he believed in. These walls distracted them from dishonesty. A silly superstition but worked for him.

Amidst the zest to find the real criminal, he wondered if these white walls would help him today to look at her with neutrality. Maybe I should paint them black, that might allow me to be neutral, he thought whilst spreading butter on his toasted bread. This was his ritual, to offer bread and butter. He placed two slices of bread on a plate and poured hot cinnamon black tea in his glass mug.

“I cannot face her with such vulnerability”, thought Mr.Redwood.

“How could I question her when my own heart is at war with my mind!”

He forced down a glass of lukewarm lemon water to ease his anxiety. Took the plate of toasted bread and butter and walked towards the dining table. He stared into her eyes to proclaim his command, he observed a flinch in her composure.

“Have some bread and butter,” he offered.
She gave him an unsettling look.

Hide and seek is what they played for a while until the tension in the air was disturbed by a knock on the door.

He left his seat and walked towards the door to open it. He saw a man in a grey coat. He was tall enough to reach the ceiling fan. The grey of his coat was complemented with jet black shoes. His steps sounded like the hooves of a horse as he entered the house. A sharp wound on his left cheek caused an uneasiness in her heart. As if there was a story behind the wound. A fresh yet unspoken story.

He came along with a familiar vibe but an unfamiliar face. His eyes spoke, before he opened his mouth. He had a lot to say, but would it be the truth?

He studied the man, his voice, his eyes and of course his wound. The dried brown blood exposed to his inquisitive eyes. He studied his shoes and the sound they made. The man was too detailed..many things happening all at once. Surmising all of them in one direction could in itself be misleading. Is he doing this on purpose to hide his real identity? What if he’s hiding a gun right now in his coat?

“Your good name sir?”

“Mr.Owls”. Said the new man.

“You seem new in this town.”

Oh and what a town it was. Small as a village and yet everyone called it a town. A town full of peach coloured roofs and walls painted in sea blue. Moss grew on it’s cobalt coloured streets, black lampposts and under the bridges and over the bridges, there was moss everywhere!! It was an aloof and damp town. Women hardly smiled here and men always complained about the tasteless fish found in its rivers. Children played all day long…along the streets..on the streets..along the cold black waters of the river…but never inside those waters. A folklore said, deep inside this river lies a bizarre world of giant blue eyed turtles. Some say those are hungry turtles..ready to gobble down anything that comes on their way.

“Yes I’m quite new here, but I have become familiar with the people of this town, I run a poultry farm here. Here’s my card”.

Mr.Redwood read the card carefully. “Best eggs in the town. Cheap prices!! Contact…”


“I have some news for you. I was present at the plaza last Sunday morning at 6:30 am. I was standing right behind the bus stop..I saw clearly what happened.” Said Mr.Owls.

“Okay go ahead,” said Mr. Redwood.

Meanwhile, she still sat there on the crooked chair with her heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird. She was keenly observing the dynamics between the two men. Men with a cause. Each has their selfish reason to be present in the room. She was keen to find out who would lie better.

“The children were playing around the lampposts and on the streets. There were five of them…three girls and two boys. All aged between seven and eleven years old. It was a merry day. Not an usual sight in this town, to see children singing spring songs. For some vain reasons, the parents of this town would better raise their offspring as robots than humans.”

“I object,” she interrupted.

“Yes Miss.Greysmile, we shall hear your objections but first I would like to hear what Mr.Owls has got to say.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Well it’s quite evident, have you ever seen any child playing around the river?”

“We fear for their safety”, stated Mrs. Greysmile.

“I’m sorry to object to Mrs.Greysmile, if it’s only about their safety, parents could keep a watch on them. Have you seen the banks of the river? They are barricaded with the sharpest barb hooks available in the country.”

“And they aren’t any normal fish hooks, those have been bound by a strong spell!!” exclaimed Mrs. Greysmile.

“Spell?”, asked Mr.Redwood.

“Yes a spell, the people of this town are cursed by the wrath of an underwater goddess, called Lima. A thousand years ago our ancestors once tried to hunt the largest turtle swimming in this river. But that turtle happened to be Lima’s pet. Our ancestors did not know this turtle was her pet, they pleaded for mercy and yet she cursed them…”

“Umm..Mrs.Greysmile, these folklores..” Mr.Owls tried to interrupt her.

“Aren’t a joke!” She asserted.

She continued, “This town isn’t like the other ones around. Strangers often come here with their own interpretations but no one can deny the truth. The story is real. The river nurtures monstrous creatures inside her belly. The river is hungry for young and pure blood. The prophecy shall come true.. Lima’s monstrous turtle will devour those little kids…”

“Stooop itttt” said Mr.Redwood.

“This is my house and only the truth shall come out of your mouths here. No lies, no prophecies..and Mrs.Greysmile…maybe I should remind you the reason for calling you here…your husband is missing from the same day. Is he trying to hunt down that turtle of your dreams or…Or is he the bloodthirsty turtle?”

Mr.Redwood couldn’t believe his words. He got carried away by an array of emotions. He was turning fearless, which also meant he was thinking less. Her enigma no more disarmed his impartiality.

Mr.Redwood drank his hot cinnamon black tea, which had turned cold by then. Silence spread it’s wings across the room, engulfing all the three of them under the umbrella of suspicion. He turned to Mr.Owls and said,

“You were saying something…you saw something…”

Mr.Owls gave a glance to Mrs.Greysmile and said. Fear mounted over Mrs.Greysmile’s rebellious heart.

“I saw Mr.Greysmile…walking along the river banks…”

“Liar”, she shouted at once and threw the butter knife in Owls’s direction.

“If he’s lying, then should I believe in your monstrous turtle and the mysterious goddess prophecy?” Mr.Redwood smirked.

“Your beliefs don’t affect the truth”

“Truth is what the evidence says.”

“And what is your evidence? This stranger who’s been selling chickens in the town or someone who’s been living here for generations..whom would you believe Mr.Redwood?”

“I believe no one, I’ll go to the river myself and witness with my own eyes.”

“You are taking a risk with your life..”

“Well I’m sure my life shouldn’t be of your concern Mrs.Greysmile and it the kids this turtle demands, hence it wouldn’t be bothered by my arrival.”

Fool she said to herself. But this Owls, he is a wise man. In an instant he changed his plans. Mrs.Greysmile was sure he came here with a different plan in his mind but decided to change it the moment he heard her husband’s name. But where is her husband? She must find out before Mr.Redwood finds out about him.

“I’ll come with you to the river.”

Mrs.Greysmile said instantly.

“You should think once..” warned Mr.Redwood.

At that moment Mr.Owls was in the spectator’s chair. He was the one observing the dynamics between the two. Carefully measuring their energies. Carefully measuring their breathing patterns. Trying to get a hold of Mrs.Greysmile’s mind, all he could deduce was, Mr.Redwood was anyways risking his life.

How “to be” under the right influence

Recently I have been thinking and taking up some activities that would help me stay under the right influence. This isn’t going to be a “Five point blog” promising to change anyone’s life, but only a deluge of some personal thoughts.

(Little inner voice: what should be considered as a right influence? Topic for another blog!!)

Right now I don’t want to fill the reader’s mind with my definition of the right influence. With this blog I only want to tingle the reader’s mind.

What could be the possible differences between “How to find the right influence?” and “How to be under the right influence?” I think there is a difference between to find and to be. I would say it is rather easier to find the right kind of influence but challenging to accept and sustain what you have found. At times, all we wanted to find was, “What is the colour of the fruit, peach?” But ended up finding about “How the word peach became a slang in the modern pop culture!”

So how does one process this information? Now this post is specifically for those who have a hard time accepting their higher desires. Those who see the bigger picture and miss out on the details. Those who make meticulous plans but have a hard time on the execution part. Like myself!! I hope I’m not the only one feeling like this..I hope my words are relatable to some of my readers and they find meaning in it.

I have figured out the reason for missing the details is mostly because we are ill informed and once we are well informed about a certain subject we tend to over analyse. I want to avoid using the word overthink, because overthinking has a negative connotation. Over analyse draws your attention towards seeking solution for it, whereas overthink drowns you more into unnecessary guilt and stagnancy. In the process of equipping ourselves with the required information to achieve our desires, we may get overwhelmed by the amount of details involved!! I like to use the word desire rather than dream because “desires” sound more practical. The word dream sounds delusional to me.

Let us take the good old example, let’s assume you want to reach from point A to point D. So one fine morning while having breakfast, it occurred to you, “Oh, what about point B and C? How far is A from B? Can I directly jump to point C? If yes how long is the jump? Am I capable of taking this jump? Or should I take the slower route and first try reaching B?”

You decide to take the slower route and reach point B, but the distance between point B and point C is more than the distance between point A and point B. (Now this is sounding more like a math problem). Ahh, frustration builds up in your mind and you start thinking oh this was a wrong decision!!(which could be the case, there is nothing wrong in making a wrong decision, but it’s wrong to learn nothing from those decisions) Right in the middle of the road, you decide to back out! You may even feel like you are an impulsive decision maker and that doesn’t feel good.

But this wasn’t an impulsive decision (there is difference between being impulsive and being intuitive and I don’t think it can be explained in words, atleast for now!!). You already knew the points you might have to cross to reach your goal. You searched about them, but you can’t expect to know them completely until you reach at those points. Not until you feel, touch and see them. You pondered about the better option, you backed off from jumping directly onto point C and here you are at point B. The basis of your decision, the slower route.

But deciding to back out in the middle of the road may be an impulsive decision.

At this point, you have “to be“. To avoid any sort of dilemma at this point your basis for making any decision must be clear.

I don’t mean to motivate anyone reading this blog. Nah, I don’t believe in motivating, I believe in dissecting the situation. Breaking the situation and your attitude towards the situation into pieces and again joining them together.

A little bit of change in the daily vocabulary, has the capacity to change your mindset.

A little bit of change in your YouTube algorithm, has the capacity to change the kind of knowledge you acquire. (YouTube is what you make of it. It is comparatively more productive place than the other social media platforms.)

Change the kind of books you read, for example I was mostly into fiction and drama and fantasy!! I am now stocking some non fiction books into my shelf.

A little bit of change in daily habits has the capacity of transitioning yourself into a different person. Maybe even the kind of person you always wanted to be. Speaking of habits, don’t bound yourself to activities that make you feel drained. The same activities might have worked for someone else, but may not necessarily work for you. Your present isn’t their present. Your past wasn’t their past and even if it was any similar, you are a different person. Each of us has our peculiar pace.

I can go on endlessly on this topic…most probably I’ll end up deviating from where I started and what I intended to say. But in the meanwhile I might end up saying things that were lying in my subconscious mind which I wouldn’t have known had I planned to talk about them.

I hope this is how humans normally talk.

Thanks for reading my ramble.

White pasta

Not the best picture but the best taste for sure!!

Instagram has made it difficult for people with ordinary cutlery to post photos of their food. Aesthetics matter to the eye, taste matters to the tongue. And the tonnes of cheese I have poured into this dish, I’m sure, every cell of my body now knows the taste of cheese.

This Gordon Ramsay inspired pasta prides itself with the finely sliced onions smeared in Amul butter (sabka butter) until they turn rose pink in colour. Thinly sliced five cloves of garlic with one green chilli and the most balanced dash of black pepper and oregano!! Saute all of it in the most unhealthy amount of butter and more butter and more butter (just make you don’t die the next time you see butter).

Add some hot water. Now you have a choice here.

Either wait like me until the pasta becomes gooey or I know a few people who don’t like gooey pasta. They like it a bit firm. And that’s not how you eat pasta. So better wait.

The one ingredient I didn’t have readily available, which ideally any house should always have was coriander or the more stylish name “Cilantro” (I hope I am not wrong to assume coriander and cilantro as the same herb).

Don’t forget the salt.

#whitepasta #foodporn #sundayrecipes

Happy Sunday!!


For a long I thought I shouldn’t be expressing negativity or darkness in my writings…but then I read poems by Sylvia Plath and she changed my mind…I believe forever. Here’s a small poem inspired by her writings. I haven’t tried to write like her that wasn’t my intention. I just liked how she went so deep into the alleys of her mind. How I wish, if someone had helped her when she was in pain..


And I have killed my intuitions so many times that I have forgotten how it feels to live and love the moment simultaneously.

Why should I even bother anyone with my lamentations
I need no sympathy
No comfort to console my unexpressed grief

Follow your intuitions, he told me
I said it’s precarious
Intuitions die the very moment they are born,
How do I trust the frailties of my mind?
I cannot imagine myself turning blind towards what’s visible
I cannot imagine myself turning blind towards what’s poking me
My mind seeks light
Darkness is beyond my comprehension

It’s your fear, he told me.

Yes it’s fear
Fear of losing my present
In the attempt to surpass reality
Fear that my beliefs will always be wrong and I’ll end up worse than my present.
The fear of attachment
The fear of detachment
The fear of being stranded in between

This pride is making you hollow, he said
Yes my pride
My borrowed pride, the price is pay is peace of my mind
My pride
Bestowed upon me
From the days of my innocence
Ignorant of it’s definitions
Ignorant of it’s consequences
But I never owned the pride for my own self
I never wore it on my sleeves
I rather kept it hidden inside my pockets
The deep pockets of my mind.

He said don’t worry
Don’t think much
And he said so many many things…

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