I wish you stay: Postcard from P

To the ones reading this.

This postcard comes after a long time. Somewhere all this time i could not write. Let’s talk about dreams today. Did you ever visit a place that made you crave that you could stay a little longer? May be you did. May be you don’t.

There is just this feeling, the uneasiness when you are about to leave a place the next morning and you don’t want the moon to go down. It always happened with me in all my travels.

And then there would be relationships you would want to be in, you would wish to stay longer, you would never want to leave and just for that very day, i want to wish something for you all:

I wish he remembers the way you take your coffee with icecream and then laugh about your weird choices

I wish he sees that you laugh off romance and still memorize the lines of your romantic movie

I wish he knows how much it bothers you, when he teases you about wanting to be taller.

I wish he notices the little things and how you go silent when sun sets.

I wish he notices the way your smile grows, when you see my favorite disney character.

I wish he reads your writing and never looks for himself.

I wish he knows what your eyes say and does not believe the words.

I wish he cares for you like you deserve to be.

I wish he makes you sit and tells you that you are much more than just pretty, you are his most beautiful someone in a different way.

I wish he never snatches you away from you.

I wish he cups your face and tells you how much he loves you before every kiss.

I wish he talks aloud to you all the things that he would never say that to anyone

I wish he never lets you to change come what may.

I wish this stays for ever.


And when this stays the way i wished for all you little girls out there, do write to me and tell me your stories, i would be this old woman in her little lonely house who will have a smile on her face when she reads that he came along and most importantly

You stayed………..





The elephant in the room no one wants to talk about – Child Sexual Abuse

Often at the sessions of “The Bachpan project”, I wonder why it’s difficult for the child to speak about child sexual abuse. Why do they go though years of abuse to finally accept it? Why do they even need a counsellor when they have parents around?

Believe it or not, In most societies child sexual abuse is still a taboo, making it difficult for most people to talk about it openly. Then there are demons like doubting our own perceptions, being afraid to accuse someone falsely, and being unable or unwilling to go through the pain that can stem from acknowledging that someone we care about is being abused or is abusing.

Let’s first talk about why they are not able to talk about it?

Fear that no one will understand

Sexual abuse is hard to prove because there are rarely witnesses. Many people think that unless they can prove abuse has taken place, they don’t have the right to speak up about behaviors or observations that concern them. It’s important to act responsibly, but saying nothing because you think you don’t have enough proof can expose a child to danger.

Looking for reasons rather than signs

It’s an innocent child for God’s sake who will first need to come to term with the fact that he is being abused, don’t look for reason, for logic, for concern before you act. If you’re concerned about child sexual abuse, ask yourself what exactly you’re seeing that makes you uncomfortable or suspicious. You may be thinking that all you have is a gut feeling that something isn’t quite right. Go by that damn gut feeling. Never ever ignore it. Because your intuition and your feelings are connected to a behavior, interaction or event that actually took place.

You may be a loner voice in suspecting fishy

It can take enormous courage and determination to stand up when no one else shares your concerns. Some people try speaking up, but when others ignore or dismiss what they have to say, they can become too intimidated to bring the subject up again. It always happens but do remember your one act can save a life, your one step of trust is all that a child needs to believe in the power of goodness. If a child has disclosed that they are being abused, adults might not believe the child unless they understand that children rarely lie about sexual abuse.

If you’re not sure, get help to assess if these behaviors indicate a risk of sexual abuse. Figuring out if the behaviors that worry you are significant is hard to do by yourself.

Reach to us at The Bachpan Project if you need professional assistance.

Reach to us at drpoojatripathi1902@gmail.com for sessions on child sexual abuse in schools and organizations.

Act because we need to make sure that childhood is not trapped in abuse and violence.

कह के जब पलटी थी वो तुमसे

कह के जब पलटी थी वो तुमसे

कि तुम नहीं हो कहीं

तो उन आँखों के बहने में तुम थे

रात के सन्नाटे में जब दिखती है उसे

तुम्हारी आवाज़

तो वो टटोलती है तुम्हारे चेहरे को

बनाती है कुछ तुम जैसा

हवा में और ढूँढती है तुम्हें

उन उकेरों में

तो जब कहा था उसने कि तुम नहीं हो कहीं

न जाना था उसने कि

किताबों के पन्नों के बीच बैठे मिलोगे तुम

या फेवरेट फिल्म के किरदारों से लगोगे तुम

तुम मुस्कुराओगे धीरे से रेडियो के हर गाने के पीछे

बस वो वाली मुस्कराहट जो कह उठती है”कहा था न मैंने”

तुम्हारा न होकर भी होगा उसके साथ

न चाहे उग आये बथुआ की तरह

बेतरतीब से पड़े उसके कपड़ों में

नीले फूलों वाले सफ़ेद कॉफ़ी मग में

एक पैर में पड़ी पायल में

हर कोने में तो छितरे पड़े हो

तो जब वो कहेगी की भूल चुकी है तुमको

और याद नहीं वो साथ का वक़्त

तो मत पूछना उससे

कि चाँद को देख कर वो क्यूँ हो जाती है उदास

क्यूँ रखा है उसने आज तक तुम्हारा वो तोहफा संभाल

क्यूँ वो पहनती है अक्सर एक झुमका जो तुमने खरीदा था

क्यूँ उसके हफ़्तों में नीला दुपट्टा लौट आता है बार बार

तो कह के जब पलटी थी वो तुमसे

कि तुम नहीं हो कहीं


मान लेना उसे

Think Positive………is all that we have to say?

I used to take sessions on mental illness at schools under my Bachpan Project, i have many people, many readers discussing their “issues”, as they call it with me. I don’t call it issues, i don’t like to call it illness too because it is much deeper than that. I call it life, life because falling in and out of love is life, life because being hurt is life, life because not feeling okay without any reason is life, life because thinking you are depressed is life too.

Few days back i was having an incredibly low phase of life as i like to call it, the sleep went away, books were left unread, calls unanswered and thoughts cluttered. My Instagram filters added up and my life became unfiltered. There were temporary phases of feel good with long spells of anxiety.  Our mind is a glorious bastard, do you realize that it manipulates our memory according to our perception. In my part of memory, I went home and talked to my mother saying I don’t know how I will tolerate the job that doesn’t motivate me, how i will close the curtain of an unhappy relationship. In the same memory, my mother and dad say Think positively, and this is it.

When i talk about their perception of that day, the conversation is all about Think Positively. I am on my phone, busy chatting to someone they don’t recognize and they think its just her restless phase. You have always been like that since a teenager, Think Positively” they say and we laugh. We laugh and have some dessert at dinner to shoo it off.

But i remember that phase drains me up, i remember that no one hugs me up and says not to think positively. I remember being told that i was always this angry girl, i am not angry i want to say but i stay shut. The roots of your changed behavior is traced to some idea of weights that needed to be released. At brunches, at dinner is served empathy when each one talks about a girl with a no name who should have “thought positively, the mouth freshener is the sympathetic talk on people’s struggles.

And then they retire, retire in silence to the elephant in room. No one wants to talk about it. Think Positive laughs from a corner. I remember the story i heard in childhood about a king who was made to believe that only people who have brains can see the cloth he is wearing, he goes around naked in his city and everyone admires the cloth. No one wants to accept that the king is naked. No one wants to accept that they don’t have brains. No one in us wants to accept that we are imperfect.

“Think Positive” is the same invisible cloth i guess. In this apartment where i live alone but it’s my own piece of peace, here i do everything to smile. The Amrita Pritam poster, Gulzar and his magical lines and flowers, but i don’t want any “Think Positive” to enter this space. My coping up is beautiful in it’s own way.

As for family, as for the friends who watched from a distance i have no complaints. We have been instilled with the idea of  taking so much pride in our families that the pain is camouflaged.

Have i let go of the hurt ?

For now i don’t have answers to it and Yes i am not thinking positively, i am just taking my time.



Yourself……..is the word


Waiting for you… my November

You are my November

beautiful like the despair of autumn leaves

when the season takes a turn in deep sleep

like promises that I couldn’t keep

You are my November morning

shivers which scream of unsaid moaning

You are my November afternoons

akin to the zari border ripped of a benarasi sari

i had long kept to save up a memory

You are my November

but what am I, a question lingers

I am the winters waiting for November

in search of the tangerine hue of those cold evenings

rummaging the arid dreams in a desolate night

portraying the crimson shades of a shivery mornings

anticipating the flutter, quiver, shudder of a lone fire

i am a distracted flustered soul

a little in October

afraid of December

wanting to be ubiquitous

here and there, inside -out

i am a fragment of year

i am the sand that’s slipping between fingers

waiting for November

My November

Postcard from P: We are lonely by choice #UrbanNomads

To the young girls and boys

Today sitting alone in a café, having my third latte I want to talk about us- the urban nomads. In our quest to find us, somewhere we all are loners trying to breathe. You know cities can be the most lonely spaces in nights. I try to write and i think  there is a writers block. I go to a café, I have been fed with the idea that J.k. Rowling created the whole world of Potter in a café.

After numerous coffees and few rubbish drafts, I look at the cafe owner. I think he knows my deepest secrets, I think he knows that I am a vulnerable piece with just a strong looking packaging. I open my phone and enter the world of Instagram where everyone is happy. I think we have found the key to happiness- Selfie and captions that do not suit the pictures.

I come back,  I clean my bed , I bring all pillows and keep on bed just to make sure there are no vacant spaces. There is a pink elephant stuff toy which I don’t remember who has given it to me. Maybe a junior who was fond of me or maybe that girl I shared a flat with. I hate pink but I am sure I may have never said that: Not to the pink ugly toys or to the pink sari that a girl claimed to be best friend gifted me on my birthday. I drink water every minute. I am just trying to say a fuck off to the feeling of being lonely.

Everything has changed, the pale-yellow colors of wall that I grew up with have turned into aquamarine blue, the woman who sold flowers at the small temple on corner is nowhere to be seen. You know we do grow up but never grow out of the familiar world etched in our mind.

We want to stay back, stay back in lives of people we think we are important. I want to stay back in the anklet that has bells that sound like love, I want to stay back in a white coffee mug that dad sent me. I want to stay back in the books that I own, scribbling my name, a faint smiley here and there to remind the person reading it that I stayed back. I want to stay back in a diary with yellow pages where I wrote many messed up poems on love. I want to stay back in the mickey mouse sweater that once was my most prized possession. I want to stay back in the eyes of the boy who used to look at me always during morning prayers but never said anything. I don’t remember his face clearly now. So in an attempt to stay back everywhere, are we forgetting to hold back too.

In our stride to be independent, we have married loneliness and it’s there everywhere around us like a possessive love interest. I find it there on the table lamp kept at bed side, between the pile of books I keep ordering, the chilli flakes lying on floor since the day I ordered of the pizza and a calendar which is still showing February.
You realize there is a set pattern with all of us, however happy we seem on our social media feed, we are lonely by choice.

Don’t fall into this trap. DON’T.



दुनिया के सभी पापा के नाम

ट्रेन यात्रा के मेरे किस्सों में कल बहुत प्यारी सी कहानी जुड़ गयी. बीच सफ़र में, एक परिवार मेरी सामनी वाली सीट पर आ कर बैठा, पति, पत्नी और उनकी छोटी सी बेटी जिसका नाम पिहू था.पर सिर्फ ये तीन साथ में सफ़र कर रहे हो ऐसा नहीं था- पिहू के दो दोस्त भी थे- एक गुड़िया जिसका नाम कुहू था और एक टेडी जो गोलू था.पति की तबियत कुछ ख़राब सी थी, बुखार से परेशान थे वे. ट्रेन में चढ़ते ही सीट पर लेट गए और उनकी पत्नी ऊपर वाली बर्थ पर. अब पिहू अपने पापा के साथ ही बैठी थी. माँ ने ऊपर बुलाया पर पिहू को पापा के साथ रहना था अपने दोस्तों को लेकर. जब मान ने डांटा तो पति ने कहा “कोई दिक्कत नहीं है, रहने दीजिये यहाँ, खेल तो रही है, मैं बिलकुल परेशान नहीं हो रहा”. क्या दुनिया के सभी पापा इतने ही प्यारे होते हैं? फ्रायड वैगैरेह तो ठीक है पर क्या इसी वजह से अपने प्रेम में, अपने रिश्तों में हम पापा सी निश्चलता को खोजते हैं.

गाँव में एक बूढी चाची कहती है कि जब वो पैदा.हुआ था तो जम कर पानी बरसा था, आसमान में काले काले बादल छा गए थे, डरावने से. “लगा था कि सरजू मां सब बहा ले जाएँगी उस बरस”. पर दूसरे दिन पानी उतर गया उस डरावने दिन से आया वो पर फिर भी कितना सुकून है उसके होने से, अधखुली आँखों में डर के जब उठती हूँ तो वो ही तो है जो मुस्कुराता रहता है. वो ही है जो टूटने नहीं देता. जब अँधेरा खाने लगता है तो वो ही है जो खींच के बाहर निकाल लेता है. ये लिखते हुए जब आँखों में आसूं आ गए तो एक गहरी सांस ले कर मैं सामने देखती हूँ तो वो वहीँ खड़ा मिलता है. और मेरी लाल आँखें मुस्कुरा उठती हैं. कोने का एक दांत नहीं है उनका, आईने में खुद को देखती हूँ तो लगता है झुर्रियों के पड़ने में भी वही दिखता है, दायीं ओर ज्यादा गहराती झुर्रियां. उसका होना इस खर्च होती उम्र का एक हासिल है…………..एक दोस्त उनको बड़े पंडित कहता है और मैं पापा.

P.S.- पिहू अपने सोते हुए पापा के पेट पर ड्राइंग बुक रख कर पेंटिंग कर रही है और बगल में कुहू भी दिख रही है.सच कहूँ पिता के माथे पर परेशानी कि शिकन भी नहीं थी.

My old home

one evening when sun painted
the sky with goodbye of orange
i passed through a familiar lane
leading to a “no more my address”
to an old home where my childhood stays

it was there my old home, old and wrinkled
for years which never trembled
perched near a dhaak tree shade
the colors that have begun to fade

our home was small and sturdy through seasons
we were happy may be that was the reason
inside we had a guava tree whose branches came
inside the rooms where the love  still flowed.

a swing hung to a porch for the children to share,
we giggled, we laughed and didn’t have anything to care,
inside that home a rickety chair and mattress lay bare,
an old dining table where meals were shared

and through all the dark nights we hid with quilts piled high,
we slept like kings through stories of kings, not knowing why.
so, today as I left that by lane and bid my old house a goodbye
inside my heart, I know I could never love my new house exactly so

and no matter on which pathways life now leads me on,
still at the sleepy town is an old home is where I belong

That was a difficult rescue…..I am glad you did

You know what is the most beautiful thing in this chaotic world full of people that pull us down. The one’s that rescue the “Us” that really can save us. Sounds confusing na?

Fighting my anxiety and a low phase i come across a phone call in which my daddy….sorry my friend tells me little stories, stories that speak of how fitting in to other’s idea of life is so overrated, stories of how forgiveness is the journey we all should take and there at that moment he makes me believe again; in life, in love and in my potential.

Thank you to the ones who unknowingly bring us back to life just by being there, just by supporting us, just by listening and just by reassuring us that they’re not going anywhere.

A friend who patiently waits for me to be ready again, so that they can show us the kind of love we deserve, the kind of love we are capable of giving back, the kind of love we stopped  believing in.

Thank you to the ones who don’t make us feel guilty or don’t take pleasure in suffering. To the ones who held our hand when everyone gladly left away.

To the one’s who send an occasional text saying “Are you okay”. to the one’s who just wander around until we heal, to the ones who don’t scourge for reasons to give up on us, to the one’s who still believe in dreams of shattered us, to the ones who just shun out every voice that says otherwise.

Thank you to those angels. Thank you for bringing back a smile that went missing like your favorite pet. Thank you for keeping us above hatred, above life’s priorities. above routine that runs you, above fear.

To the one’s who renewed our faiths in kindness, goodness, infinite potential of a loving heart.

THANK YOU…………for a difficult rescue. I am glad you did stick around.

P.S- I am taking my Alexa rank to next level with Blogchatter with this post.

The Two Love………..

There are two kinds of people

Who will walk through that door

One which will make you comfortable

Like a coffee at a quaint sunset

One who will look at you with

A shine in their eyes

One who will buy you chocolates

That tastes familiar

One who will ask you out for a dance

And then will come someone

Who is like smudged words

Of a coffee spilled on your fuchisia table top

One whose taste lingers

One who makes you crawl in your skin

One whose whispers drip to the nape of neck

One whose kiss are a scar that leaves its mark

One who leaves like a bruise and still doesn’t leave

One who doesn’t seem familiar in this world

One you have known from a distant galaxy

In another time

In another place

In another moment maybe

You won’t want to fall in love

You will burn in love

You will drown in someone

Artwork by Ceasar Biojo

P.S- I am writing this post for #MyFriendAlexa by Blogchatter