AMEETHYST

I have spent a considerable amount of my prime years writing about people who hurt me, betrayed me, ranting, venting, and bleeding out pain. I lost a lot of blood in the process. Some of it belonged to blood relations too. But somewhere along the way, I forgot about the people who genuinely loved me. Even before I got married. The people who stayed without demanding anything dramatic in return. This goes out to my people. Some who do not live close to me anymore, but never forgot about me, even when I hardly bothered to check on them the way I should have. This is an apology to all those people. This is for the person who has been my best friend for years. Someone who talks his heart out, never stops, never judges me, and never thinks twice before offering help. I was always the opposite. I hated long conversations. I preferred silent companionship over endless talking. Even when the other person wanted to pour his heart out, his pain out, I was mostly just a listener. Hmm. Yes. True. ...

You aren't getting any younger. Every year, life hands you something. A lesson you never asked for. A challenge so brutal it bends your ego in half. A memory so beautiful it keeps you alive on your worst days. Or a warning. A cold reminder that time is not slowing down for anybody, and neither is death. That’s been my life for years now. Every year, a new battle arrives at my doorstep. Different face. Same war. At this point, hardship doesn’t feel unfamiliar anymore. It feels scheduled. Expected. Almost intimate. Sometimes I wonder if God is preparing me for something far worse that lies ahead. Or maybe He’s forcing me to become someone capable of surviving it. Either way, I wake up grateful that I still get to breathe beside the people I chose to love, not just the people I happened to share blood with. This year, I made some of the hardest decisions of my life. Not emotionally charged, hasty, mindless decisions. Permanent ones. This was no longer about compromise. It was about bo...

I genuinely feel lucky. Lucky because there was a time in my life when evenings belonged to me. No pressure to constantly be productive. No endless notifications. No pretending to love fake friends or family. Just me, sitting quietly in a dark room, getting lost in films. Not movies. Films. And trust me, there’s a difference. I know because I had insufferable friends who made sure I learned it properly. The kind who would correct you if you said “ Bollywood ” too casually. The kind who spoke about cinema like they were discussing religion, politics and heartbreak all at once. They taught me the difference between a “ movie buff ” and a “ film enthusiast. ” One sounds like a guy who watches Fast & Furious on Star Movies every Sunday. The other one who admires art and storytelling in cinema. People today mostly remember the big factories of entertainment. Dharma. YRF. Warner Bros. Marvel Studios. Massive banners. Massive openings. Massive PR. But my friends introduced me to a differe...

Denial is my hometown. I get this a lot — that I never accept my mistakes. That I deny everything I’m ever accused of. And honestly? Yeah. That’s true. It’s in my genetics. It’s hereditary. I get it from my family. They’ve denied me so much, I’ve started to believe that’s just how we bond. That’s our version of conversation. Tell them they hurt my feelings? Denied. Tell them I want to live my dreams? Denied. Tell them they were wrong for casting me out of family decisions? Denied. I’m not just familiar with denial. I’m an offspring of denial on steroids. So when they came back to me — when I’d finally grown into an adult, just like they once were — and started asking me questions, it was time for me to don their role and lead with excellence. And right when it felt like something real might finally happen, right when it was time for deliverance, an army arrived — AN ARMY OF INSTA-PARENTING THERAPISTS! “They were first-time parents too.” “They deserve kindness.” “They were learning.” Oh...

You know why I'll always love Spider-Man? I love the fact that he's just a kid. I love that he has superpowers, not the ones that made him the " Web-Slinger " or a " Friendly Neighbourhood, " but the part where he self-heals. That is what I consider real power - Self-healing. I wish we all had that power. He can heal from any kind of physical pain. That's why he's never afraid of any danger. He's always ready to dive in and save people. But when it comes to emotional healing, he doesn't have any powers there. He has to do it like a regular human. Endure the suffering. Shed tears like a weak little boy. Deal with endless heartbreaks. Lose people he loves. And still have enough courage to wake up every day and be Spider-Man. Go swinging into every Brand New Day , saving the city, saving people, some of them who even wished he was dead. That's the " Great Responsibility " he owns along with his " Great Powers. " And that...

Spare me the lessons in arms & ammunition. That's not what it's about. The number is holy... HOLY FUCK! Count the bones in your body that can turn into ash. Let go of the burn when you had a crash. Your heart can't heal from heat-seeking missiles. You are already a target in the Devil's secret files. He's seen you laugh and smile. No walls can guard you now. Fortify until you turn 45. Rest, the bullets  will get you until you die.

In the dark, waiting for the light. In the light, he awaits a fight. Then it breaks down. A battle, a war. A conflict of ideologies. An altercation. But it builds a crescendo As it descends down into the ashes. Oh, wow! That’s where the Phoenixes arise my dear Devilish friend. Welcome home. You are late for dinner. We have devoured some souls while you were away enjoying the Massacre. Come on in, it’s almost time. We need to watch the game of sinners and winners searching for God.

Walking in the land of the dead, there’s a song in the head that keeps humming. What happened to all these corpses? Where have their souls fled? What’s wrong with bloodshed? How can the devil earn his daily bread? If he silences the red? It’s not what he’s made for He’s not designed to savor sweetness He’s crafted, like art To tear apart the hearts To become evil, in his purest way He desires to devour the dark He indeed has the spark to haunt the devil himself. He cannot be nice. It’s against nature, Not at all his signature Let darkness guide him to his destination that defined his nomenclature. The end is just the beginning for him. Where the world buries their pains, he draws pleasant gains. He dances to the tunes of melancholy beyond the light where darkness reigns his mind, body and soul. This is his destiny, to take everything in and weep within. But remember pal, he will orchestrate the deadliest of kills with his magnificent skills, the one that you will enjoy as you breathe y...