ggingerlemon's Blog

Into a voracious head

​Dear Shetty Sir,

You are so smart and witty. Your brain works in unusual ways and everytime I feel I’ve understood how you process things, you wrong me. I honestly have never, not in person met any man who can keep me involved and interested in a subject like you have.

I watch you, I really do. I want to listen to you talk, always. I watch how your tall, lanky frame swings from side to side as you put forth concept with such brilliance, it evokes imagination in the listener; how subconsciously your fingers point and wrist shakes jingling your watch; how you aimlessly watch the wall, juggling through thoughts in your head creating a masterpiece of an answer, I watch it all. I am so versed with your body language because I cannot help but notice the source of such talent. I can almost imagine your young self with arms and legs growing faster than you could decipher, and your curiosity and thoughts a little faster than that. I can imagine you trying to figure yourself out while everyone around you was already jealous of your cleverness and I can imagine how you would still have a tribe waiting to listen to you, enchanted by your wit and humour.

I don’t think you have or you would ever lose a debate. I don’t think you would let any question go unanswered. I am a sucker for your lectures. You are the best at what you do. You amaze everybody, especially me, and I knew I was a lost cause when I first heard you talk.

You are also so kind and impartial. You are an encouragement in yourself. Your presence creates a carefree environment and gives one the will to learn, to know. 

You are wonderful. I find myself extremely lucky to have come across you, to have learnt from you. I am glad you exist.


Letters to women I adore #3

Dear Janet,

The kind of people I write these appreciative letters to, I’ve discovered, have a type. They’re the introverted type, the quiet ones that silently work their way to something great. But you, you’re the loud, outspoken person I could never see myself growing fond of, but have.

When I met you, I was skeptical of you. I usually am with people like you that are always so jolly. I can’t seen to wrap my head around the fact that I barely even know you, I can’t as much as pronounce your surname and yet the adoration I feel for you is immense. You are so good with people, so kind and warm. I have never seen you treat one person with a slightly lessened concern even when you’re in pressure situations. I know nothing of your story and of whatever little I do, makes me feel like I’d crumble like dust if as much as a quarter of it were to happen to me. You are so strong and loving. 

I wish all the good in the world for you. People even slightly associated with you are extremely lucky to have you.

There are some very rare people that make better the day of every single person they interact with. That is you. The world needs people like you who are kind regardless of how un-peachy their situation is. You’ve been brought up so well, I shows. And how you stick to your values whilst managing to be your rebellious self amazes me.

Everybody loves you. Your faith in the almighty makes me smile. Your expressions, as you talk, speak to me. I feel so happy listening to you talk and I’m sure everyone else does, too. It feels like I’m breathing fresher air and my heart is pumping a little more effortlessly when I see you deal with people. It is so different than how most of us do- closed, guarded, only speaking of what is absolutely necessary. I love how you can talk and then talk some more on it. You are a breath of fresh air in the mundane sea of people I meet.

You are always your vulnerable self, not afraid of being wronged because your amazing self knows how to mend it’s own. You don’t need to do something great in life like have a breakthrough in cancer cure or a marvellous invention, really, because what you do everyday is enough greatness in its own. What you do to others lives, make it a little more liveable is what the world needs most. It is for this that I and everybody else around  adores you.

Art by Betsy Susan, classmate and friend.

My sister and I, we talk about the perfect nose- not too long like mine, nor bulbous like hers. The perfect one that gives symmetry to one’s entire face. The one that he has- the man of Science.

My most peculiar memory of the man of Science is that of him standing tall in the lab against the backdrop of blinding rains- those that make everything fade, even the shiny gurdwara dome, painted bright gold.

But rains or no, that is what the man is capable of- making the background fade.

The more I watch the man of Science, the more I realise that he is instead that man of Life- of life’s struggles and lessons.

The erectness of his back, a habit now, from the constant dose of discipline. 

The chiseled abs of a 45 something, after the incessant whiplashes from life straight in the gut.

Skin clear yet porous, having absorbed it all- auras of men and women and places.

Eyes searching, ears twitching; reading. 

Always only a white shirt and black pants; like there’s no in-between, only good or bad.

And you know now, that I watch him, needless to say; like he does everyone else- I notice him noticing. 

I notice how lovely cufflinks he owns; how many rings he dons; his ears pierced, devoid of a stone. And I notice how his black pants have changed to grays and blues; how the hem of his trousers just miss the heel of his shoe- this man.

The more I watch,the less I understand, this man.

Spoken word

I am myself but yet defined

By the classes I put myself into 

When I fill in blanks onto forms, 

Stating religion, gender, field, and 

I don’t shy away because 

It makes me and

I am it-

A representative. Of sorts.

I am a Science student

Who runs a poetry blog, 

The tentative smile to the pujari across from Sion station 

Whilst also adjusting my head scarf, 

I am that who when dons a burqa; goes our of her way to offer help because 

I am but a representative and 

There’s misrepresentation enough.

And my face usually, clear I keep but

I deck up when on a pedestal I have to be

Because beautification doesn’t make me and my kind weak and 

Beauty and brain is not a dichotomy and

Though silly, irrational, pointless to some this may seem, 

I will do all of this because 

Every living minute of my day, I am a representative.

A representative of sorts; trying, struggling,  loving, being 

A breaker of norms.

In the wake of the morning,
In between and after class
Jogging down two floors below
Through peeking windows I pass
Enter the doors, browse the web
The barcode, shelf count, cupboard number I get
He jogs to one of the aisles
Then hands me it
I smile my brightest;
On my regular chair I sit
Perusing through it, ten pages I score
Sucking, filling, it’s calling for more
Again and again I manage to go
Every day, so much now so
That before the shelf count, cupboard number I tell,
He smiles, then says, “Biology by Campbell?”

Spoken word


It is the same drill everyday, or everytime I go outdoors; which is every once in a while because of constant bickering from loved ones- fetch a black-yellow rickshaw, the most amusing thing I ride, satisfying, too.

I have a love-hate relationship with rickshawalas. For instance, the other day when I get on one on my way to college, the rickshawala is a decent looking man until he starts to mess with the side mirrors- adjusting the mirrors until he can view my face, then all of me and my stuff. All this while, I wriggle in my seat, placing the bag from the seat onto my lap, from my lap to my front; everywhere. Legs stiff, then folded, then crossed; wrapping the dupatta tighter around my face and body trying to be shapeless, faceless, identityless! Or the countless times when I want to wipe the smirk off of their faces with a slap, I don’t. The many ‘keep the change’ times to avoid the filthy accidental brush of fingers that make my soul shudder.

Then there are times otherwise. I fetch a rickshaw on my way home. The guy is rigid and awkward. I cannot refuse to get into this one for I might not be able to find another at this hour. A police gypsy stops on our right and he fumbles. It’s odd, he’s sweating more than normal. As the ride proceeds, I talk, so does he. He confides in me how he accidentally ran over 3 people, killing them for he was half asleep. He tells me where he lives, where he has lived before, about his brothers, about those that helped him escape. He seems guilty. I cannot help but smile as his shoulders relax. I peek out from the open sides, wind gushing, I wonder how many have their secrets unleash in this little carefree space. I do too, sometimes. I am myself sometimes, someone else at times; someone I know of, someone from my imagination. I stay quite only filling the tiny gaps between his words to keep it from getting awkward and ask him to take the longer route home.

It’s a love-hate relationship with rickshawalas. But I know, I know that when I go out and see one of these black-yellow rickshaws with two open sides that fill your lungs with air on speedy roads, and hop on gravelled ones, those that make you confide in strangers your darkest, deepest secrets, or ramble with enthusiasm your daily struggle, or a fragment of your imagination made so believable; when I see one of those, I will bend down to see the rickshawala. With a quick evaluation of his face and shirt and so to decide if he’s a creep, a freak, a sadist, a thief, a pervert, or a storyteller, a philosopher, a breadwinner, a counsellor, a dreamer, a gentlemen, or what, I will indeed take the damed rickshaw.

Letters to women I adore #2

Dear Fatima,

I don’t voice out my affection, but if anything, my actions would do the needful for you. That is because I sit and hear you talk. You make so much sense all the time, I listen and absorb.

You are so pragmatic, it keeps you away from all the senseless stuff our times offer. You are head strong and hard working. You don’t even glance at someone else’s patch of grass to see how more or less greener it is than yours but do best with what you have. That is how confident and secure you are with yourself. The way you intimidate people without having to try because of your low tolerance to bullshit makes me smile. It’s true, I have seen demeanours change and people be on their best behaviour on encountering you. Your aura demands respect and people offer you no less.

With subtle features, luscious hair, and ample of beauty, you are self motivated and fierce, knowing well what needs to be done when. Most others and I will always recall you first for being the amazing person you are, and later for your tiny waist and tall frame. If I’m sure about somebody doing extremely well in the future, it’s you. You are going to be a breadwinner and a homemaker, a manager and sustainer. You are going to excel in whatever you do. No wonder you’ve been named after one of the greatest women in history.

For being always so helpful, soft spoken, caring. For being so ladylike and conquering things like a women, I adore you.

Letters to women I adore #1

Dear Tejaswini,

As I write this, I feel your dark, kohl clad eyes guarded by thick glasses stare back at me. You’re probarbly wearing a sarcastic graphic tee, or something with stripes; there’s always something with stripes, or that red hooded jacket you wear when you need some emotional comfort, or a denim shirt; you wear those a lot. And those smug blue jeans that make your legs look so fit and some flip flops or sandals that you ordered online. You order so much stuff online, it’s amusing. I have known you for not more than 10 months and have grown to like you so much, it’s so unlike me.

You have so many friends, it makes me cringe. But you’re so good to everyone so, ofcourse you would. I can feel you asking me to go out more and talk to more people. I feel you talking in my head a lot, it’s crazy. That’s how much your presence simply has influenced my introverted self. I even miss you during vacations. That is so unlike me, too.

You are not someone who would instantly brighten someone’s day, my day. You don’t make my pulse quicken, or make me anxious, or nervous. To me, you are consistency, stability, calmness, a home to come to. You make me want to talk, and argue, and think. To go on walks with and talk, to forward links to videos and blogs, to build my vocabulary with, to get breakfast with, to try DIY scrubs with, to discuss music and books and words and religion and global issues and men. It’s scary to find myself opening up. You make me smile and giggle a little too often, and think; constantly making me think. I take pictures and videos of you and pull my phone out for pictures with you only to find myself smiling at it later that day. It feels so wierd, but, I do it nevertheless. I’m always learning when with you and smiling and frowning and debating and smiling even when I lose. You’re so strong yet humble. I couldn’t even track myself growing so fond of you. I feel myself growing with you without having to try; it feels beautiful and safe.

I would want to marry someone like you. Someone who can make me think, bicker on petty issues, learn with, offer warmth and calm with their sheer presence. I can picture your hand gestures as you narrate events to me and feel your eyes brighten when something intrigues you. You are simply adorable and I adore you.

To every human I’ve encountered before,
Don’t you fear oblivion
For people like me, the observant ones
Dont forget the mildest of your gestures
I’ll remember if you smiled at me; an assuring one
Before an exam as I bit my nail in nervousness
When you, a random guy shielded me
As I stood in the middle of a busy road
Contemplating on continuing to cross it
You, who complimented me;
On my hair, my work, my smile, or speech, or so
If you ever bought me a present, or
Offered me food,
If you sat by me, hearing me ramble;
Or shut me up and rambled to me,
If you made me cry; or let me cry on you
You made me dislike the human race, or
Made me laugh till I snort my food
If you held the door for me, or
Gave me a grateful smile when I did for you,
As long as my head is sane and memories
I can recall,
I will remember you and
Then some other would.

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