Why so scared to live?

You put walls to my valor and then expect me to break them. You give me keys to the same door you locked me behind. You strangle me in my own strengths and call them my weaknesses. You spin my life in a loop of paradoxes and then label me a mess. 

What is so endearing about the sin of holding minds captive? What makes you want to force people to act against their free will? What pride does it bring to you by judging people for what they love? 

Why must a person hold back from living the life of their dreams? Why is expression a prerequisite to people-pleasing instead of being a vehicle for love? 

Is this how we will eventually lose the art of loving? And then what is to live if it is not to love? 

Oftentimes, at night, I weave thoughts out of my never-ending trail of memories. For a reason or another, it’s often under the deep cloak of darkness when these tales of the past come rushing to me. As if somehow, they know that nights are my safe space when I need to hide away from the world.

But then, why must a safe space be frowned upon? What, in fact, must be despised is the need for one!

We proudly boast of the world as our home and then find hideaways in it. On days when the norms become so heavy, we feel the need to rebel against them, and to do so out in the open isn’t the kind of courage we ever found in ourselves. 

Homes must be safe, shouldn’t they be? It’s sad how they aren’t, but then again, isn’t unusual. 

We appreciate the lack of chaos more than the presence of calm. We celebrate silence over peace. More often than not, we don’t even flinch before raising hell in our hearts just to keep fires from burning around us. 

What good does it serve to deny problems when they actually exist? Why are all of us simply escapists pretending to be seeking solutions? Is the problem too big for the answer too insignificant? What holds us back from letting it all go and diving back in? Why so scared to live?

– Gauri Walecha

*Disclaimer: The artist doesn’t intend to comment upon or speak about any of the current socio-economic or political scenarios through this video or its contents. This is purely a work of literature presented here only for entertainment purposes. Any political or socio-economic inferences drawn from the video or its contents are solely the viewer’s interpretation. The artist is not responsible for any such individual interpretations and doesn’t endorse them either.

To the one who is yet to bloom

To the one who is yet to bloom, 

I see you…You have waited! You stood your ground when the Earth began to shake, you swam through the roughest of waters, you held your home when a storm took everything away… you waited through all yet never yelled a single curse!

I see you… and you are the strongest I have ever seen!

Now you have begun to run out of patience. Little things don’t dawn smiles over you anymore but leave you behind with risen haste. 
You have lost faith. 
You have lost strength. 
You have lost hope. 

The thick skin that you once grew, is now into ruins and you… you know you can’t take the pain anymore. 

So, what do you choose now? Defeat?
I don’t blame you… Neither do I blame the darkness. 

But I do blame something…
I blame those mouths who kept telling you how you must have achieved glory by a certain age. 
I blame those minds who came up with a structure to confine people’s lives. 
I blame those hands that had the audacity to strangle you into these chains.

But you? No, I don’t blame you!

I am standing by your side and cheering for you, making sure that my voice is louder than the taunts yelled at you.
I am waiting for you, on the other side of the finishing line with my arms wide stretched, ready to pull you in an embrace the moment you reach.

Who am I, you ask? 

I am the one meant to show you the right path.
I am here to hold your hand and guide you as you walk.
… and, as long as you follow me, I promise everything will be alright.

Just don’t stop! For me… don’t stop!

With love,
Your heart.

– Gauri Walecha

Midnight Sky

It’s midnight. Dew has settled on its favorite leaves, leaving no room for them to face the bare danger. The street light is a little too yellow, piercing through the dark to find the naked loneliness hiding in each corner. 

It’s too dark for the peace to set in and a little less dark for the things to fall silent, and all of us are simply hanging in the middle of nothing. An empty nothingness. 

Somewhere somehow two hearts are lying in their beds thinking about each other without having ever met. Doesn’t that evoke wonder in you? 

The world is so huge yet so small. Vast yet beautifully knit. Distant yet so close. The world is like a mirage standing in the middle of a desert waiting for you to find its lies and yet it’s like a magnificent castle standing on the top of a hill, far out of your reach. 

How can something be so desirable yet so repelling at the same time? So wondrous yet so ordinary in the same moment? Is this what you call magic? The one that keeps us running around in circles?

Finding answers to the questions we once had, only to find more questions waiting for us. Waking up each morning to wait for the day to end and not being able to sleep in the wait of the next day to rise. 

Life is somehow running by the wheel, and not once do we ever question where it’s going. If at all we do, the possibility of a lack of answers scares us and we go back to doing what we were doing, trying to blur lines between what is and what is not. 

How will we ever know when to finally break the cycle? How will we ever break free and fly away only to land in our very own paradise? Does this place really exist or is it just a whim of theory? 

But the real question is, if the answer was no, would we take it?

The Tale of a Hundred Roses

The sweetest things in life fall from the sky-

They rain over the draught of your distraught heart and before you know there is new life growing on a rather barren land.

Have you ever touched the soft tender new leaves growing out of an old tree? You should because you won’t find a better metaphor to capture the spirit of life. 

For, what is life if not a never-ending tale of young taking birth in the safe embrace of age-old wisdom? 

A bird once died in an old man’s garden. It was a beautiful cuckoo with songs of a hundred months dying in its craw. 

What must the man have done if not mourn for the sad demise? How must have he mourned if not by laying the small bird and its sweet voice to rest forever? 

But, how do you expect to sleep in peace after having witnessed the world as it lost a part of its beauty? How can you not stay up at nights, thinking of ways to bring that bliss back to the world? 

What do you do if not risk being called a fool? But then, why must the world question a mourning person’s folly? 

The old man was wise but since when has wisdom been kin to apathy? He chose to let his emotions consume him. After having lost sleep for a painfully long week, his heart rebelled against his mind one night. 

He was quick to take hold of the same spade that had dug a grave for the sad little bird. He was quicker to pluck stems from his favorite rose shrub, one that he had nurtured for years; and before he knew, he had planted the seed to new life exactly where he had buried the remains of what was once living. 

And so he did, for the next hundred nights, allowing his tears to water what was yet to grow. 

One fine day, it did. The hundred stems he had planted beside his little friend had torn the chest of Earth to stand anew. Their tenders spoke of each lost story that the bird had carried with itself to the other side. The tales were alive and so was their sweet nectar. The old man had won, but had he really? 


I build. I break. I love. I berate. 

When birds build a home, they travel far… far away to distant lands. They fly to the highest branch of their favorite tree, only to find a void left unhealed, just for them. 

How do you know if you weren’t shying away from healing that one last wound in your heart in the wait for your person to come back home and caress it?

Someone once called love the greatest healer of all times. Years later, poets began writing verses about how love broke them. So, is love a beautiful irony that breaks you and heals you in the same moment, or do we admire our scars so much that breaking away from them is the kind of bereavement we can’t take?

Four walls, two windows, and a heart. That is all it takes to build a home. Then why does it feel a little less complete in the absence of someone to share it with?

People are lonely. Their hearts are lonelier. Smiles, sadness, storms, or suns; they need someone to share them all with. But then, they fear- what if that one hand that they want to hold for the rest of their lives chose to part ways one day?

Well, there is nothing scarier than fear itself. It can make you fight demons that weren’t even at war with you in the first place. It can make you lock the door that could have taken you to your bliss. It makes you believe that every person who has your back will stab you one day. It can make you change paths right before you were about to catch the road back home. 

Why would you want to make friends with something that keeps you away from home? Why leave hands only because you fear they won’t keep their promises?

Why not love fearlessly…. like a wanderer would? The one who knows he is to part ways one day, no matter how far that day is?

No matter how scared you are, bring comfort to your heart, and make it feel safe to love again. No matter how many times you had to leave hands you didn’t want to, find the courage to hold another, just for one more time. 

No matter how many times your nest was broken down to shambles, build again, only because you deserve its warmth. 

And lastly, no matter how many times fear made you turn the wrong corners, take the road back home. Embrace your homecoming. 

– Gauri Walecha

Happy Second Anniversary… and a special announcement!!

I am spellbound. I have been writing and posting for the loveliest bunch of readers for two years now… it has been such a magical journey.

Thank you so much for being here and sticking around to support my work. All of you don’t even know how much that means to me. I feel so blessed.

On this special occasion, I did something I had been planning to do for the longest time. I started my YouTube channel today, and it will honestly be a pleasure and honor for me to be able to bring my art to you in more and more ways. I hope you like my work there too! Do stop by! Much Love!

Glad to share my YouTube Channel with all of you… Much Love!

To the one who is afraid to heal…

You know, our ego does this strange thing. It tries to build an identity around our traumas. It wears scars as badges of honor and flaunts them in front of carefree smiles. We define our worth from the tears we shed each day. Pain validates us, we go around collecting it just like a kid with a newfound interest in collecting pebbles. Except, for us, the jar never fills. Our heart is like a deep well where we keep throwing stones just to check if it has run out of water yet. Sadly, it never does. No matter how many years we spend trying to empty it out, each thrown stone makes it weep a little.

Such identities are scary though. Not only because they are too fragile when built on loamy grounds but also because they are afraid of losing themselves in the web of their own lies. Lies about how our beloved trauma is our ultimate story, about how what was once broken can never be healed, about how the grudge we pamper each day is the lesson our trauma left us, and also about how letting go is a crime against our heart.

But the question is, do you really want to spend the rest of your life hurting yourself like that? Isn’t it an act of self-harm to be clinging to pain longer than how much we can endure?

Don’t get me wrong! I am not asking you to stop feeling what you feel. Rather, I am asking you to drown deep into your emotions once and for all.

Reach for the deepest parts of your heart. Take hold of every string that connects you back to your pain. Hold it with love, kiss its broken ends, knit it back where necessary, and break it off where not; do that and a lot more but once and for all.

I know stories of pain are strangely celebrated. Scars are decorations in our strange strange world, but you don’t have to follow suit.

I don’t want you to live a life full of agony. I don’t want your trauma to define you. Instead, I want your smile to be your sigil in this world of royal battle flags; I want your smile to shine not only because it speaks of a prettier story, but also because it celebrates the spirit with which you overcame everything that fell your way.

Yes, life is a war and you are a warrior, but even the most ruthless of fighters are allowed to return home once in a while.

Then, why do you feel the need to build your home on the battlefield of a war long dead?

– Gauri Walecha

Such is life…

If I could, I would turn back time; but then, if I could, I would never let it pass so quickly. 

The man who invented the hourglass must have been very clever. He gave us the harshest truth trapped in a glass that lies to us about how we can turn it in our favor. Yet, can we?

Then again, the mind who brought polaroids to the world was such a brave rebel. When life taught him how helpless he was, he helped himself with a tool to capture it. Yet, could he?

Life is strange in its ways. A fine storyteller who lures you to the battlefield with its tales of encouragement and a skilled warrior who then slays your courage like a hungry predator. 

Funnily enough, it’s never done playing its games. It will knock you down and down again only to offer you hopes of victory once you don’t want to stand your ground anymore. 

Should you believe? Do you have another choice? 

– Gauri Walecha

The Truth

Memories have a strange habit. They fade away… and they do so faster when you don’t want them to. Maybe that is why people came into the habit of writing whatever happened around them. Writing was their helpless attempt at trying to hold quicksand.

Words lose meaning once they stop carrying stories around… but if they truly wanted to tell those tales, they would have. Why didn’t they? 

Every heart in this world speaks in the tongue of an artist, and yet you don’t have many to celebrate; mostly because they are afraid to scream and a world that is full of noise fails to hear their whispers. 

Why whisper the truth, you ask? What would you do if you were standing in a crowd full of thieves who prey on secrets?

Truth is not lost, it has simply been silent. 

– Gauri Walecha

I will miss you, Naanu…

Fires warm your nights at the cost of burning you. Sometimes I wonder if that is how everything good in the world works. Do good things really come with a price? Or, is the pain just about the guilt and shame that comes with having better than others? 

Some storms don’t come to kill you; but if they don’t kill you, do they always make you stronger? Do storms also feel proud to have killed more people than the others? Why do we wear our traumas as a badge of honor? Is that why we fear good healers? Have we really begun to identify ourselves through the scars we wear on our skins?

Strange world, isn’t it? 

People lose their lives to death. People lose their loved ones to death. Some people lose their smiles to death. Or, has it always been the other way around? What if it was life fighting to keep its best soldiers alive? What if we are the delusional ones who mindlessly gravitate towards our own ends?

I recently lost my Nanaji (That’s the Hindi word used to address your mother’s father). This was my first time processing death so closely. The experience has left me wondering why people tend to hate their lives so much. I mean, life doesn’t end until it ends. You have the world waiting for you while you are still breathing. Every moment is a new opportunity and every person brings along a new kind of love, yet we toss our lives into a can of garbage just because there aren’t people around us who chant our greatness each day. 

I doubt if the great ever cared about the applause roaring around them. In fact, I believe, it is truly their nonchalance for the praises that makes them even worthier of celebration. That is the kind of man my Nanaji was. Subtle, humble, elegant, yet confident, wise, and full of life. He taught me how you don’t have to beat yourself down to have a bigger heart. Sadly, the lesson truly struck me after I lost him. I will miss him… forever. He was my guiding light in life… my biggest motivation to go out there and achieve every big thing… he was and he will always be! I miss you Naanu.