Taruna Ghera

"How old are you?  (I hope she does not mind me asking that) "Uh! I am 22". "You're WHAT!?!" "Uh-oh! Why is that shocking?" "Nothing, it just is, I don't know!" The next day, I saved her a seat on the left side of me, and that was it. It took me 7 seconds to get to know her, because you see, obviously we got along over Taylor Swift's songs and might have shook a leg on Gallan Goodiyan too.  I neither know her from school, where you can count the years, we've known each other for, nor do I know her from college, where we have bunked classes together. She just randomly decided to share her darkest secrets with me, and I had shared even darkest of the secrets with her, and that was it, bonded by the trauma.  She finds me very smart, and funny, deep thinker that tends to have brain of a 7-year-old. She keeps telling me the way I look so good in her eyes and the way our minds just *click*. The kind of telepathy that only my other ...

there’s nothing that I don’t know already, how I wanted my life slow and steady. I have been so calm for the longest time, but also leaving my wisdom and prime. but maybe silence was just a test, to see if I’d rise when life said rest. rest? the inner chaos or the memories, that came with tears worn like accessories. but accessories were meant to enhance the beauty, family, life, career- my prioritized duty. duty I did not consider a priority at first, started feeling like I was maybe cursed. cursed for those who did not let me shine, never from those whom I actually called mine. mine, not for them, maybe just for me, their love so pure, yet too hidden to see. now, I have set my priorities straight, not opening any more new gates. even the windows are shut tight, so, friends can no longer backbite. not really worried about the marks they leave, though they still make me ache, still make me grieve. for a love like that, I won’t grieve now,  I finally found me, again, somehow. - Taru...

"Excuse me? Hi!"   I turned around and saw a boy, sweaty and tired. His eyes showed that he had been walking for a long time. "Hieee!" I said, with an even wider smile. "Could you please help me with this address and the exact location? I am new to this place."  "Of course, go straight and take a right turn...(I proceeded to explain him the address he was looking for)." "Thank you. By the way, I am Vayu." "Vayu!? With an A or two As?" "With two As. And you are?"  "I am Taruna."  "Karuna?" "No, Taruna, with a T." "Oh, Taruna, okay. What an unusual name! What does it mean?"  (With a smile) "It means, a young beautiful tree." "Hmm...a young beautiful tree!" I boarded the metro at 6:04 pm. Exhausted. Tired. Toggling inside. I reached home.  Told my mother about the entire day and how I spent it, which mostly included fighting over an extra laddoo with my collea...

एक कमरा है। वही, छोटा सा, किराये का कमरा।  पता नहीं, कितने ही लोग, कितने ही परिवार उसमें रहकर चले गए।  लोग- हर जाती, हर धर्म, हर शख्सियत, हर किरदार के लोग।  उन सब में और हम में, प्यार तो था, पर तकरार ज़्यादा थी। कभी पानी को लेकर, कभी बिजली को लेकर, कभी कपड़े सूखने- सुखाने की जगह को लेकर। क्या करते! छोटा था न वो कमरा।  ताज्जुब की बात है कि उस कमरे में रहने वाली सारी औरतें ही रहीं- कोई ब्याही, कोई बिन-ब्याही, सब अपने परिवारों से दूर।  फिर एक दिन आया, जब उस कमरे में मुझे ठहरना पड़ा।  इस कमरे में रहते हुए मुझे अभी कुछ हफ़्ते ही हुए हैं। यह कमरा देखने में खास सुंदर नहीं है, और इसकी दीवारें भी टूटी-फूटी सी हैं- कहीं से सीमेंट उखड़ा हुआ है, कहीं दीवारों में छोटे-बड़े छेद हैं। मगर फिर भी, मैंने इसे बहुत सहेजकर रखा है।  यह कमरा उतना ही बड़ा है जितनी हमारी ज़िन्दगी- रहने की जगह तो हर किसी को मिल जाती है, मगर उसे सहेजकर रखना, यह औरतों का ही हुनर है।  इस कमरे में मुझे उन सभी औरतों की हँसी की गूँज सुनाई देती है। उनकी धीमी, थकी हुई हँसी, उनके बे...

सत्ताईस साल हो गए उसे।  सत्ताईस साल।  एक पेड़ है, ठीक मेरे कमरे की बालकॉनी के बाहर।  कितने तूफ़ान, कितनी आँधियाँ, कितनी तीखी-चिलमिलाती धूप देखी होगी उसने... ...पर फिर भी वह खड़ा हुआ है, वहीं, उसी जगह, उसी वातावरण में, उन्ही अन्य पेड़ों के बीच।  ताज्जुब की बात है कि उस पेड़ पर हर साल आम आते हैं। और हम हर साल उन रसीले आमों का लुत्फ़ उठाते हैं।   वो कहते हैं न, "पेड़ कभी खुद अपने फल नहीं खा सकता",  शायद इसीलिए उसकी जड़ें इतनी गहरी होती हैं, ताकि वो अपना सर्वस्व देने में ही जी सके, लेने में नहीं। बरसों से उसने अपनी छाँव दी, अपने फल दिए, यहाँ तक कि अपनी डालों में परिंदों का घर भी बसा लिया, पर कभी किसी से कुछ माँगा नहीं। सिर्फ खड़ा रहा, चुपचाप, सब सहते हुए। मैं अक्सर, सुबह उठ कर, अपनी बालकॉनी में जाकर, उस पेड़ के सामने खड़ी हो जाती हूँ। मेरा घर चौथे माले पर है और इस पेड़ का कद भी कुछ इतना ही है। मैं उस से कुछ ख़ास कहती तो नहीं, बस उसे देखती रहती हूँ ।  सोचती कुछ नहीं पर बहुत कुछ सोच लेती हूँ।   मुझे पता है, उससे बातें करके कोई ...

(Beyond the Cracks- Hindi) मेरे कप में पड़ी दरारें मुझे एहसास कराती हैं... ...कि हर दरार, एक बीता लम्हा, एक जिया हुआ दिन, जो कभी गरम चाय सा उबला, तो कभी ठंडी खामोशी में भीग गया। ज़िंदगी भी तो ऐसी ही होती है ना,  हर रोज़ इस्तेमाल होती है, कभी थकती नहीं, चाहे उसमें कितनी ही बार दरारें क्यों न पड़ी हों। कोई नहीं पूछता कि कितनी बार टूटी, कितनी बार खुद को समेटा, कितनी बार खुद को धोकर फिर से तैयार किया, बस ये देखा जाता है कि आज फिर क्या वो मुस्कराकर सामने आई या नहीं। वक़्त की गर्माहट, हालातों की तपिश, रिश्तों की भीगती शामें,  सबने मिलकर इसे कुछ ना कुछ दिया है। और वो सब इन दरारों में कैद है, बिना शोर, बिना शिकायत। अब लगता है, दरारों का होना टूटने की निशानी नहीं, बल्कि जीने का सबूत है। हर निशान कहता है, 'मैं आज भी यहाँ हूँ, टूटा हूँ, मगर थमा नहीं, घिसा हूँ, मगर रुका नहीं।' ज़िंदगी- एक पुराना कप है शायद, जिसमें हर सुबह की चाय बस यूँ ही नहीं बनती, वो दरारों से होकर ही अपना स्वाद पाती है। - तरुणा घेरा  🤍 Beyond the Cracks (English translation) The cracks in my cup remind me......

I’ve stopped keeping track of how many fictional men I’ve fallen for. Bold of me to accept it :P... ...not in the fangirl way. Not in a poster-on-the-wall, quote-in-the-bio kind of way. But in the quiet, irreversible way- the kind where you realize: "Oh. No one in real life feels like that." And probably never will. There was Qais Bhat , who made madness look like worship. He didn’t love Laila gently- he became her grief. He didn’t recover. He transcended. And while everyone around me romanticizes healing and moving on, I admired the man who stayed broken for love and called it devotion. Then there was Joe . A man of few words, but a memory sharp enough to hurt. He noticed everything. He remembered what Georgia forgot she ever said. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand space. He just... existed, quietly waiting, like a lighthouse in someone else’s storm. I don’t know if that’s love- But it’s the kind of presence you don’t find anymore. And yes- even Ryle . Flawed beyo...

To think I had the most of you, After all that you put me through. What exactly did you want from me? Was I not enough, or was there another "she"?   I sit here still, contemplating what we had, At least I met you, and for that, I’m always glad. Yet sometimes, I wish our paths had never crossed, Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so lost .   It seems destiny had its role to play, You and I weren’t meant to stay. Perhaps “right person, wrong time” is true, Your silence still stings like blood and lime, do.   You made me meet your family and friends, I never thought  that here, it all ends. Of all the times we had in the dark, To me, it was always the brightest, full of spark.   You were the light, you always have been, The love I had for you was never seen. If you'd let me, I would’ve bled dry, Letting you go, my hardest goodbye.   I hope that someday we’ll meet with intend, For one last "Hey!", long overdue, my friend. I’d remind you of that day, if ...

Come to me if you ever feel alone, Or I'll come to you, wherever we've flown. For love is not a path only you can pursue, If you let me, darling, I'll show a vivid hue. To cherish you, as you, was effortlessly done, You stand out amongst them, second to none. They came crying for my attention and love, While I was busy loving you, lifting you above. "Would you still love me at my worst?" "Love you at your worst", always comes first. To love you through your brightest days and dark, Not every love must bear a painful mark. Loving you ran through my veins like a river, Of boundless love and mysteries yet to deliver. Being with you felt like a home in human form, Where echoes of two hearts make this place warm. Warm like your breath on a winter's Sunday, That feels comfortable in the way you say, That I'm all yours and you're all mine, Like roots in earth, our souls intertwine. Your love is something that makes me believe, Why I’ve always worn m...

So many faces, so many minds, Yet none with whom my soul entwines. Perhaps it is you, the one I may call mine, Or should I wait for the stars to realign? But never have I met a mind so rare, A smile so tender, a gaze so debonair. Should I silence this ache before it begins, Or surrender once more to love’s cruel whims? Older I am, if only by years, Yet time bows not to age, nor to fears. We stand not where spring's blossoms unfurl, And I do not wish to claim or be claimed, my girl. Meeting him felt like a whisper of fate, A love from before, patient, innate. Since that moment, his shadow lingers, Perhaps I am bound by karma’s fingers. And here I write of you and me, Not as Donne’s Flea, nor love's decree. I seek no pretense, no grand display, But a verse to echo Rumi’s way. As now I feel a sudden shift in the weather, Happy is the moment when we sit together, With two forms, two faces, yet one soul, you and me. Your talks and laughs sound like a lullaby. - Taruna Ghera.

When the eyes meet across the room, It all feels like spring and flowers bloom. Is this what they mean by butterflies? Loving someone comes with a huge price.   Being unaware of God's plans, Not once did I pray with joined hands. Maybe that's why I am here crying in my room, Spring never came, and the flowers didn't bloom.   Perhaps it was more than just our fate, Perhaps I was nothing more than bait. Or perhaps, in love, heartbreak is the price. For you needed more, and I couldn't suffice.   So, here I am writing about us, smiling, While the endless memories started dialing, The moments we've had, once, together, Loving you in silence was lighter than a feather.   Now you're just a shadow of time long gone, Yet, like dusk, I'll recall you with every dawn, And when at night I miss you and those lullabies, My face has a smile, but my heart always cries.   Maybe someday my mind will let this all go, When my heart smiles, my face might cry though, Of the heartb...

Oh! Here it is, again, Left me with hope and in vain. To say that all is well,  I still remember those eyes and the smell. Oh! Here it is, again, Left me with hope and in vain. To say that it was a one-time thing,  Like lemon and blood, your love sting. Oh dear! I found myself thinking, How would it feel to stop sinking, Into the memories and the long wait, Didn't expect this to be my fate. Now that it is here again,  Full of hope, love and pain. The tears are not just salty water, But echoes of dreams left to falter. Dreams like sipping coffee beside you, All along I didn't have a clue,  That it's not always what it seems,  To be with you was all in my dreams.   Perhaps, one day I'll find the key, Where you and I, both, will agree. That my heart is where your heart lies, Yet you left me with watercolor eyes. - Taruna Ghera.

It's 2025! A whole year has passed by and yet, it still feels like yesterday, doesn't it? One good thing about the new year is we get to crack the same old joke again, "I'll see you next year", on the night of 31st December and the fact that no one even gets mad at it makes it relatable even more.  As the laughter fades, though, it’s worth pausing to think about what the new year truly means for everyone. Did we really make it to a "new year", or is it just a moment where people share their achievements and reflect on what they could afford to do? Well, it's good to have achieved things you have always wanted to, but before sharing it with anyone, pause for a moment and think of all the times you were still stuck somewhere, and your peers were achieving the things you once wished to. Is it fair to overlook those still struggling to make sense of life, survival, and existence? While it's wonderful to celebrate personal victories, it's equally ...

There are certain days you wish would never end, like a birthday, for instance. Imagine if such a day could stretch to 72 hours, packed with endless joy, cherished memories, and all the things that make you feel truly alive. These are the moments that remind us of the essence of living, a sense of fulfillment, a discovery of something we didn’t even know we were seeking, a glimpse of life at its most vibrant. But here’s the thing: while I could write about these feelings endlessly, and trust me, I have, more times than I can count, I keep coming back to one question: how much is too much? Is there ever a limit to expressing something you love purely with all your heart and soul? Does talking about it, sharing it, and writing about it over and over somehow dilute its meaning? Maybe the answer lies not in how often we express it, but in how deeply it resonates each time. If the emotion is genuine, its meaning doesn’t fade, it evolves, adding new layers of understanding and connection. A...

Today felt like any other day. I woke up, made myself  the-specifically-accurate-proportion-of-coffee-sugar-mix, logged  into my laptop and got ready to type. But just as I was about to press the first letter, something unusual struck me: I remembered something. Now, that's rare for me- remembering something, especially a  dream . Even more unusual was the fact that this dream involved my one constant friend, the person I turn to for everything from minor inconveniences to major dilemmas. The beauty of student life is that you don’t have to report to anyone at a fixed time. So, with that luxury in mind, I picked up my phone and called him. I narrated the dream, and soon, we were laughing hysterically. It was one of those laughs that stays with you, even after the conversation ends.  As we both returned to our routines, I noticed something lingering- a smile on my face. It wasn't intentional or conscious, but it was there, a testament to the joy of having someone wh...

One thing I have realized over the years, being impatiently impatient and wanting to get the results immediately after accomplishing a certain task, that no matter what you do, with how much dedication you put into it, you will see the results when they're meant to be seen. No other force in this world, nor you could take things under your control and make them happen. This realization didn’t come easy. I have, like most of us, found myself frustrated, questioning why my hard work didn’t yield instant outcomes. It felt as though the universe was ignoring my effort. But with time, I learned to see the bigger picture that every action sets things in motion, but the outcomes align with a timeline greater than my own. It’s like planting a seed; no matter how much water or sunlight you provide, the seed will sprout only when it’s ready. Well, this wasn't a thought that struck me over night. Perhaps, one of the ideas that gave birth to this realization was the fact that I always end ...

"अगर सब कुछ मिल जाएगा ज़िन्दगी में तो तमन्ना किसकी करोगे , कुछ अधूरी ख़्वाहिशें ही तो ज़िन्दगी जीने का मज़ा देती हैं "             "  If you attain everything in life, what will you wish for, It is the unfulfilled desires that make life worth living " Human desires are as boundless as the stars in the night sky, ever-expanding and evolving with time. From the dawn of civilization, our ancestors sought fire to keep warm and food to satiate their hunger. Yet, as these basic needs were met, the horizon of our wishes widened—reaching for comfort, knowledge, power, love, and purpose. What makes human wants infinite is their deeply rooted connection to our emotions, ambitions, and ever-curious nature. Once we achieve something we once craved, the satisfaction is fleeting, and a new desire takes its place. A child dreams of toys, a student yearns for success, an adult strives for stability, and the elderly seek peace—but beneath these desires lies...

The thing about stories is that when you read them, you often find echoes of your own life within them. That's how a story truly comes alive- through the uncanny resemblances that compel you to picture it in your mind, like a film rolling before your eyes. The only difference being that it stars a version of you, shaped by your imagination, an essence of you. Does that mean you can reshape it as you wish? It does, doesn’t it? But here’s the catch- it’s written by someone else. It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it? Watching a film play out in your own imagination, only to remember that its script belongs to another. So, how does one create a film thought and written purely by their own? Well, the answer is still to be found. Maybe the answer lies in being brave enough to listen to your own thoughts. To take your experiences, feelings, and dreams and turn them into a story that feels truly yours. It sounds easy, doesn’t it? But it’s not. Writing your own story means looking inside your...

What do I write about?  I kept questioning myself and patiently waited for my mind to speak up.   I thought I should go take a stroll in the metro the other day, for I was struggling to shape my feelings and thoughts into coherent words that could capture the chaos within me. There was a discomfort, a gnawing uneasiness, like sensing a subtle shift in the air. It was uncomfortable, not being able to express myself was making me uncomfortable.   What do I write about, now that I have let you go from the only place I was able to think. Like when, while sending an email, if the subject field is blank, the system refuses to send the email, or it asks you 'if you still want to send the email anyway'. Well, i t’s pretty cold in here. I leaned over my laptop screen, still finding it difficult to enter the world of wonderment. I rubbed my hands to generate some heat in the palms as I realized my fingers started typing these words, this random gush of words that came through as so...

People, places, and things I keep them so close, yet they feel so far .  Although everything is perishable and comes with a shelf life, we still have a special place for certain things. It’s almost paradoxical how something can exist within arm’s reach but feel worlds apart. Does this attachment make you materialistic? Or does it make you “too emotional”? What does it make you then? No one has a definite answer, because deep down, we all know it’s a paradox we live with every day. It’s not just about material things. It’s about what they represent, memories, emotions, connections. A worn-out book isn’t just paper and ink; it’s the comfort of late-night reading, the escape into another world. A favorite t-shirt isn’t just a piece of cloth; it’s the comfort of it being worn so many times by the person you somewhere hold so close to you and the moments you have spent with your loved ones. These things are more than their physical selves; they are symbols of moments, feelings, and piec...