You are Love

You can be the nicest person in the world, and still, someone can hate you. You can be the cruelest, and still, someone can love you.

For most of my life, I searched for love in the wrong place — in someone else. I waited for someone to arrive, to stay, to love me the way I needed. I thought love was something to give and receive. I was wrong.

Love isn't out there. It's in here. It's not something someone gives you — it's something you are.

I loved before. I can love again. Not because the right person shows up, but because loving was never dependent on them in the first place. It's not a transaction. Not a reward for good behavior. Not a debt someone owes me for being kind.

I can love anyone, anytime, anywhere — because it was never theirs to give me. It's mine. It always was.

Love is not something you get from another person. It's a quality you carry.

ख़ुदा-ए-मौत

ऐ ख़ुदा-ए-मौत तू मुझे ले क्यूँ नहीं लेता
ये रिहाई मुझे दे क्यूँ नहीं देता

अरे ऊब चुका हूँ रोज़ की तमाम बातों से
कि ख़्वाब तोड़ दिए सारे अपने ही हाथों से

ये मौत भी इनाम लगती है सज़ायाफ़्ता ज़िंदगी में
हर रात मरना और सुबह फिर उठ जाने से

कब तक जलाएगा मुझे यूँही धीमी आँच पे
ऐ ख़ुदा-ए-मौत, सज़ा-ए-मौत लिख दे नाम पे

— सिवा

Not Home Until I've Made It

I don't think I've ever really written this down before — so let's start at the beginning.

I'm originally from a small village called Barra, in Azamgarh, Uttar Pradesh. That's where my earliest memories live — growing up with my grandmother and my siblings, the three of us tangled up in that simple, unhurried village life. I was there until 2nd grade.

Then, like it happens for a lot of families chasing "better education," we packed up and moved to Lucknow. My uncle and aunt took us in, and for the next ten years — all the way through 12th grade — they were the ones who raised us, shaped us, showed up for us. Lucknow isn't just a city I lived in. It's the place where I actually grew up.

After school ended, everything changed again. I moved to Gurgaon — this time with my own parents, for the very first time living under one roof with them. It was completely new territory. New city, new pace, new version of "home." (Still laughing a little at how disorienting that shift was, if I'm honest.)

This November marks three years since I last went back to Lucknow.

I miss it. More than I probably let myself admit most days. But I made a promise to myself — I'm only going back once I've actually built something, once I've made a name for myself. Not out of stubbornness, but because I want that homecoming to mean something.

Right now, I'm pouring myself into a project that I hope — really hope — is the one that gets me there.

Barra gave me roots. Lucknow gave me my people and my foundation. Gurgaon is where I'm building. And somewhere down the line, I get to go back — not as the kid who left, but as someone who kept the promise.

नक़ाब चुराता हूँ

नकाबों के पीछे
छिपी हैं साज़िशें
हर रिश्ते के नीचे
दबी हैं ख्वाहिशें

वो जो रोशनी दिखाते हैं
अंधेरों के सौदागर हैं
वो जो वादे निभाते हैं
दरअसल गुनहगार हैं

तुम्हारी दुनिया का सच
मेरी नज़रों का झूठ है
तुम्हारे सपनों का रंग
मेरी रातों का धुंध है

पूछते हो कौन हूँ मैं?
दुनिया में झूठों को
आईना दिखाता हूँ,
चोर हूँ — नक़ाब चुराता हूँ।

—सिवा

From the old Diary

• अपने कद से दूसरों की ऊँचाइयाँ नहीं नापी जाती - siva
  
  
• जिसने तुम्हें रूह दी, तुम उससे क्या पनाह दोगे - siva
  
  
• इंसान बदल सकता है, उसकी फितरत नहीं - siva
  
  
• संगीत का कोई मज़हब नहीं होता - siva
  
  
• Let me be alone because when love completes, it gradually depletes - siva
  
  
• Just don't let me in, to the world of my dreams, more you stretch more elongated I'll be, the more you stop more eager I'll be and when you leave me on my own, you'll see how far I'll be gone to the world of my dreams - siva
  
  
• Regret is like bad breath before brushing your teeth and success the latter - siva
  
  
• मार दिया, तुमने जिसे, आज उसकी आह सुनाता हूँ। देखे थे सपने हमने कई, चल आज उसकी राख दिखाता हूँ - siva
  
  
• बेकसी से लड़ना आता तो सोग न मनाते, ज़ख्मों को हम हँस के छुपाते आँसू न बहाते - siva

Not Mine to Finish

My Guru made me realize a lot of things today -

You cannot come in the way of someone else's spiritual journey. It's theirs — they'll understand things in their own time, not yours. I used to feel like I was responsible for teaching them, for us figuring it out together. But that's not how it works. They're a separate person, with their own mind, walking their own path. Whatever they're doing feels right to them, even if it's wrong, and maybe they don't know that yet. Maybe they never will. 

Maybe someday it'll click — through someone else, through a different conversation, through nothing more than time passing. But it was never mine to force. Not when they weren't open to it. Not when they didn't want to listen. 

And if you've really loved someone, at some point you have to drop the ego. The obsession that says I want them, no matter what. Because wanting them regardless of what they want isn't love anymore, it's selfishness dressed up as love. It's ego telling you that you were the best for them, and maybe you were. But that was never yours to decide. It was theirs. They loved you once. Now they don't. That's it. 

I've always loved my family and friends, and I thought I understood detachment — love without clinging. I just never had to actually live it until now. I believed we were one, that she was part of everything, the way I thought I was part of everything to her. I think that's what made letting go so much harder than it should've been.

It was never in my hands, who stays and who leaves. All I could ever do — all anyone can do — is be honest. With myself, with her. And love without keeping score. I did that. I did what was mine to do. 

But choosing someone takes more than love. It takes commitment, a promise you make to yourself as much as to them. And if you fall short of that, or you decide the other person isn't capable of meeting you there, that's not a crime. It was just meant to happen, and nothing I do can undo it now. Understanding that — that's their work, not mine. And if they never get there, I have to leave that with them. Not carry it around as my own judgment on them. 

Someone who actually wants to grow stays open to hearing where they're wrong. Refusing to listen, insisting you're right no matter what — that's not strength, it just looks like it. It's immaturity wearing a stronger costume. Still ego, just speaking a different language. And if you can't own the part you played in someone's pain, can't say sorry when you've actually hurt them, then there's not much to feel proud of in how you loved them. 

Not everyone gets there at the same time. Some people don't get there at all. That's their journey too. It was never mine to finish for them.

Rockstar is a Lie

Rockstar lied to a whole generation of upcoming artists — and its viewers. You don't just become an artist because something fell apart. Pain inspires you when it's a pain you can contain, a pain small enough to hold and shape into something. That's not what happens with real loss.

You loose your confidence. You loose your voice. You loose the ability to write, the ability to express, the ability to be yourself. People carry this misconception — that grief automatically fuels the artist, that suffering is just raw material waiting to be used. Yes, that's human, and yes, it happens. But it's the pain you can handle that becomes your art. Not the pain you can't. When you're going through something uncontainable, you lose yourself, and everything falls apart before it ever becomes anything.

After all I am human too - 

Abandoned

Abandoned = left behind, deserted, or given up completely, usually without any intention of returning or continuing.

• A place → empty and deserted (an abandoned house)
• A person → left alone by someone who should have stayed (an abandoned child)
• A plan/activity → stopped or given up on (abandoned the project)