Dear Love | An Open Letter series #12

Hi, younger one,

I wish I could just hug you right there, kiss your forehead and tell you that don’t hold on to this feeling. I wish I could have saved you from what you went through. I wish if someone was right by your side and told you “I will never scold you and listen to all you want to pour out.”

The feelings which shakes you still, which you were too young to understand back then, when someone touched you inappropriately at places; Your very own family!
You didn’t know who to talk to – A young shaken 6 year old.
How does one tell and what??!!
I wish I could have been by your side, hugging you tight as you lay shook.

All those times you were criticized for being a girl, getting low grades, bullied; When the first time you begged mummy to bring you back home but she wouldn’t listen, you were left completely shattered.
You were lost not knowing who could bring you home. I wish I could have saved you from that and what followed. There were days when you locked yourself up into a room while not one person bothered to ask you for meals.

You tried to commit suicide!
I wish, I just wish someone was there to hold you tight, saying “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it but please don’t sacrifice.”
When you ran away too scared,  surviving a challenge, dear love, had I been there, I’d put my arms around you and hold you safe all night, every night.

Little one, the past has crushed you inside out, but please, please don’t be harsh on yourself. You have been strong all these years,  you are brave enough to handle this too. Just a little more time. Hold on to it – the insecurities, the possessiveness, the grudge. Your baggage is full but don’t you let this smirch the beautiful person within you. I know to sacrifice a part that was you is a lot but trust me when I say, in time you will shine bright than the brightest star.
Dear young one, I love you and I promise, we’ll get through this together.

Copyright © 2021 @heartthatpaintsout
All Rights reserved

The theme for this month is – “An open letter to your past self “

DM your letters at

You may or may not follow the theme.You may or may not remain anonymous.

Thank you for taking out time to read.I’m Namrata if you’re visiting me for the first time, HELLO ❤ Hope you’re doing good! 
I write about a diverse range of topics, poems, blog interviews,and silly life updates.
Feel free to Follow,like and drop unsolicited love in the comment box. 🙂

Happy Father’s Day ft Indian Dad

From left: Nancy, Papa, Namrata

I was 3 when he taught me what ambition was. He taught me to spell and recite essays on the postman and cows. He held my hands and traced the writings wherein I struggled to write on my own.
We’ve had our differences growing up. He taught me how to think while often frowning upon when I thought differently. I try rationalising with him, thinking I know better. Sometimes I do. We are different people, I’m still a shadow of him. We fight over politics and religion yet keeping our differences aside when it comes to more important of things.
Growing up with an Indian dad warrants patience, forgiveness, unconditional love and the ability to see the best at your worst. In an Indian household, it is often difficult to profess your love to a father than it is to your mother. At our house, however, it never was. We professed love as strongly and frequently as we declared hatred and anger.

For the first time that you bought me box of paints, my favourite dress, prayed religiously to get me into a good primary school, dropping me at bus stop every morning at 6, staying up late for my exams and shunning television so that I wouldn’t be tempted to watch it either- I love you for that. The fact that you compliment my faded hair colour and worry when I look a tad bit too hot when I go out – I understand why.

Growing up, I have learnt how to love an Indian dad- both of us meeting midway sometimes, while obstinately holding our grounds on other ocassion. I’m grateful for you. I’m proud and I hope I make you proud too, everyday, in the way that I carry and execute myself.
Thanks for the love and the morning cup of tea and everything else.

Happy Father’s Day, Papa.

Something different

Illustration – @jeonghoyoung

Cheese Maggi and chai
I order something
other than lasagna and chillies
With a heavy heart
A lump in my throat
I move forward
A thud, a stomp, a dragging feet
But I can’t wait anymore
My mind goes back to the handwritten card
Your handwriting- a beaut
“The Asshole” I mutter
Giving up has never been harder
June’s passing by
I’m done waiting
I dress differently now
T shirts and shorts
It’s time to color my hair back
Black again
I wish you happiness
I wish us together
In parallel universes
For my sake, I do
The crazed, dazed me
Swears to do it right this time
The notebook melts
I send you wishes
A prayer
A hymn for the lost memories
New memories, Freshly baked
I make Vanilla Cakes
It’s a tug of war
A battle ground
I’m covered in blood
It’s only green
Until it’s red
I snip the thread
That ties me to you
My delivery’s here
Scented candles and potpourri
It’s the beginning
And the farewell
I offer Aparajita to the sea
A symbol of undying love
I love differently now
I read differently
I climb the clocktower
Contemplating the jump
The leap of faith
Different this time.
I give time, time.
I breathe differently now.

Copyright © 2021 Namrata
All Rights reserved

Prompt for writing – Day 1

If you could etch happiness into words, what would you write? 

Typically, I’d write all the happy things. Sunshine, chocolate, family, a hot cup of tea on a rainy day, a feat accomplished, a love letter, an upcoming birthday, a newborn, tummy ache laughter.

Right now, happiness to me is self love. It entails moving forward, leaving past behind, breaking old toxic patterns. Finding peace in where I am. Working towards a goal, one step everyday. Accepting that I should Bury my past and plant new memories, not losing myself amidst all that. That would be my happy self, that’s surviving, for now that seems good enough.

Scroll | au revoir. :’3

Zoomed in 1.0 Hachi and Father

Everytime,  we’re about to leave home, Hachi through one of his dog senses ascertains the farewell. He wags his tails excitedly at the Sarees, sniffing at jeans and overcoats. Excitement transitions into sadness, not much later and he puts his head between his feet, giving side glances, trying to guilt trip us into taking him along. Once we trick him into staying, he’s smart enough to realise that he’s been betrayed, by family and expectantly waits at the balcony to bid goodbye, with the last remnant hope of tagging along. He whines like a pup.

The best feeling is however to come back home and be greeted with the zest, vigour and childlike enthusiasm where all is forgiven and forgotten. When you have a child, leaving them back is one of the toughest act one has to do. But sometimes, leaving is important and with practice you learn to do it better.

When you have a good boy like Hachi, coming back is easier, with a dash of love, a stroke of petting and a spoonful of ice-cream.


Copyright © 2021 Namrata

All Rights reserved

Thank you for taking out time to read.I’m Namrata if you’re visiting me for the first time, HELLO ❤ You're awesome! 🙂
I write about a diverse range of topics, poems, blog interviews,open letters, booksand silly life updates.
Feel free to Follow,like and drop unsolicited love in the comment box. 🙂

3:07 |17.06.2021


A friend shared with me an analogy. Life’s like a pyramid. There’s clarity on the top with a few elite people and obviously fewer people on the top and infertile sand on the bottom with more people trying to climb the hierarchy in order to gain visibility and clarity.

Today, after all, I think I’ve somehow managed to get a glimpse of what that clarity looks like and I want to register that moment, by etching it into words, so that I may come back to this moment when I’m drowning in the sand.

“I don’t love you.”

I’ve always found it difficult to face rejections and, I’m not the only one. I thought holding on to love was significant because love should be extraordinary and not mediocre. But sometimes, giving up and letting the universe decide for you what’s better is all that is needed. Sometimes, giving up is the more courageous of act than holding on to something. I’ve experienced grief. I’ve mourned. Like many people, I’ve assumed that holding on is the greatest of acts. I still don’t know if it is. But what I know for now, is that staying stuck doesn’t do you any good. There are good memories of the past and there are memories you can create and if you have to choose between the past and the potential of creating a fresh memory in the future, it would be a shame to shun it at the thought of forgetting the past ones. Life stops for no one and it shouldn’t. It takes more courage and puffed up eyes to make you realise that before loving someone, you have got to love yourself. And that the memories aren’t lost if you decide to move on and create new ones.

Vonnegut in one of his books, describes the past, present and future as points on a mountainous region. wherein, in that planet, say X , you can view all the moments at the same time- the past, the present and the future. So to believe that nothing is lost and things exist as it does, the only thing being our ability to view just the present, on planet earth.

I’m ready to let the universe roll its die and trust the stroke of luck. This time and everytime, I’ll choose me.

(To be continued…)

00:52 | 17.06.2021


Words are all I’ve known. An year ago words saved my life. I’ve found myself in words, through words and yet again when I find myself in a vortex of hopeful dilemma; I’m here trying to express the inexplicable through words. Hopefully by the end of this write-up, if not clarity, I find some cathartic solace in words and words alone. I don’t know what I want to convey or I know exactly what but I wish to crowd them with metaphors and similes to preserve myself, in some ways. In the coming days, I have a feeling, you’re going to find me journaling publically because there’s a certain comfort in knowing that I can connect through my words with people who albeit having the power of words in there arsenal are sometimes faced with situations where they can’t express themselves. I’m left speechless. All I do is smile like a fucking idiot. And what’s more, is that I’m scared, so fucking scared. I’m scared because I always tend to ruin what I want to give my best at. I tell myself I’ll go with the flow but when you have a lot of words, it’s a war in your head. Conversations that seem to turn into argument every so often. Your mind becoming the battle ground. I apologise to my readers who have been reading this without having any context of the situation. But on WordPress, that’s what makes us connect to each other and empathise. Words. I wish I had more words in my vocabulary to express myself. Maybe I can make up a new word and call it ‘eolv’.

To be continued…

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