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Missing You

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It has been a while. We live afar. But today the distance feels carnivorous. This longing sits inside my ribs like something tearing, slow and deliberate, refusing to loosen. I miss the weight of you resting against me, the way your body shaped mine into something whole. I miss your hair brushing my skin, soft, careless, unaware of how easily it undid me. Your hands. Your breath. The quiet shifts in you that I felt as if they were mine. I miss kissing your tired forehead, your still hands, the warmth you carried long after leaving. I miss the lavender in your hair, how it clung to my clothes long after you left, a small reminder of what the air used to feel like. What rivals being near you? Not the warmth of a winter sun, nor the hush of a soft shawl, not butterflies in sunlight or the tender scent of a rose. Nothing held in these hands measures against you. Now the distance cuts clean. My chest feels hollow in the shape you once filled. I do not want my body to forget the ...
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I saw someone today

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I saw someone today. She was wearing a dark red kurti with golden trims. A loose braid hung from her small shoulders. A silver bracelet rested on her left hand. A tiny bindi sat between her brows, small yet unmistakably present. Light blue pants. Silver earrings catching whatever light the room offered. Her lips matched the kurti. Perhaps her lipstick felt grace from her lips. Green Crocs on her feet. Somehow, they softened her entire presence. She sat quietly, as if waiting for someone. Her eyes were steady, fixed somewhere far ahead. Occasionally, she exhaled, long and slow, her gaze dropping to the floor. Tired, probably. She seemed delicate in that specific way where a few gentle words could make her eyes glisten. Someone who would hide everything behind a small, practised smile. She yawned once, wide, bored. The whole class was, to be fair A.V
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SYSTEM LOG: Unstable

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STATUS: Impairment Detected CONFUSION: 87 percent BRAIN FOG: Critical COGNITIVE LOAD: Rising CLEARANCE: Not achieved VISION: Online INTERPRETATION: Faulty SELF-WORTH METRIC: Zeroed ENVY SIGNAL: High SUPPRESSED PROBLEMS: Re-emerging ENTITY FLAG: Devils detected TOUCH RESPONSE: Wither effect triggered NOISE THRESHOLD: Exceeded OVERLOAD: Confirmed DESCENT: Initiated DEPTH: Increasing LIGHT LEVEL: Minimal STABILITY: Lost HEALING PROTOCOL: Not ready RECOVERY TIME: Undefined A.V
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Ordinary Letters

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“To the mornings that never rush enough" Often, for several or sometimes no reason at all, I leave for class at 9:30. Even when the class starts at 9:30. And though it’s barely a kilometer away, it takes me fifteen minutes to reach. Phir kya, as my footsteps find rhythm and the wind brushes past, the green around me begins to hum, and my mind drifts, writing its own stories, a playful smile tugging at my face. As I would reach, I would peek inside the door. “Ma’aaaam, mai aa jaau?” She would looks up to say.  “Kaha se aa rahe ho?” “Ghar se,” I grin. “Aur kis se aaye?” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Gyaarah number gaadi.” “Kya?” “Chal ke, ma’am.” The smile doesn’t leave my lips. “Phir itna late kyu?” “Pata nahi, ma’am. Kaisa dimag hai mera, do mahine ho gaye, phir bhi samajhta nahi ghar se kab nikalna hai.” She laughs, shaking her head. “Accha, aisa hai?” “Haan ji. Aur jab late hota hoon, toh sochta hoon bunk kar lu. Par phir lagta hai, ma’am ka pyara sa chehra dekhne mil j...
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1700 Meter

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The car rumbles softly, the slow hum of tires sinking into the road. Pine trees pass by as we sway from side to side, following the winding spine of the mountains. It’s cold, but the sun is out so it’s okay. Now and then, a small house slips past. A sudden burst of color catches my eye wild and brief against all the green. Cows wander freely, owning the single lane road. The roadside glows with the lime of new leaves, glistening under the sun: katana camara, floss flowers, carrot grass. 1,700 meters above sea level. I look down. The mountains are carved into steps and roads, half-hidden by a thin white mist  I can’t tell if it’s natural, or the afterglow of Diwali smoke. After rushing from city to city these past few days, even a few hours of this quiet feel like home. A home not made of bricks, but of the presence of those close by. It’s been a while since the mountains have felt me. Green signs flicker past, curves lined with steel guardrails. Electric poles descend t...
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Hi Lilly

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Hi there, Lilly It’s been a little while Did you miss me? You thought you buried me, risky. But you know I don’t stay gone, I linger, I slither, I wait in the periphery. Lilly, aren’t you pleased to see me? It’s been weeks since we spoke, bro. I know you need me. Go away. I have no need of you. You only bring destruction to a life I am trying to rebuild. I have no place for you here. Ooo, look at you, lamb with no shepherd, wandering circles, lost, untethered. Mind like a maze you can’t remember, heart like coal gone cold in December. I’m learning, slowly. I’m trying to redo my life, to piece it back together. You think. You plan. But you never act. Too afraid. Too small. Dreams so tall, reality so flat. Look at you, child, grounded, broken wings, grey-eyed, staring at skies you’ll never touch. But I will. This time I will. I have motivation now. Support. People. I even achieved something recently. Doesn’t that count for once? Achieved? You? Don’t make me laugh. Never a ste...
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Hum Pream Karte Hai

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Log humse puchte hai, Apko kabhi ishk hua hai? Main kehta hoon, Hum ishk, mahobat, ulfat, yai sab nahi karte hai. Hum pream karte hai, Wo nahi jiska rang gulab sa surkh laal ho, Ya jismein ho dard, par muskaan ka taal ho, Par wo jiska rang badalo sa safeed ho, Wo jo sardiyo mai ek garam razaai sa ho. Humara pream kisi ko bandhna nahi chahata, Kisi ko apna banane ki ichcha nahi rakhta. Wo pream jismein sneha, anuragh, aur vatsalya saath ho, Jismein phoolon ki pankhadiyon si komalta ho, Sardiyo ke sure ka santosh ho, Thodi shaam ke raagho si aalass ho, Chhote baccho si shaitaniyaan ho. Hum pream karte hai, Wo hai na, Jo humare Kanhaiya, Radha Rani se karte hai. Bilkul wahi wala. Toh, Aap batayein, aap kya karte hai? Ishk, mahobat, ulfat? Ya phir pream? A.V
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Returning From Cremation

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The pyre is ready. The sky is overcast. The body lies on top. Two bullet wounds. A boy, eight years old, steps forward. His hands shake around the torch. He lights his father’s body. He saw him die. Shot in front of his eyes. His mother collapses. The family gathers what remains of themselves. The ritual ends. We walk back through fields of rice, surrounded by green. Clouds break open, thunder claps. Rain falls heavy and slow just as the flashback hits the mind. Each drop presses the earth closer to our feet. The sky cries into my hair, down my cheeks, into my clothes. People scramble to hide their phones, but I stand still, letting the water have me. Is this a Kairos? It feels like one, with the rain striking at such a moment. I am eighteen, a callow being, still learning what moments matter. We reach his home. Everyone sits solemnly in unison, in silence as rain pours. It soaks us completely, until the sorrow thins only slightly, but enough to stand again. We all rise a m...
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Shoes in Hospital

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Fans blasting air. Paper in my hand, A heavy bag hanging from my shoulders. It’s a hospital. The stench of Lizol, Dettol, and medicine lays still. I see shoes of all kinds, Sizes from smallest to adult. Some formal corporate leather, Some in casual Crocs. Cutesy shoes occasionally show up, Some that would fit better at a party. The sandals of aunties speak a similar vibe. Interns and doctors in all black Among them, a few in khaki uniform. A lot of bathroom slippers, Yet all are filled with a silent restlessness. No one stays still for more than a minute, Tapping the floor as if that would shorten the wait. It’s early. The doctor hasn’t arrived. Yet still, there remains a long line In front of their office. I took a spot. Soon the doctor arrived. Eyes lit up, Minds filled with a little dose of dopamine. The line moved slow. People tailing each other close, An uncle babbling behind me in a language I don’t understand. My turn comes. Her voice calm, the same as with the other...
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Lost in Limbo of Transit

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My hair’s all rough from the dust and the winds that press my face back. Let’s close the window. ... What! Why are you looking at me all weird? Didn’t I tell you we were traveling by bus? Oh shoot. I forgot. Hehe. ... So, yeah. We travel in this bus that moves like a bullet passing through air, bouncing over the road. Its windows crackle like the rattles of snakes. From somewhere, this squeaking sound also floods in. The engine roars, its vibrations felt in the ribs. Smells change from petrichor to something sweet, or sometimes foul. But the hue of rain remains steady. So does the darkness that trails the night. It’s midnight. I can see silhouettes of fellow passengers, mixed among those of trees in the background, lit by the deep blue sky that is flooded only by a half moon, whose shade resembles a little of roses. Occasionally, lights, warm and cool, flood in from outside. The bus is almost empty. I can stretch my legs. The clock keeps spinning around in the same limbo. S...
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Moving out of Stagnation

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So,  this is a diary entry,  one not poetic,  not refined to perfection, but  to softy embrace my heavy heart. Only God knows what’s ahead. We can only plan so much. According to my options, I chose a college. I don’t know how life will unfold or what it holds for me. But I know I’ll be fine. There is no fear in my heart  only the calm of silent oceans. Overwhelmed with feelings, it still somehow feels like solace. It’s been a journey to reach this point, and I’m still standing in uncertainty. There were challenges. I walked the wrong path. Fell. Realised. Reached out. Changed direction. Opposed things. Made mistakes. Regretted. Learned. And above all  I felt. Now, I sit in this silent Volvo bus. No one beside me. The lights are off, though glimpses of streetlights reach through the curtains. It’s midnight. The weather is clement, gentle after the rain. The AC blasts over me, but that’s okay. I won’t turn it off. It helps me unpack this shawl of...
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My Demons

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It's been a while. I want to tell you about a demon the one you've glimpsed, though I’ve never named her. I don't talk much. Filled with isolophilia I am, content in the company of quiet. Silence is all I can offer in a conversation. Or strange, uninvited questions that tug too hard at the seams of shallow talk. You ask me why I always lay off plans with you. Dear, how do I show you the parts of me I’ve only ever written down? She hesitates.. scared showing you all of herself. That your eyes and mind would judge mine. That your presence would overwhelm my senses. The way my gaze slides away from others’ might repulse you. The stillness in my voice might bore you. And the love I carry might never reach you at all. The truth is, I spend most of my days with paper. I talk to my diary so my mind can hear birds instead of static. I tell it everything so there’s never much left for you. You once asked why I almost always attend parties. What can I say? People watching...
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The Quiet Weight of You

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Hellooo, It's been a while since I have written to you How are you? Crown of my head, strands of flowing silk, my featherlight veil of ribbons. My pride, my beauty. How are you these days? I know how you are, yet I still fall to the urge to ask you that. You are perfect right now, loosely tied in two braids whose weight I can feel falling down my shoulders like two soft and heavy vines of silk. It seems as if you really liked the new shampoo and conditioner. Oh, my dear vines, how sweetly you smell like roses. As if real flowers were growing on my head. The duality you show is almost ironic. For I know how verily I will hate you and desire to cut you short when the sun starts to shine much warmer and the fireflies start to emerge. You annoy me enough to hate you, while also making me feel so special. I know you blush and hide with shame when people comment on you more than me. But all I can do is pray that their eyes of envy doesn't harm you. For that you remain alw...
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Dear Sakhi

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You are the dearest in my heart, Sakhi. Often, when you're telling tales of your experiences, I realize just how wide the age gap between us is. You keep those guileless stories flowing, and all I know to do is listen. So I do. I hear your stories all night, a sweet smile lingering over my lips. I never have much to say to people, but at night my mind melts away and walls crumble down. The person who struggles to speak for just five minutes ends up on a call with you for hours. I often wonder, why is it always midnight when we call or text? Perhaps because there’s no one left to disturb us. Or maybe because the world is only filled with the soft songs of insects and calm. Who knows. Maybe it’s the stillness of these hours that lets us unfold our layers. So far away, you live in a different world. One that never lets you open your wings and fly. One that works only to chain you to the ground, to rip your wings from your back. My heart cries to create a place for you wher...
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Violated

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You wrenched humans who prey on others’ lives while guarding your own boundaries, as if mine don’t exist too. You who cross the boundaries of respect as if you're not human yourselves, those who mock while reading my soul.  I made a promise to myself to never share my diaries with anyone. You took them not just from the page, but from the heart they came from. This felony you show, human—when you hide your privacy, I back away too, to respect your life. So why did you hold my naked pieces so tightly, as if to rape my soul was your right? Do you not have eyes to see how hard it was on me? I have rage too, dear humans. But closeness kept me from unleashing it upon you. I may be someone who hates conflict but you changed me that night. This open book will now have iron-locked doors, whose keys will be hidden far, far away. Some parts of the soul are not meant to be read, not even by those we once called close. I do not hate you for what you did. Part of the fault lies with me ...
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