A.V

My Father died a few months back. Stage 4 cancer, kaafi time se pata tha, wo zyada lamba nahi jee paayenge. Ab yahan aaya hoon apne dil ka gubaar bayan karne. Abhi main, bas shant hoon, waise wali shanti jab samundar ke upar kaale, ghane baadal bas… ghumad rahe hon. Toofan se pehle wali shanti. Pita ji chale gaye, uska itna dukh nahi, he wasn't present for more than half my life, toh kabhi unse sahej hi nahi ho paaya. Dard toh uske liye lagta hai jinhone hume janam diya. Aap jaante hain, jab tak wo shareer jalna nahi lagta, tab tak mann mein ek hi khayal rehta hai ki arre yeh toh bas so rahe hain, abhi uthenge, hasenge, hasaayenge, aur abhi muskuraayenge. Apno ki rundhai hui cheekhein abhi bhi kaanon mein goonjti hain. Pita ji ka mrit chehra aankhon mein abhi tak jala hua hai. Staring into the pyre, as the flames rage to engulf, going back there the next day to collect half-burnt bones. Mann tab tak shant ho chuka hota hai, saari bhavnaayein  agni ke dhue ke saath ud chuki hoti hai...

The soft, cold hands of yours that warm when they meet mine. The moments I lose myself in your dark eyes. Your head resting on my shoulder. Your long hair, tied in a braid or gathered into a bun. You telling tales. The times you mischievously pop balloons, or wear the gentlest smile. This little heart aches, wanting to be held in your embrace, wanting to experience you like a butterfly in motion. Wanting the sun to shine over you, warming your cold hands and feet. For I know you are not afraid of storms. You bear them quietly, speaking the name of Radhe Krishna. But, it will take time to learn how to bear missing you. A.V (Sorry for hitting you on the head with the pillow so hard, Was just messing around...)

 She, a child filled with guilt. One who blames herself for taking too much of others time, care, effort, love, attention. Screaming inward, apologising before being accused. “I’m sorry for being a nuisance.” “It would have been better if I weren’t here.” “I’m sorry for showing such unsightly behaviour.” “I’m sorry you have to bear with me.” “I’m sorry for being born.” One who sees herself as a bother, as someone who asks for too much by simply existing. A fragile girl, eyes avoiding others, glistening when she thinks no one sees. Steps quiet, as if rehearsing disappearance. Hands guarding an aching chest. Long black hair falling forward, hiding her face. Small shoulders folding inward, learning the shape of shrinking. Waiting not for love, but for permission. For someone to say: You are allowed to bother me. You are allowed to lean on me. You are allowed to take up space. It’s okay, child. It’s okay. A.V

It’s 00:05. Fairy lights dissolving a faint yellow. My phone hums with the names of my gods. The mind is tired. Yet sleep doesn’t come. I’ve been lying in this soft, warm bed for more than half an hour. And I’ve been thinking. Am I anxious? About meeting again the people I cut off, the doors I shut? I don’t think so. I’ve come to terms with my situation. Then why does sleep refuse to take me? I’ve been kind to myself tonight. Instead of watching anime to drift off, I lie here listening to slow chants and melodies. So why? Sleep, have I done something wrong? Then why won’t you let me rest? Memories of warm moments flood in. Oh, how I miss you. How silence in your presence felt safe, felt normal. But alone, I can’t even hold it. What is this? I took a warm bath a few hours ago. The body relaxed. Yet rest still doesn’t come. A.V

There’s a girl I know, one who embodies dance in my eyes, one who taught me something I never quite understood. Now I recall how that time was. She held the starting position, hands rise to form a lotus above her head, weight settles on one leg, anklets resting against stillness, the other foot crossed lightly behind. Back facing us. Her hair lies long and open, black against her spine. The melody of flute rises. Her hands loosen, fall into motion, and the body takes over. Then in a beat, it all starts to enchant. Her hands guide my gaze, hair following behind, brushing her face, that land every expression to the beat. The long skirt dances too, with her light feet, ringing softly against the floor. Her feet remember before her mind does. Each step lands where it has landed a thousand times before. Anklets answer the floor. The body does not hesitate. I can only smile and watch in awe, of the dance she performs, knowing full well what goes behind it. The times her feet ache...

I. Displacement I had heard this before, but anubhav ab kar raha hoon. Sheher se sheher uchhalte hue, ghar kahan hai yeh bhool gaya hoon. Koi chaar, deewari bachi nahi jisko main yeh naam de paoon. Bache the bas kuch log, unki chhaaya aur kuch palon ki yaadein. Kuch woh bhi hain jo humein zindagi ke raste mein chod kar chale gaye. Ab, inhi kuch logon ki maujoodgi aur yaadon mein hi, ghar dhoondhta hoon. Inhi kuch logon ke hone mein, main apne aap ko dhoondhta hoon. Koi poochta hai, Ghar kahan hai tumhara? Main pata nahi, sankoch mein pad jaata hoon. Haldwani chhoot gaya. Sitarganj kabhi apna ban nahi paaya. Maiya–Pita ji Pauri mein hain. Bhai Delhi mein. Aur main...? Dehradun ke ek kamre mein apne aap ko dhoondh raha hoon. Toh... jawab kya doon? II. Containment Low Rumbling of tyres rubbing against The asphalt travels up my spine.  The sun had fallen long ago,  Only lights of cars shimmered past us. Father was driving the winding path of mountains, Mother in front ...

It’s the 31st,  a few hours before the new year rings in. I am driving  amid the decorations,  midst the slow descent of dew and fog,  as horns scream,  as blobs of light streak past me. Cold air cuts through,  finding its way between my fingers and jacket,  numbing my hands and face,  numbing my heart that only wants to believe  that I am worthy of love, even when I make mistakes. Even when I am not impressive.  Even when I take up space quietly.  Even when every fibre in me  argues the opposite. I am worthy of being here, right? I am deserving of kindnes,s right? I am deserving of warmth... right? The wind runs through my hair,  loosens it.  I move through roundabouts,  corners, familiar lanes,  thinking only to myself. I love winters for all their beauty  and for this feeling. For my little heart  working its hardest to keep me warm  while the world presses cold against it.  It endures...

  Slept at 3 AM. In the last 65 hours, only 3 hours of sleep. Woke up at 12:30 PM. Mind still hazy. Eyes were hurting last night, almost asking to be closed, yet the mind didn't want sleep. I tried laying down, but the heart was uneasy. Been cold to friends and family in the past few days. Is this insomnia? Mind's tired, body too, yet sleep doesn't come. Even when it does, I refuse to fall. I can't handle the silence in this room. I fill it up with songs I don't want to listen to, podcasts I play in the background some comforting, some just to fill the space. Mostly Hermitcraft. Or anime. Or dramas. Been loving the series I recently started, The First Frost. I love watching how the female lead perfectly portrays how an INFJ lives the small bits, the silence, the feelings of self-worth, the coldness, the softness, the calmness. All of it. I find myself in it. Why don't I sleep? Maybe instead of wasting time trying to fall asleep, I can do something. Or maybe I ju...

I am cold, even after wearing these layers  I am cold. The night's young; the moon's full, breeze stealing past me robbing me of any warmth  that this heart  could provide. Numbness takes over, it doesn't hurt,  doesn't ache. Like a companion  it settles beside me, and I don't mind it.  There's a familiarity to this cold, that hugs me, and somehow, this feels home.  Depressed songs accompany me. The body walks, moving on its own. I see, blobs of light streak past,  people blur in a distance.  Soon I reach the place; walls protect from the wind. I place an order, One masala Dosa. I watch them teaching their child, while they Prep my order.  A smile creeps across my face.  A shiver runs down the spine. The heart warms up from this sight, soon my order comes. My numb fingers remember warmth. The Dosa, fills me  And for a moment,   the world returns A.V

We agreed to walk alone now   But MY body did not sign that treaty. You engraved your fingerprints   over every inch of my skin.   No soap lifts them.   No alcohol burns them away. Perhaps I will have to deskin myself   just to forget. My body conditioned now to fall into YOUR arms   over every small thing. You whisper in my ear, warm My heart, a thing that just melts melts as your breath lingers close to me. Being away from you,   Aches. I flinch when someone touches me   not because it hurts   But because it isn’t YOU. My skin remembers   how you traced its curves,   How easily I became yours. Maybe  I never wanted to unlearn you.   Maybe  I just wanted to learn myself  without you. A.V 

What can I say? It’s just that I’ve never been the kind of person someone would willingly befriend. Never the kind someone would choose as family. Too silent, too fake, too far away from the warmth other people breathe in routine. A face always half-turned, eyes never steady, a presence thinning the longer one looks. I am envy wrapped in flesh, swallowing promises I never learned to keep, shrinking into corners whenever life demands spine. Not brave for others, not thoughtful enough to consider a world beyond the echo of my own mind. Out of sight, out of mind  even for myself. I don’t chase people. I don’t even walk toward them. The love others trade so easily  messy, sharp, loud, alive  I was not built for that kind of proximity. I stand behind the line, in the shadows, with frozen feet and a throat that remembers silence better than speech. Worthless, the kind of worthless that doesn’t even try. Who would bother loving something that won’t mov...

आज किसी अंजान के साथ बैठा हूँ। वो दुल्हन बनी है, और मैं दुल्हा। बस एक महीना हुआ है एक दूसरे को जानें। लाल चुन्नी  के नीचे उसका चेहरा आधा छुपा हुआ, जैसे कोई प्रार्थना अधूरी। मैं सोचता हूँ क्या ये कन्या मेरे घर की आग संभाल पाएगी? चूल्हे की गर्माहट, रसोइयों की खामोश राजनीति, मेरी माँ का तीखापन, मेरी बहन की चिढ़चिढ़ाहट, मेरे पिता कि चुप्पी और मेरा अपनापन  क्या सब समझ पाएगी? पर ज़बान चुप है। आँखों में सिर्फ संकोच  है । आज, सबसे प्रिय सखी के साथ बैठा हूँ। वो राधे बनी है, और हम उनके कृष्ण। दस साल का परिचय, दस साल का साथ। उसकी हँसी का सुर, उसके रूठने का रंग, उसकी आँखों कि  हल्की  सी  चमक सब का सब याद है। घूँघट के पीछे भी उसकी आँखें मुझे ढूँढ़ लेती हैं। हम दोनों को पता है ये शादी मंडप से नहीं, सांस से जुड़ी है। मैं सोचता हूँ क्या ये लड़की समझेगी मेरी आदतें, मेरी ख़ामोशी, मेरी थकान, मेरी ज़िम्मेदारियाँ? प्यार की उम्मीद नहीं। पर दोस्ती भी होगी कि नहीं ये भी निश्चित नहीं। दोनों के हाथों में एक दूसरे के रंग की कमी है। सब रस्में हो रही हैं, बस हम दो लोग रस्मों से कटरा रह...

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 ...

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