A.V

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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 ...

What a bittersweet thing this is to watch you grow, make new friends, Step into your becoming. I’m happy for you. Truly. Yet there’s this quiet distance that keeps widening, And I don’t know how to stop it. We never had time to make real memories. School wasn’t kind. Life wasn’t kind. We each had our own demons. You learnt to ignore the judgmental eyes of others I learned to speak openly and tell stories. And all we had was text. Words became our world. We explored life and death, jokes and philosophies, The strange corners of our minds. So why does it feel now Like you’re just another online friend? My heart doesn’t care for history. It only aches for what’s true now. And you, dear soul so different from me, so guileless, so warm I can only bless you from afar. How strange to go from everything shared to promises unkept, to silence, to being left on read. I’m not here to blame. Never to villainise. But this fracture between us I can’t hold all of it alone. You said once: F...