A.V

 She, a child filled with guilt. One who blames herself for taking too much of others time, care, effort, love, attention. One who apologises  before being accused. “I’m sorry for being a nuisance.” “It would have been better if I weren’t here.” “I’m sorry you had to see me like this” “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 ...