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...

It was morning. I woke up, folded my sheets, and brushed my teeth. A weird smile crept across my face as I sat down my brain flashing snips of the dream I had. A lovely, yet shy dream. I could only scream into the pillow and hide my face in pure embarrassment. "Why was she in my dream? She, a friend I don’t consider close, but I do care about. Why would she be in my dream?!" I can’t even smile properly. My shoulders draw in, and I huddle up with the pillows as the details flow back into my mind. It was a dream about intimacy the kind my soul craves deeply. Her head rested in my lap, my fingers wandered through the silk of her hair, not rushed, not needing anything just the slow language of care. Holding her gracefully soft hands, I leave wet imprints of my lips on them. Her small stature fits in my arms, and femininity melts at my touch. Her head rests on my shoulder with care, arms wrap onto mine with trust not hollow, but whole. The world faded around her. There...

"Father, I want to fight the war" No, you won't. "Why won't you let me do anything?!" Hmm Then tell me why you want to join the war. "I want to become a man and protect my country from those devils on the other side. I want to be something good in my life. And even if I die, I want to die fighting for something worth it." Hmm "And I want to kill all those people who dare to take our land away from us." Kill, you say, child. Do you know what it means to kill? To have blood on your hands, your enemies' blood, cutting throats while they beg for mercy? I have killed dozens of kids your age. So don't you dare talk about killing. "Then at least let me die a hero, Father, fighting for the right cause." Let me open your eyes, child. You’ll die a gruesome death at the border, and they’ll give you a glory you’ll never get to see. If you want your life to matter, it's not death that makes it worthy, it's what yo...

The house lies bare a mess not far off from my mind. Hair still heavy with the weight of wet tears from the shower. The elastic of panties clings softly to me, and the baggy T-shirt sways with my steps. My shoulders ache from the weight they carry, or the days they couldn’t. The lights are out. Crickets jeer like voices outside myself mocking the responsibilities I bear yet falter to fulfil. I lay open in this dark room, on a bed that has known the full truth of my sleepless nights. I stuffed these ears of mine with earphones and turned up the volume,  to deafen the thoughts and voices  that speak no good. Only mellow songs broke through. They melt the ice that’s lingered far too long. My legs feel the  quiet warmth, of each other's soft embrace.  Sliding over each other with solace,  While the shawl's threads  caress my skin with patient hush. My tired eyes stare upward at the fan, still turning. Doing its job. Endlessly. Tirelessly. Not long after, battli...

You know… We just had your... Funeral. It wasn't grandeur, no, no, it wasn't like that. Everyone was asking Why did you leave? You know,  Mother’s holed up in her room, surrounded by your pictures. Nostalgic right  She weeps endlessly What, you're asking about me? All I want to know is why . Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you ask for help? Why didn’t you just… reach out a finger? Just one. You know I would’ve come. Even if you were in hell, I would’ve dragged you out. You know that, and I know you know that.  You were my umbrella the only place I found solace, a place Father never could give. You were that for me. You were everything . But now… what do I do? I’m eighteen. But I’m no adult . Not enough to carry this. Not enough to walk this world alone. This society, this life How am I supposed to tread it without a light to guide me? What were you trying to teach me, huh? To jump from buildings the moment life hurts too much? Because I swear to y...

(I’m writing this so I can breathe) This is A.V. An INFJ and a Virgo. A person not built for the noise of society, because the presence of people, their gazes, their questions, their expectations, all seem to press in too close. Human closeness doesn’t comfort him, it freezes him. He shies away from small talk, the way one avoids the cold touch of metal on a winter morning. Words spoken without depth feel like static in his ears. He rarely meets eyes, not out of disrespect, but because looking too closely feels like peeling away skin, too raw, too much. He needs meaning, always. He can’t move without reason, without purpose. Every action must have a soul behind it. His heart doesn’t race at gold or applause, it flutters quietly at the sight of wild blue skies, of dew settling into green leaves, of rain on windows. He recharges in silence, in stillness, alone. He can go deep, so deep it might surprise you, but only in the soft privacy of one-on-one conversations. Put him in a group,...

 It’s 2AM. The night is young. The light is dim. Sleep has vanished, music hums in my headphones, I’m hugging a warm shawl, and I’m thinking. NEET is just a few days away, and truthfully, I was more prepared last year than I am now. So… have I wasted this year? To others, it might seem like I have, especially when the marks come. No matter how good or bad an exam goes, I always say: “It was average.” Even when I know I’ve filled half the answers incorrectly, those are the only words my lips can mumble. But for me, this year wasn’t a waste. It taught me things, About myself. About life. About choices. Still, I wish I had made the decision to pursue psychology earlier. What I don’t know is this: Am I drawn to psychology because it’s what I truly want, or because I haven’t studied enough for NEET and it feels like a safer dream? I don’t feel the same urge to study anymore. I keep saying the exams don’t stress me, but the thought of people, of explaining this shif...

“Dad, what should I make for dinner?” she asked. My daughter, twenty-one now, standing in the kitchen with tired eyes and a wooden spoon. “Get ready,” I replied, pushing myself off the couch. “We’re going out.” “Where to?” “Well, what do you feel like eating? Pizza? Paneer? Or maybe... dosa?” She thought for a moment. “Dosa it is, then.” A few minutes later, we were getting ready. I stepped into the hallway and paused at the sight of her. “Oh dear,” I said, trying to hide my instinct behind a warm voice. “You’re not going to wear that, are you?” She groaned. “Ugh, Dad. Why not?” “The skirt’s too short. Wear a kurti.” She sighed dramatically, but turned and went back into her room without a word. Outside, the sky was restless. The clouds flashed above. The wind was cold, and not a single star was visible. It was going to rain, one of those long, thoughtful rains. Then Lily emerged, dolled up, in a light blue kurti, earrings catching the dull hallway light, and her long hair le...