# To post or not to? #6

And she felt it. She felt she was no more important. And whatever she did, for whoever, it doesn't matter. In the end she'll be alone again, cutting wounds, counting dead fireflies. Counting as if they might increase in number. People said giving your best- gives you everything you wish? She doesn't think so. Giving everything you have, might just end up empty. In a room left with just her. Sometimes she'd feel like to rip herself off, for giving away or being so dumb. She'd rub her skin until it would get red and realize just how more scratches and the it's out, the blood. She had too many scratches to heal. She'd wait for them to heal, and scratch them again. Oh did she do the same with her heart? She read lines about how living and existing are different. Most people just exist. And to live is great. But why are all the stories about beautiful gardens , without a torn lef, or the withered flowers that grew old, or the ones that got trampled? The thorns that might have gotten into the skin of the person who took care. She'd want to stop to exist. Trying out things like walking or drinking coffee might help. Something definitely can make her happy right? She's so much below the sea under the heap of regrets and memories and people. She can't breathe. And you can't hear her, can you? -Under the water.


# To post or not to? #7

Days have passed on crazy. I believe it's how the whole regret thing works. When we have time, we think, we have got a lot. When we don't our mind thinks the reverse, I wish they gave more time. Life has got stuck in this cycle of blaming everything around, to an extent that have forgotten about myself. Every circumstance feels like a full stop. The extent to which you can pull over, and then you realize there's more. There's always more and more waiting. Now that I look back, it feels like I have stood long in the same place, and it's time. Time to move on. To a different destination? And a new damn place? More people and certainly more of life. Even though time has been passing away like sand, flowing away, but at this moment. I don't feel like holding on to it. I feel, I feel the urge to let it go the way it always has. Haven't written for a while. That's what I use my earrings for, these days.


# To post or not to? #8

Dear Memories, I don't like the way you always slide away, even though I try to hold on to you. Though you never go away, you just slide down, getting replaced by new happenings. Like a pile, it's hard to think about you and remember you as it is. It's fascinating how, we make you in present, without even having a tiny shard of idea . The laughters, falling down, and laughing cause you fell down, your someone laughing, and you stand up, and fall down again, laughing because you couldn't stop laughing yet.That kind of you. That is what I am talking about. When I started to play, I remember my hands all sweaty. I was shivering, and it wasn't cold. And my heart beat was as fast as it could be. You know, the first was fine. Second day was the hardest. And third day? It was better. It kept getting better. I made friends, and you. And at this particular time, I am leaving it again. Sometimes it feels like, there's no use of investing in people. Because the certain time of it, will end, and things end up becoming one of you. Very few people make past that barrier, of personal space, being there watching like the moon from far away. Mostly, it's like the fixed things you'll pass by, they won't follow you. I kind of feel sad too. And ofcourse that line you know It will never be the same again thing. I kind of feel very bad about it. Looking back to the pages, I realize how long it has been. And things that made sense before, doesn't now. Change is perhaps the only constant we got. Maybe we only stop by the woods for a certain time, at the end, we'll have to keep going. Until we sleep?I am glad, I have you. Reminds me of, how vulnerably beautiful life has been. :)


# To post or not to? #9

I have lost them all,Even the bright stars and their magical light is gone.My soul has lost it's way in the busy street of life,And it can't wait.There's something mystic about the sunset in the evening,It's sad yet the most serene.All I can think is about his smile,The blush over his cheeksLike the very nerdy geeks.The way our stare game through the classroom, Would go for hours,And still it would never be boring at all.The way your lips would turn red,With the just ate gola we had.The way our shoulders touched,While we sat together in the school busThat made us try looking everywhere but each other.The way you wept like a baby,When I was leavingYou literally wept all your mucus on my churni enoughThat I told you to keep it. The way you sat on the middle of the road,Your hands wrapped around my one leg,Creating a scene,Saying you won't let me go.I would give it a try,Realizing you're too heavy.I would just lean downAnd kiss on your head,And whisper the words,Those eyes would look at me,And I realize how much I don't want to go,As your grip slowly loosensAnd you let me go. And now I realize, when I thought it would be easy to forgot,I am here, ten years later on the this very same street.


# To post or not to? #10

I wonder what we are made of. Dust and particles, scientifically we say, matter. But, then what are we actually made of? You know I often get lost in the hurricane of my thoughts, unable to understand what makes me do what I basically do. Sometimes, it's so harsh, and sometimes it's sweet. This is basically the roller coaster we are on. Sometimes I really feel like keeping silent and let some other person fill me in. With thoughts and stories, art and life. I wonder when was the last time I felt 'life' in some other person. We don't get many people we want to keep listening to. I somehow do not understand as to why , we are attracted to confident people. Why is standing out so attractive? Why is anyone with different thoughts, feels like a person you want to keep knowing and knowing until they run out of stories? I wonder why I am attracted to sad people as well. Not the sad type, but basically, when you get tired of finding 'life' in others, all I wanna do is, maybe make someone find 'life' in me? Don't you come across moments when you laugh, and you keep laughing and you wonder, when was the last time you laughed this much? I don't know. Maybe these things are supposed to be unknown. The energy in me, is so mysterious. I am almost flabbergasted and unable to understand. Who is me? These changes making me feel, like a new person everyday. And I don't want people to think I am fake. We change. We are growing, we reconsider. I am not fake, I am just changing. And if you know me, and you reading this, maybe you're some constant. And even when life changes and reconsideration happens, the basic element of me is still going to be same. So if you're my constant, you'll find the constant in me. I hope you do. And umm. I love you.


# To post or not to #11

I will tell you why I don't want to tell you that you're someone that I think about. That I keep my phone on full volume in the hope that you'd call. The fact that I lower the volume whenever I am away, cause the call is for me and it should be only me that picks up. I don't feel like adding on to the list of people you've to take care of. The way it's morning and you look at the old dyed clock over the wall and certainly be thinking how the 'times' might never change. The exhaustion over your face, the slight smile, and way you wanna smile for the sake of it, to show everything has been alright and you're all okay. I will tell you. I want to be the leaf hanging through the window; a ray of hope. Something that you see everyday and recall that you still have got to live. Looking upon me, even if there's a whole lot of lined up stars over the galaxy. For me, and that I shall be walking by your side, even if I am a mere painting. But I am enough. I am the masterpiece.


# To post or not to? #12

I have realized something. When I was small, I picked this certain glass bangles that I really liked. These bangles looked like coloured circles of life, all colourful with tiny mirrors of self love in them, wrapped in transparent plastic of reality. I wasn't stealing you know, just picking up something I really liked,without paying.Unfortunately, the churi wale uncle happen to notice my not-so- thievery and I had to keep them back, cause Papa refused to buy me those.What's the point of telling you all of this?Aren't we doing the same act throughout life? We pickup things from people we meet. Kindness, love, hope and so much more. All of it is picked up. I would even say jealousy, cause the moment, we get to know someone is jealous of us, we start to get into doing the same, comparing. There's a difference in being taught something and picking up something. We mostly pick up.We pick up or definition of 'the glass bangles'.And payment? Payment is somewhat done in attachments, and every tome you do this certain picked up action, you recall the person who you picked it up from, and in most cases, these people end up being past tales.


# To post or not to? #13

You know, I wanted go out, live and breathe. But now, I don't. I feel helpless. Suddenly, like you feel home is a safe place.I wanted to go out discover the world, the nights and the days.But now I guess I want to turn myself into this cage. Lock myself in. The world suddenly feels scary,the world living and how, for some , even home isn't a safe place. Who is it? Who is next?I have been trying to find goodness in every being to just realize, I am wrong.There's no goodness. There are only people. People who want work done, people who are selfish and useless.People who don't know the number of stars over the horizon, people who wear face masks. People who talk about breathing, and can't breathe. -counting the stars that left the sky


# To post or not to? #14

Yeah. I like my nailpolish. Is that wrong? Maybe, maybe not.Dear Diary #61 I am starting from right where I ended. And this is where I am. At 61 st. Which means there has been sixty times when life went breaking apart, creeping my nerves, filling me enough to write again. Don't misunderstand this with my other history, my poems and stories they'd really fill a different slot. But this. This is my place. I come here when I am sad, in pain or lonely. You're right. When I have no one,I come to you. Is that selfish? Cause, you don't leave. And people probably do. I am good with words, but not good with lies. Yeah, that's where I mess up. So, well say, when I want someone to stay for me. Do I really stay for someone? That's what it is, right? You're expecting people to stay for you, escape sleeps probably give you as their first priority. But give it a thought. Is there someone like you, probably expecting the same from you. And you don't reciprocate cause probably you don't want it. Why? Cause you don't feel something about this certain person the way you feel about some other person. And that becomes some entire love octagon. Triangle is just a baby. I am there for you when no one is there for me. I am not there for you when people are there for me. Yeah. That is what I call honesty. Don't be sweet, be honest. Be it. So that you don't end up on someone's Instagram status termed as #fake. Atleast it's better to be called rather mean and selfish. Right?In the end, we are all bad tales in someone's book, and what can we do about that? We keep doing it. And yeah. I am upset. Cause,I am a bad tale.


# To post or not to? #15

I had joined some workshop. Some workshop for handling temper. I had gone with brother and I was eleven years old then. It was held twice a week. Sundays and Saturdays, 9 am to 4pm. They used to provide crap lunch, brownies and frootis for breakfast. Mom forced us into it when we were in Gurgaon at moms friends. There used to be more than three hundred kids at once,possibly more. The lady who gave lecture was some lady NRI. She said one rule. You are not supposed to sit with people you know. Be truthful to yourself. I am brother never sat together. I wandered around, perhaps wasnt good at making friends. One day I sat with her. And life changed, we sat and talked, tried suppressing our laugh. Laughed a lot. We had the best jokes, she understood me and I didnt know how. I never explained her anything, still felt like she say to me Shhh.I know and its perfectly okay. I fell in love with her, she wasnt crazy like me, instead she was calm but still was amazing. She told me her Dad taught in this workshop too. And her Dad wanted her to attend it as well. We sat together, we searched for each other in the crowd. Until this one day, she didnt sit beside me. I asked her why? She said, its against the rules and she cant cheat her father. She promised him that shell concentrate. I felt sad. She didnt sit. I was back to sitting alone in the crowd and sleeping. I used to still search for her. I could only see her sitting everywhere but beside me. One day I found her at lunch table sitting alone, having her home made tiffin. She didnt like the crap lunch these workshop people served. She felt different. There was a tone of sadness in her voice. I didnt ask her why. I wish I had. I never saw her again. But I never forgot her. I forgot her face, but I still remember her name, her words, every inch, every moment. Yeah I was in love with her, not the kind of boyfriend girlfriend love, but the kind of love one can never explain. I could never... Ending this with a quote I wish I knew how to quit you Goodnight(11.56 pm)


# To post or not to #16

I am listening to the same melody. The same song looping, a sixty times. Tu thori der aur theher ja, the song of stay. When you want someone to stay and just stay. You don't want them to do anything, just staying would do.It's a cry from within, when you wnat the time to stop and it doesn't, so you just want the person to stop. Maybe a little longer. Longer than everyone else. Maybe a little longer for life..


# To post or not to? #17

She was sitting on the white bench. Her bag hanging through her right arm. Her head was down and I knew she was thinking again. Hey, why are you here for? I asked. Well, the same thing you're here for. Submissions. She said. I know that! I mean, why are you sitting here? Uhm. Work's done so going home, waiting for the bus Well. What's the hurry? There are other friends. Let's hangout with them for some time, atleast till your bus comes. No, I have to go home. Dad must be waiting.  Adi, can you stop lying already? Can you stop bothering already?  Lol, why don't you ever try to stay? Why are you always running. Here to there. All the time. I don't stay because I don't have a reason to stay. Well well am I not a reason?  No you're not. Okay. She stood up. Where? Going to walk till the bus comes Well. How about I join? Weren't you just about to hangout out with your friends? Well. I guess someone has a reason to stay. Unlike some people . Stop stealing my lines! Learnt from you.  I whispered. Her lips formed a beautiful curve, though she tried hard to suppress. I walked with her though none of us said a word. I guess we found our reasons. To stay. Passing through the time.


# To post or not to? #18

I would do anything to not feel the way I feel now. I hate good nights and goodbyes. Good nights means I have another eternity of night to think about all, everything that is going away, or the guilt that the day wasn't productive at all. I want to talk, turn the nights into mornings. The darkness engulfes me tonight, and I don't see a way out.I don't like goodbyes. They tell me that nothing is going to stay. Everything would eventually leave you and you'll be left with good bye which is not at all good. It's the feeling. You walking on road. People. Everyone one. And you'll keep walking and fish your pocket for a phone. Must've tried all the friends, just cut down the feeling of being lonely in the busy street.I promise. Will sleep tommorow by time. Cause I hate nights. And I will make sure I will never be awake at this time. Note it down. 2.16 am. And I know. I am writing something. And I don't know . The feeling sticks to me like leech pulling my soul out of happiness. Like some sad piano that keeps playing and never ends. And I wish one day the fingers get tired and the piano stops. No more sad. No more harmony. No more laments. No more of anything.


# To post or not to? #19

There are mornings I don't wish to wake up. Curl back to the bed, toil and make a cocoon where you'd last lay your head. Perhaps the winds were too rigid,the night was too stormy to leave. We were just drunk that day. I don't remember anything either. I don't remember the way your hands curled around my waist, pulled me closer and planted a kiss. I don't remember descending down the stairs. Or the way we kissed down till we reached bed. It was too fast to witness the action. And I didn't want to see anymore, I just wanted to feel. For a second let everything happen. Deem it a night of mistakes. One after the one. Well. Nights of mistakes now. Cause. I guess the daylight was too broad. The way we fell out of everything at the first ray of sun. The way you got up, pulling away your hand from mine. As I was the heat of the sunshine. You buckling your belt, forcing the thin linen of shirt around the shoulders fast. As if you're running from me, the night or the mistakes, or some guilt. And you'd never turn back. But then I know, there will another night. When the storms would be at dam, winds too fast, another night of lie, where we'd bury our mistakes by.


# To post or not to? #20

Kolkata. The city of joy. I have always wanted to see the city, cold and aesthetic, the evening, the people, the laughter and ofcourse, the joy. It's a beautiful night. Lights and lights. Food and chatter. Laughter and happiness. The daughter of the city is back to her place.For nine days. I am standing right there. Close to the empty street. Alone? No. Not this time. His hands are warm and all held tight. I fear, I would get lost in so much happiness, and the air around. The air that feels like drugs, and him being the catalyst in our chemistry, boosting my smile. I am looking pretty today. Exactly the way I imagined, big jhumkas, a red lehenga,with golden embroidery and blue borders. A churni with the same colour, giving the birth mark around my waist a little show. I am shy usually. But I know, today is mine. And I won't let anyone take it away from me. Not even myself. My hair has somehow managed to tame itself,as if said this morning 'live it and I promise not to interfere'. My hands are full with bangles, the glass ones. The ones I have dreamt of, the glass ones, the colorful ones you know? There is a bindi on my forehead, a small one though, it's a bit more on the left side, but who cares. I can't see it. Can I? Haha.Maa says, big ones are for married women, and small for the maidens. I miss her. I have payals around my feet, and they don't give the same joy as it used to with those baby shoes that made sound every time I stepped. Like every step counted. But they're still trying to compete. I am feeling beautiful. Feeling new. Feeling different. And I know, it's not just about the night, or the city, he also counts in. Right?The city looks even more serene in the night. A kind of feeling I can't hide. We are right around the corner, eating food. He like the movies they do, wipes of the chat from the corner of my lips. I can't help the laugh. It's like a carefree spring.And it feels like, freedom has come and kissed me twice. Blessed me twice. Blessed the city. Blessed the night. And I don't want it to end. This feeling is new. And I want to live it. Now. Now. Right now. A dream of ten years. Finally. Let me live it.Shush let me sing.


# To post or not to? #21

'Real men who love their wives prepare them for widowhood '. I don't remember where I read. But I remember it. Well and I don't know if it's true. Is it?When we love someone, we get so involved , that at this point we forget our ownself. We just go on with the flow of life. If I love someone, I would like that person to be happy-with or without me. After all, love never promised to stay together, we did. Love never promised happiness, we did. Love was never forgetting yourself into someone, it is finding yourself more. Does he tell you to learn to cross the road yourself? See the red light, and then see across left and right both. Then cross. I am here nothing will happen. And you learn it. You get over the anxiety. I am scared of crossing roads and hence this example. Does he tell you to get to go forward? Take your decisions? And I will hold you if you fall?Love isn't about calling each other baby, it's about looking at each other when they miss their mother. Love is basically. Just love.


# To forget or not to?#22

It's the time when you know everything is moving away. Connections, relations,friendships like someone just added a drop of lemon to the milk. And it will never be the same again. Good times, brings good memories, friends joy and happiness. Bad times brings, sadness, and this is the time you realize, who is your friend. Friend in true sense. And in hurts, when the one you thought would be with you, is the first one to withdraw. People save themselves first. It's a way to life. Do not waste yourself, on someone who is not willing to do the same for you. And you realize maybe, every promise was a lie. Every word was just a word. And every person is distant. And maybe the old school memories would bring joy for once. And then you'll feel this searing pain, and things are not the same again. And trust me. Who wants to stay does. And you've been wasting your feelings on wrong people for so long. And everything is falling and maybe the gravity has hit too hard. And the pieces of glass have made their way into your skin and there's blood. And pain. Everything is breaking apart. You , me us everyone and everything.


# To post or not to?#23

Right. I would never understand. I didn't when I saw you giggling to yourself and then I saw a book, tight around your hands. And you were reading. You kept doing it, sometimes you'd look around to see if someone thought you were a crack. And yeah for once I did. I have seen people, smiling seeing texts. Smileys and emojis and Ily s. It was tha last period. You closed the book down. You got bored. You stared outside the window with a too blank expression and then you wrote. For a second I thought you were crying. Maybe you were. You tore the paper right outside the notebook. Scrunched it throwed it in your desk. That page joined the rest, the balls of your thoughts. I am sorry, I didn't get a better term. I am not talking dirty. You walked out and I saw the papers. Unfortunately I didn't know which was your recent. Therefore I took them all. Filled them in my bag. I went home and read it all. And I laughed like an lunatic. Never halfed in years. You made me smile. You and your thoughts. It had people. I was one of your thoughts and it made me giggle. Yeah, better than those Ily texts or kissing emojis.A handsome piece of shit you had called me in one of those, describing every person in your class.I didn't know whether to get offended or laugh. All I knew was I wanted to get in your head and read you all the more. All the more and more. I reached early, market each paper of yours with an ink and threw them the same way it was before. I had written my comments over each of them. Like it was a conversation, and I knew you would never get to know, never read. Except that you did. And it was there where it all began. Just like that..


# To post or not to?#24

A long time after, fingers slipped, a chat with my old bestfriend. Dear diary, a ear for the ones, who want to speak, but are better with words, through the ink. A thousand secrets of the adolescence, confessions of love, the lost age. This was a bookmarked page. A page, filled with a strang of cupid's wings and a lovers phase. Some drops of pearls had managed to make a mark on the yellow page, and their lay a heart. Just a heart, a little tattered, a little old, a little folded, like it has gone through generations waiting for the person. My name didn't seem to vanish much. It's still there in some imperfect words. A hand cut heart out of a piece of love, a part , with small hands, promises to always be there. And something was felt. The solace, of being wanted for once. And this is how I remember, To be young, and in love.


# To post or not to?#25

Dear you, Yeah, again. It's me. Day 56, uh no sorry 57 time 3.54 pm. I am sorry. It's been exactly a year, and a little more. It's like this window. I come everyday. And the lights are on. And I know you're awake. And I know you won't speak. I know I made a mistake. 'A' would be an understatement. I made many. A little less than the stars over the horizon. You love stars, but you never loved mistakes. I remember the first time we met, you'd said, I hate people who lie. I hate mistakes. And I heard it, and I knew, I was making a mistake right then. Right then. And I thought over it all night. And I didn't wanted to loose you. Well you see, I anyway lost you. Funny thing. We always hurt the people, we never want to hurt. It's an act. And we do it. Knowingly or unknowingly. In my case, I don't know. I would call it my act of selfishness. I am. Very. I see the lights switch off at exactly two a.m. I see your figure roaming around,something pressed against your head,which I beleive to be a phone. Sometimes I would see dim light, and I know you're binging over the Netflix again. You never open the window. You used to. Now, you don't. Cause, you know. I'd be over the window, waving at you, with my old sorry note. Even if you open the window, you won't wave back, won't smile at me or giggle whenever I hit my head on the grill trying to somehow crane my head, expecting to reach your windowsill. Stupidity at it's best. I guess, we never know things, until we lose them. Every morning I pass a letter down the sleek space under the door, it disappears inside and I'd never know if you read it or just threw it in the dustbin. But there is a hope.Just like that one light in the dark. Dark sky and darkness everywhere, and just one light through your window.


# A letter to twenty seven,

Dear Adity who turned twenty seven, Hey? You there? Are you sleepy? If you're, go grab a coffee, wash your face, tie your hair like that messy bun, and now start. So, twenty seven? Feels great right? You know, I remember the last letter I wrote asking you if you got into love and things like that. Even if you didn't, I did. Yes, a lot has changed in the past one year. Reconsiderations have happened. You know today morning, maa woke up at five . She took a shower, put in some offering to the god, started into making mattar paneer. Exactly the one I like. I am unsure if anything could be a better gift. At night around 2 am I was in a voice call in discord with a couple of people. A girl sang a song for me, and my heart broke. It means something to me. Yes I was covering my silences. Bunny called me, she dedicated like seven songs to me, we talked about things. It's been a while you see. And and and, I got some red roses. For the first time in life. Yes I had red cheeks. And yes I am smiling while I write this. In the evening I dressed up, into the suit I had abandoned six years ago, and it fit me surprisingly. Granny looked at me for a solid 20 secs, took a note out and nazar utari meri. I couldn't stop laughing. I went down then, got my cake. Yes the classic Blackforest tradition. And then went for a walk. I did my favorite thing. Walked down on empty streets taking pictures of what made me feel something. My shadow looked extremely pretty.I was a bit scared of going into the dark places. I am afraid. I am sorry. Talked to the people I love spending my time with. Honestly got into a little row with one. But I don't think you'll be remembering who it is. Where you are, I am unsure if you'd even remember today. You're getting fucking twenty seven. I hope you're doing what you promised me. Being yourself. I have realized it's so hard to be yourself without judgement. I am trying to get over it. I hope you've too.Don't drink much. And don't smoke. What is important everyday is to showup, even if you don't win the field. Boring advices from a teenager is basically what you need right now.Yours Adi,Weird but okay.


# Escapism or is it?

Today is well today, 6th of October to be precise and the year 2021 just in case my future grandchildren might be curious to know. Honestly, these dates have always been for myself to know. To remember that the event or whoever wrote this, lived in past, by 10 secs ago, could be 10 months or 10 years, but I haven't ever reached the 10 year mark. I hope I live to see that day. I haven't written in a while. And so, I might have a little hard time expressing myself and dear reader, I hope you have the time to bear with me. I am grateful for it. Escapism. To escape the world. You must've heard it quite a lot with english poems and stories. The first time I grew acquainted of this term was in school. It was a story, a short story named B.Wordsworth by V.S.Naipul. I could go ahead and give spoilers, but I wouldn't. Anyways. So this story was about escapism. And it took me three reads to get the feel of it. The way the story would not shake of me for a while. But by Google's definition 'an activity, a form of entertainment, etc. that helps you to avoid or forget unpleasant or boring things'. It was different for B.Wordsworth and it has been different for me. Today I realized that escapism wasn't sitting by the window listening to some dark sad melody gloating and rethinking people. Escapism wasn't based on not doing the things you normally won't do, but feeling out of the world. I plugged in some earphones today. And went on a walk. The music was loud. And I made sure to walk on footpaths in order to not get sqeezed by a car like a little cat I am. It felt like you could see the world without the noise it had. The music you'd hear decided how it was. For me, it was this rocky music you'd want to dance on. I walked and walked. I walked till I felt the road ended and I didn't want to take another turn. Tracing back my paths, I didn't exactly wanted to practise my road memorizing superpowers. I walked into the terrace of my building. And kept walking in circles then. I was rather more free to dance and so I did. I danced. And when the music went off, it was dark. I hadn't realized how dark but it about ten minutes to six. Above it a picture of what it looked like. To me it looked like a picture I'd want to paint someday. And it felt good. Good to be content and tired. It's more voices in the head than in front of you. And I have realized only if I just heard the one in front of me I'll learn. Very weird post. Thinking to roll in everyday. Stick by I'll wish. But don't stay only cause I wish.


# Invalid page

Here's a little something for you. A day. A heart wrapped in a sweatshirt. A cold winter with pecks of sunshine. The stardust falling off from your eyelashes like fairy glitters. The road, filled with the clatter of two souls, walking side by side. The street lights their perfect candle, perhaps a little brighter. Not enough stars to count in the wishes of a life falling of the subtle branch of potential. All the potential just turning into the ashes, sown back into the earth like it finally belongs somewhere. Empty canvases filled with white, a colour unseen, a little delight. The chuckle of a mad man. Words. Tons of them. Futile promises of a long period of time. A thief. Stealing away pieces when one could not take them. Stolen kisses. Never a heart. Pages. Pages, full of people, but not one alive. Time turner. Turns in time. Turned days into nights. A crawl into a stumble, a stumble into a walk, and finally he ran. He ran so fast, that he leaped through dimensions. Parallel words where skies were brown. The sea was solid and the land melted down. Cinderella never lost her shoe, why would you part with something that fits you so well. Perfection was a myth. Or even so, is it? A small offering to my dearest writer's block, XD.


# Guide to looking busy.

To begin with, I didn't really plan this out. And so, I can't give this the catchy beginning that you, dear audience, anticipate. Ever got in places where your eyes just keep watering? Your heart feels a bit broken in petty things and your inner soul keeps on shouting 'why me?' . I am assuming yes, for if I was in your place, I would just look around to see if I have got a 'stalker'. Honestly having somebody obsessed about you; sounds amazing in a world where 'attention' is the new currency. Until the 'stalker' starts being creepy and starts killing people who you can potentially be with. Sounds similar right? Crime patrol or Netflix, depends on how much money you got in that wallet of yours.And I just got distracted. God. Where was I? I could again start about how hypocrisy lives in almost every human being, cause I am an atheist, but I make sure I bring god in places I have nothing to say. Oh my god! Did I get off the topic again?Back to our subject, life keeps on breaking apart. I have two reactions to it, I either let others sympathize with me, or I sympathize with myself before anyone else does.The guide to hiding your emotions publically is wearing a mask. It hides the way your lips give out your mood. Oh and dear mobile! Look into it. It makes us teenagers look very busy. I have never been a person who uses a mobile phone outside unless I have really important work or I want to look busy. So you look into the phone with a mask on, and nobody will suspect you to be having a mental breakdown mid-field.One very important thing to keep in mind, is you do not make eye contact with anybody. Eyes give away a lot, for example, the vision of accumulating tears ready to pass down through the corner of your eyes. So make sure you keep yourself looking very busy.There's a second thing that would work too. Personally tested and approved! You call somebody. Yes, call your mom, or a friend. I know most friends never pick up, but mom! Mom is this one person who is always gonna pick up, cause her kid is out in the world! Tell her what made you upset. I don't think I have ever heard something as soothing as my mom's voice. And after you let things out, you're back to okay without even a soul knowing about your inner turmoil. Plus talking on the phone is busy 101. Nobody will disturb you when you're tearing yourself out. Mom wouldn't judge you, and honestly, I wouldn't too. Seeking an ear to hear is very normal. Doesn't really matter if it makes you a mum boy/girl, what matters and would always matter is you?I may have gotten a bit distracted. I don't intend to tell people that tearing up with an audience is bad. It's really okay. But the fact remains, get to act tough, while you can.Save your tears for people who can actually wipe them. Lucky to even find one.So, look out champ! Got a world waiting for you :)


# Imperfect days.

Reassurances. What do you tell yourself when things don't pan out the way you plan them to go? You tell yourself something that makes you say well that makes sense! . I have a bunch of these in my bag, for your nerves to calm you down. Disclaimer: these only work short term, not effective in long term issues. Not everything goes smooth in life. I mean obviously, who doesn't know that? But saying it, you just overshadowed a major mess up, saying a 'it is what it is' kinda line. You could use it for things you don't have a control over. But honestly, isn't everything out of your control at this point? What have you got to control other than yourself, assuming that you, dear reader aren't a manipulative human being. People have priorities. Hey there, did you get ghosted again? In that case, this is the perfect line that'd sell. Hence, when anybody spends time with you, and then stops doing so, you could just humm this line and turn into your 'bitch mode'. A human like me, would sit and name my priorities, and let me be honest, I'd name my career the first one. It makes you feel powerful, and aware of yourself- for three days. Yes! You got that right, that's the time limit for your hate hormones and your 'i am gonna be focused' slogan. Unless, you let the hate, and rejection keep flowing inside you and end up cracking UPSC! XD. Your defense to somebody having priorities over you, is having your priorities over them as well. You think that'll heal you? Absolutely no. It doesn't. Anyways . 'Not everyday goes perfect'. This is my favorite one, and I know you'd click your tongue and comment how it's similar to the first one. It isn't. The first one signifies an event, however this one talks about a whole ass day! Let me get this straight, your whole day goes crap, your friend puts a hand on your shoulder and whispers this gurumantra. Yes, it makes you feel better. Why? Because it radiates a hope for a better tommorow. Oh but, what is a life without a butt, I mean Instagram was filled with it, now YouTube has it too, you can see the reach. But, tommorow, goes the same like yesterday, trampling over your hopes and expectations of something better. You wipe the sweat gathered on under your nose and commit to an another tommorow, a better one. It breaks my heart dear, but you don't get a better tommorow, cause there isn't something called an imperfect day. It's a series. It's a series of days, a downward slope, which is directly proportional to the level of confidence you own. I wouldn't say there's no breaking out of it, because there is. I have got some tons more, but I don't really remember, you see, these lines stay in system for only three days. Unless you remind yourself of it again. This is it. Do some homework yourself, 'not everything gets spoon-fed into your mouth hole'.


# What made you so pretty?

What made you so pretty? Was it the morning sunlight that peeked in to say 'hi' through the curtains. It couldn't have been. Maybe it was the rain this morning, that drizzled through the sunlight like fairy dust. What is it about your sleepy eyes? Was it the peas in the breakfast, that you, passed in your sister's plate sneakingly or the fact that you forgot your calculator on your way to an accounts exam. Maybe it was air, you felt touch your face and leave you wanting more? What was it? Certainly might be something about the day turning into dusk, the sky turning into ash. It must've had something to do with you, hasn't it? Don't tell me it was those heap of assignments you failed to turn in before the day got over and let it slip once again to the next day. It could've been those books, the once you studied, for they're very much capable of turning someone, dull and pretentious, but no, not pretty, or are they? Wait, did I- ..Finding ways to get over blocks..


# A letter to Mr. Sticky Notes

A rant. A love rant. I am aware of how you may be illiterate. Maybe because things were written into you, and not in front of you? If you could talk, youd remind me of how I never really completed any of my goals. And that writing water 5 liters and sticking it up over the wall wont make me drink water often. To be honest, I like people who talk less. The last kid I ever liked was 6 months old and no I am not talking about my ex. So this kid, I liked him he resembled a dumpling and he was too tiny to talk(gee gee ga ga sounds do not count- I find them cute). I think people prefer your kind mostly because you do not talk. Otherwise, we already have parents to remind verbally of the goals you could never strike off. You could be counted as the most ignored materialistic item in my room, after my calculator. I am fairly happy about where this is going. The only thing youve come in use so far is pretense. For some reason, humans feel that things hanging over the wall are important. For example, a photo(with or without a garland). I as a human loved taping the wall with my timetable which I never in the world followed through the second day. Though the fact that my dad loves white walls and these tapes after getting ripped off would cause considerable marks of failure on the wall, restricted me from using tapes. This has led me to the day you could call the day I brought you home. Youve been very helpful ever since. I stick you on the top of my daily journal with do not read lines. It provides me with the feeling that those instructions have not been violated and that my secrets are safe. However, humans love doing things that theyve been barred from doing. It's like, you may or may not read this shiny green color diary-looking thing lying on the table, but since now it has been written with do not read youll be reading it now. Might find the treasure map in it? It is exactly like those horror movie kids that would want to go into a haunted house and call the ghost out like it is going to come out and do a welcome thing(which it does, just a little violently?). Youve been chosen as the recipient of this letter because it is safe. I initially thought to write it to a living creature, but the possibility of them going ahead and reading is certainly less, but not negligible. This possibility is threatening. Especially when I am writing a letter thats just sarcastic and failed humor. Maybe this is my outlet for letting things be. Maybe I need to drink 5 liters of water daily. Maybe.Until then,see you on my wall.


# A letter to you!

We are getting washed away in ocean waves. I wont tell you what we signifies. But we are. It feels like nothing will be left. It will be all gone. I do not know how to stop. These wuthering stakes. I am really trying. No, actually I am not. I am trying is just default template reaction to everything. I dont think well live. Well get pulled into the depths of ocean, and well die with our breaths touching each other. I would not mind. I really cannot- I do not have any witty puns or anything you can chuckle about. Just plain vulnerabilities. I do not know if youll remember him ten years down the line. I would. Like something engraved. Like something even a blind person can feel if not see. But we all are mostly blind, arent we? Cant see anything properly other than the mirror. This is the last time I am writing you this. I will not again. This will be a crypt. Well, it is a crypt. In the philosophical sense. All old buildings become crypts the moment they're finished. A shrine to a time that's already dead. -Krystal Sutherland, Our Chemical Hearts. My time is over. It will not walk back to me. One of those things you think, will be okay to put off, but then its attached to your soul. So you end up ripping your soul with the other persons. If I were a mermaid Id be rich. Because I never realized that you could fall in love with humans the same way you fall in love with songs. How the tune of them could mean nothing to you at first, an unfamiliar melody, but quickly turn into a symphony carved across your skin; a hymn in the web of your veins; a harmony stitched into the lining of your soul.Krystal Sutherland,Our Chemical Hearts For everyone out there, Our Chemical Hearts is and always would be my go to place. I could sit and read every line and it justifies everything. Like passing me a tissue paper? There are perspectives. There are people. But the realities shall always overpower fantasies. Maybe your fingers wont touch while you walk together, and definitely wont when you walk away. I could add the whole book if I could. But these lines help. Okay heres a last one, I know you want her back, kid. And I know that people saying things like 'there are plenty more fish in the sea' is only going to make you hurt more. And I could tell you all about the science of what your brain is going through right now. How it's processing a pain as intense as hitting a nerve in your tooth, but it can't find a source for that pain, so you kind of feel it everywhere. I could tell you that when you fall for someone, the bits of your brain that light up are the same as when you're hungry or thirsty. And I could tell you that when the person you love leaves you, you starve for them, you crave them, Heartbreak is a science, like love. So trust me when I say this: you're wounded right now, but you'll heal.Krystal Sutherland,Our Chemical Hearts Does it not sound like a good news? To know that youll be as amazing once again. Youll be and Ill be, all of us and its going to be really okay. Please do not wish to be a mermaid. This was just me and I had to let it out. Ill go now. I wont come back. Do I ever come back? No? Ill see you around.


# essence of a human

I have been proved wrong. I thought what makes a song touching was, the person from who it has been recommended from. Lately, I have realized that it is not the who recommended but it is the who you think about listening to it. A song could mean everything to you in a particular time, but then suddenly, you do not like it anymore. You forget about the song, just like the human, you would think about listening to it. Its called moving on. And when some moment years later, you hear it again, all you can think about is how it used to be your favourite. And isnt anymore. But the smell of the person still lingers around, of whom you would think listening to that melody. Songs are like stories. You listen to them, you just keep doing until the story gets old. Old and same, vulnerable, you think about how it is like a repetition of life. Youve been looping your life with that song of yours and shall remain until you stop. Its a temptation. Its enticing. It makes you feel alive. But are you really alive if youre in a ridiculous loop of the same time? Isnt it more like an addiction, or a habbit you cannot get rid off? Youve been stuck thinking about the same human being with the song that would make you think about you and them. Do you wonder why you cant move on? Youve been looping your life. Hopefully, for me a day will come when that song will not make me feel something. The story would feel old, and I would not feel a word, but today, I do. just a little some realizations, comment and let me know which song makes you feel. ;)


# Daily Digest-8th April

Life when I grow up will be different from what it is now. And I really mean it. My thoughts haven't been able to escape the heat of Kolkata. Theyve become roasted and dark. You could add them with some poha and theyll surprisingly taste good. Youve a few questions and I can find you the answer , Whats the purpose of this? To find my expressions. You see, writing has been my form of expression to the world. I have never been able to understand the purpose of things I do. But then it is for you to trust the process. Youre doing it right now too. This is sounding utterly nonsensical to you, yet you're sticking around. I cannot however guarantee you if the end of this will satisfy your literary craving. Where am I? Mentally or physically? I have realised that my reflex action to something that should dangerously unnerve someone is weirdly normal. For e.g. person: I had an accident while I was picking in tomatoes. Me: Did the tomatoes reach home safely? Mentally I am in the household of Jaya. Physically I am in a library. Theres internet services provided here of which I am fairly happy about. I can do this at home too, but the idea of being in a workspace with rules and regulations makes me more effective and thoughtful. Who is Jaya? I know youre still itching your head over who is Jaya? Jaya is a failed writer, or say a writer who hasn't quite yet bloomed. She is also a housewife and a mother. I think she is going through a turmoil. It's in her mind. You think writers should be able to express more, but here Jaya isnt able to voice her thoughts. She is stuck and I am concerned. It looks like her primary job is being a wife and shes been failing at it lately. She likes something but refuses to accept it because of judgement from her own husband. Not going to tell you the name of the book until I finish it. How was my today? I snoozed my alarm at five and woke up at five past thirty. I was late but managed to catch the first metro. I think the best part about today is right now. The classes went fairly well. I realise that I have to go back catching the metro again. Going home feels like walking back to a cell. Following the same schedule of a nap and then ceasing into books. Silences? I have realised that I like silence. Like? No, I am addicted to it. I like the sound of my fingers against this keyboard. The sound of a fan, and my own breath. I am left alone. Theres no one telling me what to do. People are weird, they feel your pain and they give you remedies. But they cannot see it through your eyes, they surely just cannot understand. Ending; I do not know how to start a pc. Ending this on something I learnt today. You see, I have a laptop at home that I borrowed recently. I owned a PC back in 2012s and it died. Today when I was told to switch on a PC I started the monitor but forgot about the CPU. I called in the staff to tell her how it's not getting started. She came cautious sensing a major problem but started laughing when she realised that I haven't even started the CPU. embarrassed of myself I mumbled I dont have one at home so I didn't know . her laughter stopped immediately as she apologised and said it's okay. I don't have one at home either. My son is your age only and I found it warm.


# Clear All

This writer here wishes to do so. Below will be a rant of what I feel about love. Or something I know about hate. There are two things I do. One is that I give, and the other is what I take. Do not get your mind twisted here. We are talking about words. Plain grey words. Why grey? The last lover that left me said he learned many things from me to which I asked, all good things I hope? and he replied Life is not black and white. It is grey. And so there are both, positives and negatives that I have learned. I could not comment any further on this. And so we, go grey! love and hurt? Something I read a while ago, is that love and hurt are synonyms. I have not written or diagnosed it but sometimes I do understand why. And I have seen it. I have seen the hurt, and I have seen the love. It's like loving something in so much abundance that your heart yearns for it. It isn't all pinky promises, it isn't walking on roads with hand in hand. It isn't love at all if you've never hit the lows. and it would not matter if you weren't there What could be the most hurtful thing you have ever heard? maybe something like an I hate you or an I do not love you anymore , it could be different for different people. And for me, it was this. Your heart will divide itself into pieces when it realizes that, its presence there or not would matter. That you've been fighting with your loved ones for something that is not even remotely yours. That kisses on lips or cheeks were just sensations of an empty mind, which could never be turned into something real. We should just kiss like real people do. Symptoms of a fresh bleeding heart When love is not returned, your heart gets empty of giving love and never receiving any. And so what do you do? what did I do? I sat reading books about love, convincing myself that love is nothing more than a chemical reaction and that it will be over before I even know it. That is the only hope we got. A small reaction that can go decades, or a day even. Nobody is supposed to be blamed right? The problem with a bleeding heart is that it gets tired really fast. It loves too much or does not love any at all. The good part is that you get used to it. It will not bother you anymore unless you're skipping nights of sleep listening to music. Where do the daisies grow? - ending People search for love in flowers plucked away from the trees. They search for it everywhere, but under the sleeves of the ironed shirt, or perhaps a hot cooked meal in the between of summers. They search for love over the phone while people sitting right in front of them are barely visible. I do not know what to say. I haven't been able to find a place that allowed me peace. From college to home and home to college, if not there, we walk from the aisles of the evening crowd, wrapping an egg roll into the tight fingers, of my hand but then I have to be home. They do not provide any peace either. It's just an event. Want a place to stay that allows me without sweeping away in the crowd, want a lover that loves me while I sink my fingers deep into the packet, lick off the spice through my tongue. ENding- last How many endings do we need Adity? We need only one, but it should be happy. Boo. Cliche. To be honest, we are never at endings. Just chapters end. Which chapters are yours? Are they really yours, or are they mine?


# A letter to twenty-eight!

Hey? Now thats, some age to get. Being twenty-eight is some scary shit, and one should not do this more than once- not like they do it again. I am so blank currently. I feel like my sixteen-year self had more perspectives to offer than I do. I am clueless. What is it? What are you doing? Are you there yet? I am so scared. Are you there? And do you still drink after every achievement like I decided seven minutes ago? I am really bad with the perseverance part as of now. Have we managed to fix that yet? You know, being eighteen here, does not change a thing. I think we dont just magically grow adults in a day, it just happens so slowly, and then one day youre eligible to not be requiring parental signatures on every piece of the document(P.S. I love it). One more finding I have known is that people cannot be fixed. You cannot fix another human being; they cannot be your kintsugi piece. You cannot fill in gold through the gaps, it is expensive (literally, physiologically), and might cost you, you. I am looking forward to you. I hope we are where we wanted to be. Still, seeing that guy? I can already hear you mumble under your breath, Which one? and to this, I shall answer, the guy you promised a forever? And damn, this is getting tough, that does not help me narrow down the investigation miss youll say. I have had my pretty time idealizing love in different ways. I have faced the loving someone' and then getting loved part. And I can guarantee, that getting both in one love story is indeed hard. But I have managed that. This year has been some rocky hill like every other year. But here we are? I hope youre living because I definitely am not? But then I and you have been a picky eaters, and would just very casually pick the things we like and enjoy those. But I have stopped those picky eatings. Food is scarce, having it at all is the part you should be happy about. I hope youre getting all the deep meanings because it took time thinking about these. Look, I know every year, I tell you what am looking forward to. This year, let's give us some space to breathe. Loosen up maybe, and nothing specific, just a better myself next year. I hope that goal is achievable at the least. Ill drink to that, cheers. Would love to hear from you just in case theyve made a time machine yet, With Love, Adity, Eighteen-year-old you.


# Dear Adity(26 wali),

Note from the Author: Almost everything that I write has two reasons. One is expression. Second, protection. Protection from what? from these constantly changing thoughts. I am afraid to never feel the same things again. So like my old jar, I protect it. Here's something I wrote turning 16, a letter to myself 10 years down the line. You'll find my 17 and 18 versions as well. I really want no part of me missing. No edits. Just whatever in plain words. Dear Adity, Its weird to get a letter from your past and its weird to write a letter to someone ten years away. We both are weird this way.So, twenty-six huh? Hows life? Youre really looking pretty. I hope someone told you that. And also, I know no one needs to tell you that. So where have you reached? How far?Do I sound like the neighborhood aunty calling to know your goddamn result? Maybe I do. But not a piece of paper this time. You know we are the same. Youre just a better shade of me and I am a lighter shade of you. We both envy each other. Dont we?Youd give anything to relax, sleep and be back to the days when studying was the only tension you possessed and eat great healthy home food. I would also do anything to get the freedom youve now. Being independent has been one of my dreams. Hey, are you in love yet? I know youd be laughing at how I am able to connect everything with love. Young and in love -with words remember this line? I hope youre in love with someone the same way youre in love with words. I know you.Money is earned by everyone. Earn relations. Earn people. Earn love. We dont stay. Perhaps, we do something that our stories live even after we dont. Years after years.You know, basically, I have a rough image of howd you be. But this letter is just a reminder of who you are. Before being anything, youre you, youre me. So, be it. I love you. Cheers to being twenty-six. Happy birthday. I cant say I miss you, cause I have never met you. But I hope you miss me. We cant even meet, you know. They say it leads to some paradox shit, not that I have time- turner anyway. I hope you are amazing, even if youre not. Youll be. (p.s. learned the word hope from some guy, not that Id be discussing my love affairs with you) Your sixteen year old self, Adity


# Brains of the Dead

Brains of the dead his or mine, Destinies rewritten, stars intertwined Gentle stabs of leather into the skin A blood-colored sheet of him Skies full of feathers, A birds snow or a blanket to hide under, Pitch-black highs on a lovers cry Dangled feet sank into the reflected sky.


# 234

The pavements and roads made a cross, and buildings leaned against each other like they needed support. The sky was pitch black; the streetlights formed dark shadows following whoevercrossedthem like a rebellion had been spotted. This particular night, all the lamps had ceased their shower in a symphony. The little light makers had taken up the responsibility. Sounds of two heartbeats could be heard but none saw. I was there, right there, standing by. If youre wondering who I am, youll get to know me sooner. But at this moment, I was a spectator. Two women by the dark of the road stuttered out as their feet spoke. They had ragged breaths, with hasty steps as they walked into my parlor or they already were in it. I do not think they needed any light, as they seemed quite confident about where they were to. I did what I had to do. I followed them. This interests me, they smelled of something familiar, and I had to see what it was that connected us. I saw them cross a bridge. I heaved a sigh from all the work I had been doing. They gave occasional glimpses to the back, and I could see their eyes lingering on me every now and then. They did not mind my presence or they did not see me at all, either could be true. The older girl looked like she was in her late twenties. She wore a pink dress that reached her knees and a brown cardigan over it.She could be a tree, easily, just upside down. Now that the light of the moon reflected through the water, I could see a bit of them. The little girl could have been around thirteen. I saw the girl obsessively look at the water. Her body leaned over the rims of the bridge. I waited for the older girl to pull her back, but the older girl herself stood in a lifeless manner. If I had to stop her, it would be too late. Seconds ticked by, and I waited for the deed to take place. I think life snapped back to the older girl. She pulled back the little girl hard enough to fall back to the middle of the path. I wont let you. You cannot. It has to. I cannot live like that. well find a way. Theres no way. Not if you dont help me. The older girl gave a promising look I must say. They buzzed in light hushed tones. They continued their walk to the other side of the bridge after a few nods and what Id call courage. After a few steps, was a cottage. The building was old, and the paint washed off in a few places. It was dark except for the ground floor. The girls walked into the building and onto the reception. I could see a couple of men lurking around the doorways as their eyes strolled around the girls. The girls made their way through it. As soon as the receptionist had laid an eye on the girl, he made a call. Room 234 he spoke as he put his gaze back to the register. The little girl drew closer to her sister with each step she took. They walked upstairs to the silence. I followed them upstairs. I wondered if theyll look at me the same way they looked at those girls. However, nobody batted an eye. These girls went up the stairs. A man in his thirties had opened the door. He did not speak a word, just opened the door wide and waited for them to welcome themselves into that strange room. Room 234 had two spaces. The older girl sat next to the man while he looked at her. She signaled her younger sister to sit away. So, youre here after all? I am., said the older girl. I told you; you would not go far; youll have to come to me today or tomorrow, said the man smiling with these golden teeth out. It was either that he did not brush or something else that provided the color. The girl looked with her eyes out. I could not say if she was nervous or planned to live with this man double her age. Her legs were agitated; I could see her hands putting into fists. The man saw no response to his statement and so continued to speak, your little sister, is she? Shes pretty. A little less than you may be. Hey, you want to sit near me little girl? I have all the chocolates you might need. It was a mocking tone, and it did not sound well. It had proved to make more of an effect on the older girl as she grew an inch more affectionate to this man. Would you like me to pour you a drink perhaps? said the older girl standing up and drawing close to him. That sounds well the man replied. The older girl poured in the ice and then poured in the drink. On the rocks you, see? He took a sip and then a gulp. He drew closer to the girl. Leave me. shrieked the older girl. Oh, now youve got a voice I see, what if I dont? youll run back to the other side of the bridge? Go ahead. But how would you live, wheres the money? said the man while he tightened his grip on her hand pulling her closer to him. Please dont do this, you promised something better. Said the young girl. Oh, and you did too, shall I have- the speech was disrupted by a heavy push. It has caught the man off guard. The little girl had gotten on her legs and pushed the man away. You shall see! the man had been angered. He went from the older to the little sister. His hands engulfed her neck. She struggling tried to loosen the grip. You want my hands on you as well, dont you? said the man in outrage. Please leave her, please leave, she doesnt know who youre, she is small, please, please, see it would not be good if she dies. It would not be good. You have got a wife and kids. Perfect life. The older girl whimpered as she tried to take the mans hand off her sisters neck. To my surprise, the mans hold had loosened. What the girl said had made sense, didnt it? He got up from the ground and sat back on his armchair. His drink had started to get warm. Who likes their drink warm? He gulped it down in one go. Ayy woman, come here, be mine, else you know. He warned the older girl. She got up and walked to him little by little. He caressed the locks on the side of her head. Her face was the last thing he saw before his head dizzied. The room was circling around, and the man could not see anything. His soul was loosely wrapped in a wretched cloth. I had trouble taking it, as even I, found it filthy. I did not know if this kind of lifeless day would be wished for by anyone, the way he knew he was drowning in alcohol, whereas it was his own soul that emptied him like a rotten boat. All I know is that this man was missing three teeth when his body was found. The two girls were nowhere to be found. They left a while ago, letting the man sleep in peace, or perhaps rest? It is now that I know. These girls smelled of me. They smelled of death. -Adity Shah


# A couple of hers

if I wereher-1 Mom cried the first time she saw me go, I was happy, and I told her how my first day of school was. She did not look at me. She stared into blank space. I could see my reflection in her now glassy eyes. They looked like looking at the sidelines of a beach. A high tide was due. She did not blink for the seconds I did not count. When she did blink, it was pulling a lever to a dam, and the water made its way to the city. It started with one small drop, a rain's warning, but more drops followed. I shook her, Mom why are you crying? Arent you happy?. She did not hear me. Was it a game? Minutes later she was back to me. She said Lets celebrate our first day eh? and we walked down holding hands, with her asking what else happened today? and me going on about it. what if? -2 Today she was home late. The liner against her eyes was smudged. It was a daily thing, and so whod notice? I never did. But today there was a different abruptness in her actions. She tells me to never eat in bed. She ate in bed. Her hands were shaking while she held one end of the spoon. Had she gotten so old in a day? my eyes followed her figure through the dark. She was done and had turned off the lights. As she slowly slid in under the warm bed sheet, there was nothing. I think she was asleep. I waited for her hand to land on my temple, as shed pat me to sleep even if I was already asleep. It was her love language. She did not speak it that night, or if she did I would not know. I feel asleep waiting. midnight memories-3 It was midnight when I saw it. Can you guess? may you guess? No. I saw something. In beneath the sheets, the awful darkness that engulfed us, her and a movement. I had woken up in the middle of the night and felt as if the bed had been shaking. A soft muffled voice hummed through the pitch black night. Was it a song? An answer. No. It was her beside me rolled into a ball of her despair. She tried her best to keep it as soft as it can. It was not music. It was a cry. A cry that took me too long to understand. It was not music. It was not beautiful. I saw broken parts of her that were wanting to be stitched in back to her. But it would still hurt. It did. But I would not understand, for I fell back to sleep. ----- work in progress-------


# shuffled 12am

I do not think about you. Or I did not, until now. I am over the feelings. I am over the giggling until I cannot anymore. I am over the thought of thumps up mixed with alcohol. I am over the lying mid road, waiting for a car to meet me dead. I am over the lots of things that I cannot remember, and it proves very much that I am over you. Adi, you were so much of a me. And I felt you drifting away. And the funny part is that I let you go. In fact, more than that, I packed up your bags, held your hand and led you out that door. I keep thinking about the few bangs over the door. The rusted breath. I kept wanting to let you in. I knew you wanted to touch me. Hold me and shush me a night, make love to me, make me feel how special I could be, but I am not. How could I not? I kept thinking about the time we spent together, and the day when I said, you know you are always welcomed Adi. You smiled. You smiled. And I knew itd be everything Id want if you ever asked for what I wished for my birthday. I never knew songs could smell like that. Every song that you draped around my body like an oversized shirt. I felt like itd all Ill ever need. Maybe we need more to live than I can count down my fingers. I am a lover, or an ex, or a passerby. But youll know, youll know soon. Youll know who am I. I will make sure you do.I tried to write. My words have been void of emotions. Izi said, people never steal part of you, you just willingly give it away. And when I packed you up, and away from me, you took some beautiful beautiful parts of me along with you. Maybe you did not care. Maybe those parts just lie under your bed, deep within, you never clean that in, so it lies there forever. Not that I cannot make new. And thats what Ill do. Ill make new Adi. You know me. And I am sure, I took away some of you. I have contained them in my words. I have put them in a jar, given them shape, and slid you in the old pages. Perhaps, I knew Id hate it all. And when I do, Id need you. And thats where Ill go. Maybe you feel youll never be in love with anyone ever again. I feel the same. I feel like, I can never be able to know why we arent together. Somethings are just mysterious that way.


# A Day in the Wild

Today, I was out in the wildlife. This is what I'd say as a student who spends most of her time indoors. I had to get an admit card for my upcoming exams at college. I just want to describe a series of events. The first thing that happened was that a lady fell between the metro gap while boarding the metro. Another lady helped her back up. For some reason, my reflexes were rather slow. When I saw the scene, my intrusive thoughts went like, What if they start the metro now? She got up, however, it took a little while. I was just standing at the metro door with my shoe against it. I did not want the metro to go without me. I finally moved in when she got up. She had a really huge book held in her hand, it was Elements of Mercantile Law by S. Chand. I wondered if she had exams and that would explain the situation pretty well. I am light-headed as well during exams. Once long back time I was so busy revising for an exam that I was about to miss my station at school. It was by the grace of my friend(nemesis) who asked me You do not want to take exam? nice It was one of those scenes. It was a little heroic to say. He took my hand and we ran out of the bus. Not to mention I had not even paid the bus fare. You could say the whole bus was waiting for my stupid brains to work better. I did not pay the fair in the end because I was too baffled by the idea of I was just about to miss my exam . In pressure, even the money bills are non-traceable. You'll never find it on the first go. Anyways, back to the metro day. Some middle-aged dude in the metro said, The metro gap is so huge anyway, and she faked a smile. He didn't know he was not helping in any way by telling her about the humongous jaw-breaking metro gap. I shifted my attention to the other things around. I did not want to converse back to the girl as she had enough attention for a day and probably did not want any more of it. We got a seat, we sat. The next thing was that I found a little baby girl, and her head and nose were really small (so were her feet and hands). Her eyeballs were too huge for her eyes, they looked adorable. I just kept looking at her the whole ride. I would also check station arrivals every once in a while considering I have a history of missing my station busy looking at toddlers. So this young lady kept checking every human on the metro and then proceeded to eat her hand. Ihadto check if she had teeth, and I leaned down to see inside her mouth. She didn't have any teeth. She was not much of a smiler, she only smiled when her mom said something, which was not audible. Another lady was eyeing her with the same cheer I had. We exchanged smiles and glances. I could tell she was also finding this little one's company lovely. You know, when you smile, your eyes narrow, and I have a feeling that cannot be faked, much of it anyway. I got down at my station and proceeded to walk to college. There I got to know that I had apparently come on the wrong date, and the whole purpose of my visit was soiled. I did not feel remorse as I was probably decaying at home. A fresh breath of smoke was all I needed maybe. I stopped by a breakfast restaurant before getting home, had pav bhaji there, and calculated the amount of space I had to squeeze in some noodles. AND FAILED. After standing in front of the menu for 15 minutes, I ordered some Dhokla to go for Granny and told myself I was one amazing person because I saved money there. These out-of-nowhere pats on my shoulder make my day go. I also decided I'd get some momos from outside. By the time I reached outside, I was impatient and just wanted to be home. Oh, and I saw one more child. He was making monkey sounds in the whole place. On second thought, it was probably louder than a monkey. Respect to parents. I had around 10 notes of 50, and I was counting how much more I could order, and suddenly, this lady, out of nowhere, came and said, Can you give me a change of 200? You'd give it to them anyway. I was spooked for three seconds as she was probably eyeing my money. But what she said made sense, so I gave her four 50s. I got that 200 broken again by the store. The monkey child, oh god, I imagined putting a whole bread bun in his mouth so he would probably just stop screeching so much. On my way back, I saw another toddler. She got into the metro and she swirled on the pole thrice in a row and very quickly. I went Woah, crazy. Her dad told her not to, and she, like a nice child, did it more. I loved that. Okay, yeah, that was it, I got back home and slept for two hours. It was raining heavily, the air was misty, and everything was amazing for a while.----image taken from: https://in.pinterest.com/pin/575616396134807362/written by ME. LOL.


# Missing

Why are you missing? Therell be days where you meet people, and there will be days you do not. The point is, realization can hit you at any moment like a frisbee right in the gut. Where have you been? Where were you when everything happened? What were you doing? To a student such as me, I did not had answers to this. I think there are days when you feel very insignificant. Maybe you think, your worth is proportional to how many people go like Ah I wish she was here. When you realize theres not going to be anyone do that, you start to sit back and really think about what have I been doing? .The answer to this seemed pretty plain and dull. I could sum it up in one word and to dull it out even more, I did not even stumble. Think about this. When someone asks you, tell me about yourself you fumble and you stammer, you even do some thinking. It is probably because there are so many things about you, a plethora of information that you need to filter and put the relevant parts in your speech. So it to me indeed seems like a bad thing for someone to be so definite with their answer. Okay fine, lets do this.What were you doing the whole year?Studying.There, you have it. You broke me out and you gathered a very significant piece of information about me. This does not seem right, there must be other things too. Yes! I thought the same. But most and major part of it was this. Anyways. Lets get through the details shall we?So on a 30th of December of 2023 when I decided to fix my wardrobe, it lit up a part of my soul.I started with what I had majorly to deal with. Books. And even more than books. Copies. So many copies. A copy for this and a copy for that. They were not empty. They had infinite information that I had completely forgotten about. I looked through each copy trying to grasp the relevancy of it. Keep or throw? I started with looking at my accountancy copies. I had started with 3 of them and we were at a whopping 5 accounting copies now. To add to that, I had taxation written in 4 different copies. With law I had settled for two and that was a shocker. Costing had me at three copies in the end. To add to that I had 2 copies for tests purposes and one for audit. I had really been a copy maniac. But these copies were filled to the brim and I could not really throw away any of it. I resorted to restructuring the copies in a better and cleaner manner. You know the point of this is, this is what I was doing all year. I was studying and I was writing and I was doing something. And regardless of what happens tomorrow, Ill have this with me. So, cheers mate. You were not missing. You were present in your own company. You created something.Also heres a list of other things I did.Learnt Chess. Watched anime. Mastered composure. Wrote a few things left and right. We dreamed to draw a bit of animation. Oh, and we really dug into the whole Marvel universe until the endgame. Oh right and I like Katara. So theres that. Got a new calculator. We had a crazy music era. But it ended, and so do most things. Lost and never found maybe. Yes, this is how it is going to be.


We can walk down the aisles like we'd get married. You can get a ring that's merely a loop around my fingers. And if I could play our life in loops, I'd still want it. hearts on hearts, mind on mind, we could be nothing but halfs of each other. I could be the evil and you could be the nice. You could be pay for something once and I'd fall for you twice.


The sound of laughter, the vision of a smile, the lips curving into a half moon, spreading across the face, reaching ear to ear, the narrowing of the eyes, the act of doing it, and the act of you doing it because of me, makes me happy, makes me do the same act. We are two horses across the chess board, you there for me, and I for you.


I write stories for you but they are too long to read. My paragraphs are hefty, my words do not make you sit, its a too much of a google to visit. So I look for music, the one that could carry you and me along with a symphony that could touch a heart. You know there's no feeding anyone can ever do. Will. Will's there. Do you have it? Do I have it?


Sundays. I have done all from crawl to cry, from laugh to fly .These days are the beginnings of a week usually, and for me, an end. Sundays have been like that night's sleep we all require after a long day. To me sundays were both demonic, but also something I'd look forward to. Sunday mornings were nothing but bike rides, mixed with vegetable bargaining and heat. Heat of what? summers? you must be wondering. No, it was the heat from the freshly cooked puri, that'd steam out and hit my fingers in a flirty way, go slow go steady . I was incapable of eating anything without having juggling the leafed plate in my two hands, desperately trying to be able to rob the pleasure of that one bite. What a fight! Papa would help me through the chore, with the steeled hand of his, he’d hold the plate, while with the other he’d tear a bite. I’d phoo in it and crumbling the aloo that tried hard to slip away, but not so easy I let it, the joy finally reaches my tongue. This is what is yum. I lived for this. I lived for the Sunday mornings. The day that comes after the mornings is demonic, after faking my studies the whole week, Sunday was the day I’d be caught. A weekly check of progress, what’s been taught? I’d make up things to cover my tracks, a plan with uncountable cracks. My dad would immediately smell the guilt in my lies, and that’s how the whole day flies. He’d cross check each of my fake made accounts and my discrepancies are all out! Sunday was a working day for me. I’d study more that day, than any all week. The evenings were gloomy and called again for another bike ride, we’d cross lakes, and see the lights flicker and then bright. The leaves rustled to a song, the wind danced and made my hair sing. I opened my arms until I was bonked on the head, “this is madness” he said, probably why I have both my arms intact to my set! A Sunday there was when Papa was tired. And the next Sunday too. The Sunday after that he was busy. And the Sunday later, he did not like it anymore. Thanks for reading, end of my lore.


Another letter, a last one. Come to think of it, I just stopped after a while. I deleted those emails, I made sure every bit of you was gone and washed off me. But then like the ocean tides, you cover me at all the high tides. On a day you're shallow, you barely reach my fingertips and you're pulled away by the currents and at night you cover me whole like a blanket, and the warmth keeps me up all night, waiting for the while I'll be cold again.


18 march, 2021 Leaves fallen down all the way. A few trampled, a few bended over the joints, yellow and dried smelling of some old love. I wonder if these leaves ever felt remorse for not ending up in someone's diary? How beautiful it would be, to be picked up and loved? I wonder if these leaves just got old, or did they fell ? Why are love stories, that ever lived always were always incomplete? Why does this cupid's arrow feel like hell. This lady,I remember would gather all these leaves, every morning . Her old arms stretching in and out, occasionally fixing her crooked spectables. Sometimes looking at me she would give a silent nod. She smiled at times looking at the kids playing by. She would spend some time gathering these unwanted failings and then looking at the children would silently walk in. She'd toss the pile away in the fire. What a good flame? A flame of fallen life about to die. I wondered if it was a way to burial. A memorial to the ones who couldn't make it, or stay intact in the harsh winds. She'd at times sip through the tea and look through the window. Awaiting a storm, or perhaps rain, she'd wait for the autumn to come and a few more leaves to fall, knowing she's not the only one to do so. A written commandment of love over the yellow leaf, had lived through the years. And he's yet to come. -the leaves that didn't make it through the pages.


“what is it to be alive?” “ it’s a lot of things, buts its mostly about how we feel.” “what kind of feelings mom? Is it liking the way I feel about cotton candies? The sweet and soft and pink. Or when we lay down across grass?” “no dear, its never just those. And it will not be like that always.” “no no no, I want it like this always. This is called living. You said it was.” “ I wish my darling, but to be alive is to feel. And feelings are all kinds. Some can make you feel hurt.” “ is it the way, when you get angry mommy? That makes me sad. Is that hurt?” “ If you don’t eat your vegetables I’ll be angry and it’ll make you sad but I will not be sorry about it my dear. But what I am talking about here is different. Sometimes you’ll feel like you can hear your heart beat. And you’ll feel your skin shrink. People shiver. And sometimes they try to stop it.” “stop what mom?” “stop feeling. they try to stop feeling. But that is the difference, between living and dead, one that does not feel is destructive. And one that feels a lot, is self-destructive.” “ mom do people die when they are sad? Like aunt Helen” “ Aunt Helen was very sad. But no, my dear, sad is a feeling. You cannot die of sadness. But you might if you stop feeling. That’s when the heart stops and people live on” “But she had a heart. I heard it when she hugged me. It was beating well.” “ ah my dear, it is a little too mature for you to understand. You’ll know when you grow. People think one is sad for what is wanted and not reached, but sometimes, and I think most of the times, its about craters. Holes in people, like a screw knocked into them nicely and then ripped out at a go.” “mommy, I am old enough. You say I am a big girl. I tie my own shoelaces. Even the uncles say I am smarter for myself. I understand. You’re talking about the holes we made on the wooden table right when we tried to add this screw and it didn’t look good later so you took em out. Now the table looks like cheese from the sides. Hahahahahahahahhaahah” “My my, the kind of things you remember! Your uncle wasn’t lying about you! Now enough of old mold talks, you’ll end up really bored with your mom soon if we continue this way” “ No time with you is ever boring. Mom, you know, you, can tell me if anyone makes you sad. I’ll tell them to stop making you sad. I am a big girl. Even my friend in school, she tells me when someone makes her sad. Then I tell that person to not do that. And everything gets okayyyy. ” “My little chirpy, you know, back in those days, your mom, I walked on such thin ice, one step I’d step a little too hard, and I’d fall in cold water. It gets you numb, cold water. But I managed to come out of it.  And when it feels like water could not get colder, and the ice was thick enough, I’d fall in again. A different place this time. But that’s how you learn how to walk, and swim when you feel like drowning. Even when you feel numb, but one part of you would always remind you to, live, and keep living on? Who knew I’d have such a beauty like you. If I knew I’d absolutely live for you.” “…” “Cherry? Ah, she slept in my lap.” The mom landed a kiss on the little sherlock’s head, and so that’s how the evenings end.


What do you wanna become when you grow up? a mother? pfft, that lacks ambition,anyways, tell me more. A wife? I would like to have this beautiful library, and a garden, we can learn about life and death in there?I'll love the part about loving and being loved. I'll fight, and I'll resign in his arms each day. I'll paint on his nose while he sleeps, and kiss him and manage to get the paint on my nose as well. isnt that pretty to think of? stupid, that's like planning to live on someone's money, you'll never be able to be independent that way!!! okay, then I want to be a writer. Or maybe a reader? I can teach, and learn. That'd be great isnt it? No, pick something better, like something with plenty of money? what the goal, how much money you wanna earn before you die?I dont..I wanna earn enough for to live, and manage expenses, but I don't feel any thirst for money Hmm, guess you dont dream as big...shut up, all I wanna be is happy. You get to choose what makes you happy and everyone claps about it, why not me?


Where do the daisies grow? – ending People search for love in flowers plucked away from the trees. They search for it everywhere, but under the sleeves of the ironed shirt, or perhaps a hot cooked meal in the between of summers. They search for love over the phone while people sitting right in front of them are barely visible. I do not know what to say. I haven’t been able to find a place that allowed me peace. From college to home and home to college, if not there, we walk from the aisles of the evening crowd, wrapping an egg roll into the tight fingers, of my hand but then I have to be home. They do not provide any peace either. It’s just an event. Want a place to stay that allows me without sweeping away in the crowd, want a lover that loves me while I sink my fingers deep into the packet, lick off the spice through my tongue. ENding- last How many endings do we need Adity? We need only one, but it should be happy. Boo. Cliche. To be honest, we are never at endings. Just chapters end. Which chapters are yours? Are they really yours, or are they mine?


There are two things I do. One is that I give, and the other is what I take. Do not get your mind twisted here. We are talking about words. Plain grey words. Why grey? The last lover that left me said he learned many things from me to which I asked, “all good things I hope?” and he replied “Life is not black and white. It is grey. And so there are both, positives and negatives that I have learned.” I could not comment any further on this. And so we, go grey! love and hurt? Something I read a while ago, is that love and hurt are synonyms. I have not written or diagnosed it but sometimes I do understand why. And I have seen it. I have seen the hurt, and I have seen the love. It’s like loving something in so much abundance that your heart yearns for it. It isn’t all pinky promises, it isn’t walking on roads with hand in hand. It isn’t love at all if you’ve never hit the lows. and it would not matter if you weren’t there What could be the most hurtful thing you have ever heard? maybe something like an “I hate you” or an “I do not love you anymore”, it could be different for different people. And for me, it was this. Your heart will divide itself into pieces when it realizes that, its presence there or not would matter. That you’ve been fighting with your loved ones for something that is not even remotely yours. That kisses on lips or cheeks were just sensations of an empty mind, which could never be turned into something real. We should just kiss like real people do. Symptoms of a fresh bleeding heart When love is not returned, your heart gets empty of giving love and never receiving any. And so what do you do? what did I do? I sat reading books about love, convincing myself that love is nothing more than a chemical reaction and that it will be over before I even know it. That is the only hope we got. A small reaction that can go decades, or a day even. Nobody is supposed to be blamed right? The problem with a bleeding heart is that it gets tired really fast. It loves too much or does not love any at all. The good part is that you get used to it. It will not bother you anymore unless you’re skipping nights of sleep listening to music.


I like my pictures lonely. The way it feels like it was spring the flowers forgot to bud and bloom, like a day the night took over. Like the places you never wanted to go to, but you did anyway, not regretting even bits of it. Like half assed moony smiles, the state of confusion between, to smile or not to? Like dark nights, the way I despise them, regret waking up every night, buy still find peace in them. Like a story that started from the end. But all stories start from the end, don't they? I like my pictures like the locks that keep falling on my forhead, and get pulled back behind my ear. Yet, stubborn they're back again. I like my pictures like the half eaten pizza I couldn't finish, and throw away either. I still regret not wanting it then. I like my pictures like the stars that didn't twinkle at all, insecure that the moon is worth more to be watched. I like my pictures like soil, just after it rains, and the way it tries to just sink you in. But here's what,yo u do not like rain and so let's take the sun. I like my pictures like you. Just like you. Sunny on a winter morning, just the way you like them. The same very way I like you, without complexities of how or when- That no certain part I want, but all of it. To like you enough to never love you. For love sure is a ton of beautiful messes. I might already be in one. I wouldn't want you in. But you might, just come. Maybe.


It's funny how people keep on moving in life, meeting new people, doing everything they can do, clinging on every new appourtunity, and here I am stuck over some old street, your messed hair and the nervous smile, the old. And it feels like nothing new, can ever make it up, no one else. It's that some feeling of something missing. And I know, I've been missing the part where I was just I. -Missing part.


He feels like home. He smells of it. He feels like something so fragile and delicate, and at the same time feels like the stormy wind that broke the vase with tulips by the table. He feels like the pearls as if gently left over the shores by the sea waves. The same waves in which the Titanic drowned. And so did many others. I might too. He feels like the stone, in which somebody tried to carve his name into but stopped halfway. And the pain, it lives in him. Still. He feels like the rain that brought floods to some part of the state and the other was the one I danced under. He just feels like so many things. And I could never just stop feeling him. I end, or they end in me.


Dear Charlie, I wonder if you're even there on the end of this deal to read this. It really bothers me if you are not, but maybe that would be a better part. You know Charlie, I dream in chess boards and exam papers. I have come to think that I might be thinking too much about them right before sleep. For proof, it is rather 11.57 pm right now,the classic bed time and I am thinking of you. Charlie, you were in a book. Or you're . Well, not very classic and I can be the girl who sleeps at 9 too but I do not wish to miss out on fun. Yes you may ask me, what fun exists between 9 pm to 12 am heh? Its not particularly a gold mine of fun, but it certainly eases my mind out. No Charlie, I am not having sex in that timeframe. I just kind of chill around. Music you know? Charlie I had completely forgotten about you and I apologise for that. I knew there was a time I re-read your hand written letters and thought to myself that there would not be anyone that exists like you and that was both amazing and terrifying at the same time. I do not think you were the god's reighteous fella but I find you pretty reasonable with your thought process eh? I think I had brief moments where I was extremely jealous of what Sam and Patrick had. I did think it'd be great to pass through tunnels while listening to a music on high. To feel infinite and not limited at every instance. I wonder if its just the people you shared the moment with that made you feel infinite or was it just you. Plain you? I write very weirdly Charlie. I often sit and think, boy who should I write to and usually go with the first person that pop off my foggy brain. I am never able to completely write off but today seems a little different. I think I am exploiting this time very nicely now that I am getting it off my system completely. You know I often predict patterns very well. I am well aware of what might happen next. I sometimes willingly walk into the hot ashed stones still red. Maybe its the idea of feeling strong or the idea of what if it isn't this way eh? I also kind of randomly write things about people and its crazy because I do not exactly feel that way on the surface. Its always when you peel out a few levels and you'd be suprised of how I have been keep subcoscious diaries about people. I am not really interested in them Charlie. For one I think its all just web my mind had laid down for me to get stuck to. Like a self sabotage you see? You click one of these folders and you keep wondering for days, weeks or months why you even have this information, or why you took out time togather it even. It is honestly a waste. Relationships are. Okay, who am I kidding. I havent really encountered a person who is interested to kno me yet. I mean, I did, previously eh. But that's the thing you know, you eventually figure out all the stories and soon there's none to tell. being more honest there I kind of push people away. So I think of a time when you used to be relatable to me. You kind of are. I mean, you seem to be the guy who would wait for a random friend to tie his shoelaces whilst your entire group has moved forward. Or the guy to wait for somebody confident in their road crossing skills to cross the road side alone with them. We arent really Christmas kinda people but I remember this time in school, Bunny knew it was me that had gifted her. I dont even remember correctly, but it was a notebook, a pen and a keychain maybe. I still cannot think why I would gift somebody a copy but in my defense, I thought everyone was psyched on seeing new copies as much I was. Oh yeah? I loved my hanwriting and that led me to write a lot. Not academically because I would eventually get tired of writing pretty and later on get accused of forgery. It was crazy day when I showed my teacher that I had no stable way to writing and would just change based on mood and time stability came to us really late Charlie.


I have been watching a lot of web series/anime/movies lately. When it comes to movies, theme based on villages or middle class really gets me. It could be the relatability or the fact that we dream bigger than us. With anime its usually some heroic action series where the protagonist is out there to save the world and ‘help’ others despite being weak or not cut out for it. If I make a Venn diagram out of this the common thing out here is hard work that eventually leads to satisfactory ending. Satisfactory because not all stories start with zero and end at 100. Satisfactory because 100 is not the largest number on the scale. And being honest, zero to hero never happens in 2 hrs. 18 mins. You reach a 25 and keep going up until you reach a 50. You get stuck dejected. You may fall back to 24. And gosh, so many choices. You go forward, or you stop, or you try again? And in case it has still not broken your will, you try different things and eventually reach a 100. When you’re at the top in there and take a breath after all the adrenaline and the feeling of winning has washed out and all you can think about now is, “is that all?”. Well, I call that relatable. Anyways, this is not what I wanted to talk about. I just felt like singing about the unsung pats on the shoulder. Parents just slowly get relatable as you grow up. Not completely but you can see the mechanics behind their choices. The ‘try’ to provide with what they could consider the best. I could mostly hate it, and I do, but sometimes I really feel as if its preparation for a war that I’ll be off to someday. The taunts or the strictness, or the ‘learn to do this on your own’ or the stories about how society functions. I don’t think I have ever appreciated it(like father like son) as much but it, at times feels like a cheat sheet on being good at what I do. Criticisms made me better(not all but okay let’s give credit where its due). Now, this all could be a repercussion to watching those many stories on the television that I have this moment of appreciation where I circle out the endless unconditional support and just one condition on the line, “do your best”. Calling out on the fights or difference of opinions, it’s a part of being together. Be it anywhere. Well I am pretty sure I’ll be kicking in the dust or punching the air depending on what happens next. Either way I just want to remember feeling this way. I am a forgetful human you see.


Here’s a little something for you. A day. A heart wrapped in a sweatshirt. A cold winter with pecks of sunshine. The stardust falling off from your eyelashes like fairy glitters. The road, filled the clatter of two souls, walking side by side. The street light their perfect candle , perhaps a little brighter. Not enough stars to count in the wishes of a life falling of the subtle branch of potential. All the potential just turning into the ashes, sown back into the earth like it finally belongs somewhere. Empty canvases filled with white, a colour unseen, a little delight. The chuckle of a mad man. Words. Tons of them. Futile promises of a long period of time. A thief. Stolen kisses. Never a heart. Pages. Pages, full of people, but not one alive. Time turner. Turns in time. Turned days into nights. A crawl into a stumble, a stumble into a walk, finally he ran. He ran so fast, that he leapt through dimensions. Parallel words where skies were brown. The sea was solid and the land melted down. The Cinderella never lost her shoe, why would you part with something that fits you so well. Perfection was a myth. Or even so, is it? A small offering to my dearest writer’s block, XD.