Wednesday, 6 March 2019

Different yet alike or Alike yet different


He was a part of them, and yet not one of them. He looked like them in appearance but not in the mind. He appeared to be on their side, and yet always followed his own path. He was the youngest in the group, yet mature in his thoughts. He was like that as long as he could remember. 

At seven, when other young boys in the group bathed in the river and played on its banks, he dreamed about sitting with his mother and listening to her songs. At nine, when other boys in class got into fist fights, he talked to his sister. At fourteen, when others talked about girls in deriding manner, he told them stories about brave queens and goddesses that he had heard from his mother. At eighteen, when other boys mistreated their wives, he stayed mum about the way he treated his own. 

He didn't mistreat his wife. But neither did he treat her any special in public. He was educated. But not so much to be able to avoid the social stigma of being called a henpecked husband surrounded by illiterate people he called society.  


Day 3 - Picture prompt



‘I’m Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Words – March 2019’



Tuesday, 5 March 2019

World upside down


I remember that day clearly. The day my world went upside down. It was around 8 in the evening. Sunaina, my wife was on her way back home. She had been a little late from office due to March coming to a close. The weather was getting hotter. Slowly, the weather Gods would be increasing their wrath, as if testing people’s patience or punishing them for their past life’s crimes. I had reached home on time and served myself a couple of glasses of fresh lime juice. The sugary sweet taste of fresh lime juice was a perfect anecdote for the weather. Meanwhile, waiting for my wife, I had cut vegetables and soaked rice. Tonight, we had planned on having biryani. I loved devouring my wife’s biryani. Not just biryani, I loved everything she cooked. My stomach churned a little and I helped myself to a few pieces of cake she had baked a couple of days ago. I left last two pieces as post dinner dessert.
Little did I know my world was about to go upside down in a few minutes. Little did I know that I wouldn’t be able to have my last piece of cake. Little did I know that I would not be able to have my wife’s biryani that day. Little did I know that my wife would come home with a doctor’s report making me a diabetic and snatching me away from the true love of my life – sweets.  

Day 2 - Picture prompt



‘I’m Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Words – March 2019’


Monday, 4 March 2019

The colour of everything I knew



The first thing I noticed about you and fell for, it was the colour of your eyes. When we were on the dance floor, it was the colour of my twirling dress. When you held my hand for the first time, it was the colour of the chandelier in the restaurant. When you made me laugh lifting my spirits from its dungeons, it was the colour I saw fading from my mood. When time stopped by as we intertwined our lips, it was the colour of the sky and promises of a happy future. When you took my breath away asking me to marry you, it was the colour of the ocean below us and its reflection in my tears. 

After our first misunderstanding, because you thought I was lying to you, it was the colour of my bruises. As I sat for days and nights crying, it was the colour of the door I pleaded into. While you abused my body night after night, it was the colour of my numbness. When you asked me to cook for you over a call with a voice full of kindness, it was the last colour I saw when I switched on the stove.    

 Day 1 : Picture prompt


‘I’m Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Words – March 2019’







Thursday, 21 February 2019

Nothing but fumes


Sometimes, words are born from the crack in your heart as minor as an hairline fracture, take up space in veins alongside blood forming clots in between and get caught in the lump of your throat choking your voice. 

Because you cannot say them out aloud. Because saying them aloud would mean setting your world ablaze. Creating a pyre with the same hands with which you have nurtured happiness, one day at a time, using your spit as fuel and lighting the fire with your tongue. You are still sane enough to not do that. 

You thus let it bite you in the pit of your stomach. You let the carcasses of your words burn in the same crack in your heart where they were born. You let them rot inside the whole of you. The stench and burden of these words will then come out of your mouth as nothing but fumes. Visible yet invisible. 


Friday, 26 October 2018

How does your body treat you?



Do you ever feel betrayed by your body? Does your body ever disgust you? Or does your body ever scare you? Does it make you livid? Mine does. And I am not talking about all this in terms of the way your body looks, but about the way your body makes you feel.

Does it treat you like a jealous and a possessive lover that is insecure all the time? The one that keeps throwing tantrums to get your attention and keep your attention. Does it treat you like a stubborn old grandfather who refuses to accept anything new? The one who thinks that any deviation from its own thinking is incorrect? Does it treat you like a cruel step mother who wouldn’t let go off any instance to give you pain and discomfort? The one who thinks that being at rest or peace is not your right.

Mine does. All of the above. My own body makes me feel betrayed, disgusted, scared and angry at the same time.

I feel betrayed and disgusted because I didn’t sign up for a body that is weak all the time? In spite of treating it with utmost respect, in spite of trying everything possible to make it feel healthier, it changes only for worse. It betrays me for all the efforts I put towards making it healthier.

I am scared of my body, of trying anything with my body. Be it a new food item, a different sleeping pattern, a new cosmetic product or a mere different workout style. Because it retaliates. As bad as a teenager high on drugs.

It angers me to see other people healthy even when they abuse their bodies so much. Whereas I have been treating it with a caution of a new father holding his child for the first time.

And yet. It behaves the way it wants to behave.   

I can sometimes hear my body talk to me. Like a person. A person who is not an ally. A person sitting across the table scrutinizing and scorning everything I do. Keeping notes for times when it can mock me, smirk at me and take its revenge. I can hear it saying something like, ‘Ahan, so you want to pull a late nighter watching a show on Netflix. Just wait and watch how I make your head explode tomorrow morning’. Or may be something like this, ‘So you think you will be able to get away with eating outside food two days in a row, let me show you the consequences. I am not accepting this food.’

My relationship with my body feels like an unrequited love affair. An affair where I give. And only give. Attention. Care. And medicines. To get nothing in return except being bruised, broken and in nagging pain all the time. Being on medicines for one thing or the other.

Do you know how much amount of time, energy and mental space your own body occupies in case it treats you like mine does? Immense. When I sit and reminisce, it fills me up with regret. Regret of things I could have done if keeping my body in a healthy working condition didn’t occupy so much of my mental space.

So, if yours is treating you well, be grateful. And work towards keeping it that way.

Source: Google images


PS – I am not sick due to any terminal illness. I am just not healthy enough to live without medicines.

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