Blogs

  Sometimes, we don’t need a grand goodbye; not even a moment dedicated to it, especially when we’ve practised reading a farewell note so often. One evening, as everyone heads home, we quietly dissolve like the sunset. Knowing there may not be another sunrise, yet finding breath as we walk on different grounds under the same moonlight. Preparations for celebrating sunrises are taught, but go blank as, with every passing second, the sun vanishes. After a certain point, you stop questioning things or seeking validation. Tracing where things went wrong becomes mere foolishness. Letting go reflects wisdom. Dear, who doesn’t want to be addressed as wise? Dear, let it be like the castles children build by the seashore, only for a wave to come and wash them away. Still, the joy of building that castle together must never be forgotten. Childhood slips, adulthood rolls. Let morality rule. Many waves will come. Some will cause damage; others may shake our entire belief system. But remember.....

हर यात्रा के बाद घर लौटकर, घर के हर हिस्से में घूमते हुए, जीवन में घर का होना और भी पुख्ता हो जाता है। घर में दाखिल होने से पहले ही कई आँखें चौखट से बहुत दूर तक इंतज़ार करती हुई नसीब होती हैं। ख़ुश-नसीबी का इल्हाम अक्सर जर्जर होने पर होता है। मैंने घर को हमेशा मुझसे गर्मजोशी से मिलते हुए पाया है। कुछ दिनों बाद यात्रा से लौटी हूँ। घर नया-सा मालूम पड़ा, कुछ अजीबोगरीब। मैं अक्सर सोचती हूँ, जिनके घर नहीं बचते, वे कहाँ लौटने की इच्छा पालते होंगे। कितनी विडम्बना है कि यह विचार मुझे घर में बैठे हुए आ रहा है। घर की स्मृति धीरे-धीरे घर कर रही है। वक़्त तेज़ी से हाथों से फिसल रहा है और उम्र उस पड़ाव की ओर बढ़ रही है, जहाँ घर को मकान की दीवारों में कुरेद-कुरेद कर खोजा जाएगा। मकान सर पटकने के लिए होता है, और घर लहूलुहान हुए सिर का दवा-मलहम करने के लिए। एक कोना पकड़कर अपनी यात्रा का हासिल खोजते हुए, पूरी यात्रा को दिमाग में दोहरा रही हूँ। मुझे अक्सर लगता है कि मैं वर्तमान को भविष्य में जाकर जीती हूँ। बहुत घातक है — बाद में जीना, देर से जीना, नापकर जीना, सोच-समझकर जीना। यात्रा से पहले, यात्रा मे...

  The place a city holds in your heart is questioned when you leave it. The answer comes when you return after years. In my case, while living in Aligarh, I often wondered why I would miss a place that had witnessed so many of my tears. But I was wrong. Aligarh became the place where I truly understood what belonging means. I left something there that I kept trying to find everywhere else. After three years, the journey felt like time travel. As I got off the train, the excitement was conspicuous. Memories replayed themselves in my mind. Every step felt like homecoming. My eyes traced the city’s transformation. My ears recognised the dialect I had almost forgotten. The city had grown bigger, sprawling in every direction, reflecting its role as the epicentre of dreams nurtured in young eyes. While walking down the lane, I could see the shadow of an underconfident girl. A girl who could easily be fooled. A girl too afraid to explore. A girl who repeated only what she was taught. But ...

  Dear, my heart is delicate. Once it's torn apart, no one can stitch it. Should I put all the blame on you, or share some with myself for believing you wouldn't be the root cause of it? I don't understand human nature, which can be so warm towards someone they love in one moment and so cold the next. Are we puppets of consequences? Love that has no destiny still is love. Togetherness is beautiful and deceitful. Estrangement is slow poison. We walk away, stripping away the footprints. No trace to come back and mourn over. Dear, is it really necessary to deny even a moment for a beautiful goodbye? Ending everything with a comma. Don't we deserve at least an exclamation mark? Even the tragic endings get drowned in an ocean of tears, but unfortunately, ours is the deserted one.  ~A

Dear, I used to wish we had never crossed paths again — not after all those years of being torn apart from each other. And yet, we did. When I saw you, glowing differently, your eyes more intense than I remembered. We were this close and at the same time, miles apart. For a moment, I was held by all the gravitational pull of the earth and remained frozen. But sadly, I escaped. Luckily, I didn’t. My heart was about to pop out. My soul almost left me. I didn't know if I had ever prepared for this moment. But I had imagined it in countless ways — mostly as strangers, though our eyes refused to lie. I looked at you and gathered every previous glimpse of you back into my heart.  I used to think imagining this moment would be melodramatic, like we’d run towards each other and embrace, just as Kafka once wrote: “Dear Milena, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love ...