Lexicon

[Image source:  AI-generated with DALL·E] They say time heals all wounds but some scars refuse to fade- especially the ones shaped like a best friend. I used to think our friendship was unbreakable until it unraveled entirely, thread by thread. What followed was no explosion, no confrontation, there were no flames- just ashes of what once was. Her number is deleted from my cell for months now but let's be honest- I had it memorized years ago. Despite our friendship or whatever of it that's left, she's the first person I dial when I receive the final letter. It is tucked between grocery bills and flyers. I would've almost missed it if I hadn't grown to fear letters lately. When she picks up I let out the words I have been holding in far too long. "I need help" I barely recognize my own voice. Scared, helpless. Her reply is prompt- almost too quick. "What's wrong?" Everything, says a voice in my head. Everything. At first, I mistook the final l...

'Clara Winslow wins song of the year at Grammy Awards 2025', read the headline. She made it , I thought to myself before letting the overwhelming flood of memories take over.   I was interning at a music summer camp when I first met Clara Winslow, a frail girl with freckled cheeks, long bronze hair and eyes so expressive they almost appeared animated. When I assigned the kids their first activity of the summer, I vividly recall how Clara's eyes lit up.  'Listen to music across various genres, cultures, languages and pick your favourite song' ,  read the chalkboard behind me.  It was quite a task to get the rest of the class started. Clara however, was a natural. I don't think she spent a minute without her headphones and notepad. That was the only time I interacted with the kids and although most were adorable, Clara Winslow left an impression instantly.  Later that day and for every day since, I was assigned generic prep work so I barely saw the kids....

 

I listen to what you say when you believe you’re alone. I know what you would rather do if you knew nobody was watching . I can feel you tense at my words. I can hear your breathing pattern cautiously pause.    When your grandmother said “Mind what you let occupy your mind”, where were you?  She may not have known the core reason behind what she preached, but she was right in thinking it was essential to protect you. She had every reason to be concerned. It is one of the greatest mysteries of the human race how nobody discovered that thoughts are logged. There are arrays of them incrementally pouring in as you read this. I have unhindered access to each thought of yours, as much as I would like otherwise.  Some of the thoughts are periodically repeated. As a bunch, they collectively move forward to take the form of an action.  I sit there in pain at the very onset of your first immoral thought, praying it never finds its bunch.  My job is to send back uninv...

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From the window, she could see the rain pelting down. She was an artist, a songwriter, a grandmother, a brave woman. She was so many things- but in that moment as she followed her gaze along the tracks in mud left by the pouring rain, she felt suspended between the realms of life and death.  She checked the wall clock out of habit, the minute hand not having shifted an inch since she last checked. Within an hour, she would know for sure the results of her PET scan report. In the upcoming sixty minutes of her life, she would know at last if she was cancer-free. The time gap was analogous to a journey of miles and all she had was a bullock-cart. One would expect the mind to crumple down with anxiety under similar conditions but she was known to be an exceptionally calm woman. Her approach towards an organized life had her so prepared, that her retirement life was sorted by her twenties. Having lost her parents at the tender age of eight, death was no stranger to her. Her only concern...

Allow me to walk you through a day in class 12th F. Students are expected to report after every other class from the coaching is dispersed. Class 12th F shares its schedule with no other batch, so the rusted iron entry gates are closed shut way before their session begins. That, however, is not their greatest concern. They consider themselves lucky if they don't have to struggle studying in candle-lit rooms due to power outages.  After you jump past the iron gate, you will have to climb a flight of slippery stairs till you reach the third floor. Towards your right will be a dimly illuminated hallway. Keep walking and the last classroom should be your 12th F. Careful, silence your phone before you enter. These students tolerate no distractions. If you wait for someone to answer the door, you might probably wait there forever. These students' ears are receptive to nothing beyond their syllabus- not even a knock at the door.  Once you are in, you realize what I meant when I said ...

  You used to be a kid who made the world with clay, you thought you could do anything if you tried You used to wake up with so many ideas,  your walls were filled with your doodles You used to be a kid who built empires with lego, you knew no geometry, no centre of gravity you tried to create barbie houses, that stood on a single sheet of cardboard  Later you learnt there are three dimensions, and that you can't live in that palace you drew You learnt it takes more than your imagination, to make some things come true Somewhere along the way, you abruptly stopped dreaming, to doodle, to create, to learn  You were told it's for the experts, "Only artists doodle, engineers create, scholars learn" Someone told you, you don't have what it takes At what point exactly, Did you start taking them so seriously? When will you realize that "someone" is your mind? You used to be a kid you thought you could do anything if you tried Eventually, you became an adult you...

  7 things love is not Love- A four letter word that makes up 33% of books sold in mass-market. Romance novels alone generate over $1.44 billion in revenue, making romance the highest-earning genre of fiction. Note the emphasis on fiction. While we enjoy devouring romantic reads, we are holding on to an idea of love that is entirely fictional. Frankly, I have no idea what love is, but here are 7 elaborated points for what I am certain love is not : Everything  Love is not your everything. Your world is infinite, encompassing a vibrant spectrum of emotions, experiences, people and adventures. It is the books you read, the ones who matter to you, the places you love to visit, your hobbies, your work and so much more. Your world should not revolve around one person. It isn't cute, it’s an obsession.  All inclusive  Your partner might be your favorite person but that doesn’t mean you don’t need other people, and it certainly doesn’t imply he should feel the need to ma...

  December 31st, Sunday I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. When I exhaled, I could feel strands of my hair flying with the wind as every last trace of tension left my body. My feet felt relaxed against the calm of river water. My son was splashing some on me, giggling so much my chest ached at not bringing him out for picnics more often.  The gushing of water brought my buzzing thoughts to a standstill. In that moment I wasn’t bound by the baggage from my past, nor was the uncertainty of the future holding me back. In that moment, as I focused on the rhythm of my heart- I was living.  The thought made me calm. I opened my eyes to see my son still playing with water. It was five minutes to sunset which I so eagerly brought my son to show. From the riverside, it looked delicious at the backdrop of a pinkish blue sky. The view was clear without any obstruction of skyscrapers.  It was only a few blocks away and I was visiting it after fifteen y...

There's something poetic  about leaving the endings unsaid Guessing countless open leads where the ellipses could've led There's something almost euphoric about the anticipation after beat drop but to live for the hope of it you need to read beyond full stop  There's something rather terrifying  about leaving the ellipses so vague it almost passes for a new beginning  to any interpretation you make  There's something so relatable about afterlife thoughts that it makes me wonder as I look at my grave if death also precedes three dots... *** In storytelling, ambiguous endings by ellipsis have an irreplaceable charm of their own. They come with equal parts of fear and thrill for what's to come. Moreover, they give us something to look forward to.  The kind of anticipation a full stop or resolved ending can never meet. They also leave interpretation up to the reader, thereby giving room for their own perspectives.  "Three Dots After Death" is a hypothetica...

  I was determined to paint my fate it had been looking monochromatic as of late that cold night, I coloured my world warm the first rays of dawn patiently waited to inform that everything I painted white, to my dismay was nothing if not a long stretch of grey I grabbed my brush once again  in that summer air, I coloured my world blue and ran out of all my shades when it came to capturing sun’s golden hue My world felt dark and dull I was questioning my art when the rain showered upon my world giving me a fresh, colourful start the spaces I’d filled with black, to my utter surprise lay between the greys, where utmost truth lies Tempered with the rain was sweet sunshine making a half circle pathway for colours to rome the shades poured over like streams to the river and decided to call my eyes their home I started seeing colours  and shades entirely new realizing there's a colour palette designed for my mind too  I'm not the writer of my destiny  but I don't need...

  Oh hush, don’t read this aloud, it’s a story no one knows She was covering her tan with long sleeves, when he held out a black rose Oh pain, how it shot under her skin, like icicles her broken heart froze Her frail body shivered as she wondered, “was all I deserved a black rose?” She wondered if it’d be any different, if she changed the colour of her hair Would she still get a black rose, if she were a tad bit more fair? Her insecurities convinced her, the flower was some sick joke She should’ve seen the boy’s eyes, at length his nervousness spoke Oh pain, how it shot under his skin, as embarrassment clouded her mind  She walked away, repulsed, totally missing he was colourblind  He knew she loved dark red, the florist heard him wrong   But nothing he could’ve said, would change this sad song For it was never about colour,  neither of her skin nor flower It was her blindness that ruined their ‘could’ve-been’, to the essence of his gestures, that she’d never s...

When I cried over actors playing dead, my granny truthfully said, “Don’t believe what you see or hear, frankly it’s just a pretense, dear” When I hurt myself in a playful fight, my granny said, hugging me tight, “Don’t grieve, why must you waste a tear, it’s really just a pretense, dear” When I felt betrayed in a game of cards, my granny was the one to offer her regards, “Don’t you worry, this isn’t severe, after all it’s just a pretense, dear” I understood my granny well, she made her point pretty clear but I’m beginning to read beyond it, as my adulthood is near Despite how different my granny made it appear, I wonder if she truly meant-  “ Life is just a pretense, dear”