Words ... Stories ...poems

   When the Wall Walked Away I met you in a season when the sky felt wide enough to leap. You smiled.. and I mistook the feeling for fate. I crossed oceans in my chest, moved countries in my bones, thinking love was a bridge you build once and walk across together. But you were measuring the wood, tapping every nail, testing the ground beneath my feet as if I were a fault line waiting to split. Test after test... questions wrapped in doubt, silences shaped like verdicts. I stood still, hands open, offering proof I did not owe. At first, I called it caution. Then healing. Then patience. And I let it be heavy. I became your wall— thick, steady, 'unmoving'. You leaned. You pushed. You struck at shadows that wore my name. I took the lashing for storms I did not summon, for ghosts I did not create. I told myself love means holding the weight until her hands stop shaking. But somewhere between your last accusation and my last apology, I disappeared. You looked at me one day like I w...

Today, My Heart Feels Heavy Today, my heart feels heavy. Not shattered just worn. As though it has been carrying something for far too long and has forgotten how to lay it down. There is a quiet heat in my breathing, each inhale pressing against a weight no one else can see. My eyes stay full. They always do. But I hold the tears back— because I know once they fall, I may not know how to stop. I try. I truly try to be happy. I look for reasons— in work, in routine, in familiar faces. But nothing stays bright long enough to mean anything. It feels like I’ve lost something without ever knowing what it was. I understand why I’m alive responsibilities, people, time moving forward. But joy… joy no longer answers when I call. And I don’t have the strength to go searching for it. With friends, something softens. I laugh. I forget. For a moment, I almost feel normal. Then the moment passes. And what follows is silence a long, hollow quiet where even my thoughts grow still. That’s when it’s j...

     Aaj Dil  Phir Udaas Hai !   Aaj dil  phir  udaas hai, ek ajeeb si dehek saanson mein basi hai, jaise seena kisi bojh ke neeche aahista-aahista baithta jaa raha ho.   Aankhon mein nami hai, magar aansuon ko badi shiddat se qaid kar rakha hai, shayad bikhar jaane ka khauf hai…   Bahut koshish ki khush rehne ki, magar koi wajah roshan nahi hoti, yun lagta hai jaise sab kuch haar chuka hoon…   Jeene ki wajah toh maujood hai, magar khushi ka sabab nahi, aur ab usey talaashne ka hausla bhi baaqi nahi raha.   Doston se guftagu ho jaaye toh lamhon ko bhool sa jaata hoon, Qahqah dard par kuch dair ka parda daal deta hai.   Phir uske baad… khamoshi ki ek lambi raat, jahan main khud se bhi chup hota hoon, aur meri tanhaayi mere saath jaagti hai.   Aaj Dil  Phir Udaas Hai .... !

     It always begins the same way, a lingering glance, a spark that flickers into something more, a connection that feels like fate. We’re drawn in by the way they smile, the way they see us, the way they make the world feel just a little more alive. They feel like home—until they don’t. One moment, you’re floating in the warmth of shared dreams. The next, you’re silently unraveling, wondering how someone you once held with reverence became a mirror to every part of you still hurting. You try to make sense of it. You make promises to yourself. You’ll be wiser. You’ll look for red flags. You’ll make lists, follow advice, stay guarded. But the heart has its own memory. And before you know it, you’re there again.... falling, repeating, hoping. Different name, same ache. So what’s going on here? Is our love broken or is it the way we define love that needs healing? Surprisingly, the answers have been with us all along.  The Bhagavad Gita , an ancient dialogue set on...

  The 1990s in Asansol, a town nestled in West Bengal, hummed with the rhythms of daily life—the clang of iron on iron from the railway yards, the scent of fried snacks wafting from street vendors, and the ceaseless chatter of pedestrians weaving through narrow lanes. Amidst this backdrop, Afzal, a young man of twenty-one, strode through the marketplace, his mind lost in the mundane routines of life. He was the son of a local restaurant owner, accustomed to the predictable cycle of serving steaming kebabs and parathas to weary travelers and daily laborers. Afzal was a carefree soul, always moving through life with a smile, unburdened by worries. He spent his days running errands for his father’s restaurant, greeting familiar faces, and exchanging jokes with vendors in the bustling marketplace. Life had always been predictable, until one afternoon when everything changed. As he crossed the road near the local high school, the wheels of a rickshaw rattled against the ...