.a written note.

and tonight, the person, thousands of people are talking about at this moment, became almost someone who made me let go of some things over again. Ansh Agarwal , the one I never knew but tears rolled down my eyes for. Optimism and hope, for a while, means nothing when things happen and you happen to believe that the bad will never stop coming your way.  Its a pity to see someone else can always decide the end of one's life. Its a shame that humanity is a smaller and less important concept for people, perhaps. Its disgusting that I can't do anything about it. And its immeasurably sad that once one is gone, its all over. There's no coming back. There's no making new memories and there's definitely no more happiness that one could get if one lived a little bit longer. There are memories. Memories filled with past tense. Used-to-be's. There is a missing factor. There's courage and humanity for the rest of the world with the dead person being the...

In my head, it feels heavy today. The feeling of heaviness disappears and suddenly I feel nothing. As I stand here not knowing what's going on, the winds since morning blow the same way they usually do but seem to have a kind of warmth they rarely do. Its summer but the clouds tell me that it'll rain today. Its evening and I'm walking alone at this garden having no one around. When it pours, I feel sadder. Sadder than I felt in the afternoon. I don't understand why, when it rains, do I feel so lost. Lost or perhaps, I feel most comfortable when it rains. It contradicts. Like I've come home. Not where I belong, but somewhere I can stay for a while. Until I  recognize the next clear path that seemed foggy some time ago. Is it always about keeping up with our pathways and not about pausing for a moment because we've come a long way? Is it always about knowing everything and not about being real and admitting we're still learning? I am on my way ...

That moment arrives when a normal day starts feeling like a storm all around you. The air feels cruel. The winds, even more. You hurt. It doesn't go away. It troubles you outwardly. Your head feels empty, but gets heavier every minute. The weight of never-ending thoughts, insecurities and the fear. You try badly for this storm to stop. You try not to let anything enter your mind for you know you'll have to pay for it. But what you avoid, identifies you. What you're supposed to be like, kills you somehow. Every thought leads you back to that same place. You long. You hurt. Like a beggar. Full of regrets. Full of what ifs and buts. You're nothing inside but everything inside you is just too much that you feel the space isn't enough. You feel weightless. But it feels like the burden is breaking you and pushing you down the floor, deep down the tiles of your room and even the sand thereafter. You don't stop trying but the storm always wins. Like it has won, r...

Some unknown hurry. Some desperation I knew but didn't have to come across. Until now. Until this specific moment. Its midnight. I guess so. I'm horrified. Scared. Feeling almost empty. And emptier, the more I think of what made me feel like it. The roots of it. The dream I just dreamt. The dream I happened to dream. Unwillingly, for sure. I'd prefer anything over the kind of a dream I just dreamt, my instincts. No, nothing's going to happen to her, the voice almost yells from the inside. Needless to say the dream was worse than reality. So worse that the reality itself would rather seem and feel beautiful. My mother used to say, considering the continuity of the dreams I dreamt back then, that people usually dreamt about things they constantly thought of or wished to happen. I remember the days when I used to stumble across the same as I did now. Bad, painful dreams, making me feel like I was never going to get away from them. Most of the dreams, back then, were the...

I leave the room anyway. Unbelievable, how it feels better to leave it and choose the terrace instead. It'd comfort me more, for obvious reasons. But perhaps, only perhaps, I need to get out of my comfort zone. I want to. To let the weather outside shiver me badly. Mother can now hear me shivering. She rubs her hands over mine. So soft and warm they feel leaving a motherly touch not only over my hands but all over me. Behind that constant rubbing feels her urge to calm me down sitting on that cot in the middle of night over our terrace.  "What's wrong, will you tell me?", I can feel how much she needs to know the roots of such behaviour. Like my lying in bed, eyes closed but body movements frequently showing the restlessness off for what seemed like hours and then waking up all of a sudden in the dark, going up to the terrace. Something that made her come along when I left. "Nothing, I feel terrible!", I say, shivering. For some strange rea...