The Overthinker.

Here I am, wide awake at 2:43 AM, physically present on a bed that’s way too comfy for someone who doesn’t sleep.   Being stuck in an existential crisis at ungodly hours does bring one a certain level of peace though; the rare, stubborn sort that cannot be summoned by any other means. Or so I have come to believe, in the past few weeks. Perhaps this is good old Stockholm’s syndrome messing up my grey matter, perhaps it is actually true, perhaps there is no use questioning the origins of my conclusion. (Side note- damn oxymoron).   I have tried and tried and miserably failed to understand my need to explain the smallest of my actions to even the people who least bother or deserve to know,   and as proof to this statement, I’m going to do exactly the same thing. This would probably be the first (of many?) times where I’m in such a tranquil state. I’ve set the bar so low for the world and it’s workings around me, and I even feel borderline enlightened. I’ve become so accepting of t

More often than not, we are thrown headfirst into certain moments in life- where it is absolutely impossible to decide if who you are is a blessing or a curse, and for an infinitesimal amount of time, the world absolutely stops around you and you see what I’d like to call a projection of your soul. (Yes, I’ve taken the risk of this coming off as too corny, and I hope this doesn’t bias what I’m trying to convey). In these moments, everything else painfully blurs in the background, and the only item in focus is the realization that this projection is the only thing that matters. This projection demands to be understood, and you are forced to stop postponing the process of not being aware of what defines you. It is in these moments, that you swallow tiny pieces of truth like bitter medicine. Mind you, this is no ordinary medicine. Each bit you engulf peels away the barriers you have built within who you are, who you think you are, and who you want to be. The ultimate cure would

She closed the door, and latched it from the inside. She was finally alone, in the safety of her own room. All she needed was a hot shower, and she could get a good night’s sleep. She kept her bag on the shelf and stood in front of the mirror. She removed her earrings and placed them in their box. She took off her bindi and stuck it on the mirror. She took a piece of cotton, added a drop of baby oil, and removed her kajal. The first pang of unease started when she took off the clip holding up her hair. As she watched it tumble down her shoulders, she felt a pair of eyes piercing into her neck, watching her hair, leaning in just enough to get a whiff. She could almost feel someone breathing down her neck, when she looked into the mirror. Of course there was no one else. He would probably be home, with his wife and children. He certainly looked like a respectable man, what with his vibhudi and expensive smartphone. She hadn’t even noticed his presence in the bus, two days ago, till

The entire month of June 2017 required me to travel all the way to GN Chetty road, T. Nagar, from Tambaram, for my internship, the details of which I’ll tell you later. This process consisted of a long journey that I’d like to split into three phases: Train, bus and walk till Sun Plaza. On the first day, my father being the extremely overprotective father he is, dropped me in his car. The second day being a Saturday, the train journey seemed like a cakewalk. I also took an auto directly from Kodambakkam station to my office, eliminating the other two phases and wasting a hundred and twenty rupees in the process. Before I start, let me quickly explain my travel plan. My dad/sister would drop me off in the Tambaram railway station at around 9 AM, following which I would board the local train till Kodambakkam, for which I’d obtained a monthly pass. From there, I’d board the minibus S37, which would drop me off at the bus stand opposite Sun Plaza, around 10:30 AM.   The reverse would

We wake up every morning, contemplate bunking the first hour, remember that we don’t have attendance, and use every ounce of willpower left in us to open our eyes. On those few lucky days, we swallow down breakfast. We bathe in ice cold water during winter, and survive without an AC during summer. We all have a backup job option- a dhobi. Roll call is our priority, and putting up with merciless wardens is our necessity. Our diet is 80% maggi, and laptops are our lifelines.   We are the people who learn life lessons that will not be a part of any curriculum. We are survivors, who have limited their entire life to a bed and a shelf. We are the ones who can make the best out of nothing. We manage budgets, we cook food, we travel great distances alone. We don’t make friends, we make family. We realize how strong we are, and we realize how precious our parents are. We are the ones who have seen the worst, and made it through with flying colours. We have two homes instead of one, and

“The greatest reader is the one that reads between the lines” So my sister and I were pooling music into the car stereo the other day, and an Ed Sheeran song popped up. I immediately changed it, leaping from the backseat. Her puzzled expression morphed into an amalgamation of shock and disappointment when I let out a relieved “Phew, that was close! thank god the lyric didn’t start”.   I swear I heard her heart break when I said it out loud: “I don’t like Ed Sheeran”. I felt like I owed her an explanation, so I tried my best: “He hits me too much in the feels, and his music is so damn good that it strikes this weird chord in me and it screws me up big time, I need more emotional integrity to listen to him”. She walked out! How could I have possibly explained the sequence of events that takes place in my head, when I listen to him strumming his guitar like some evil, dark, beautiful angel who says things like “Her face crumbles like pastry” ? I wouldn’t expect anyone to unde