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Now You See Them, Now You Don’t!

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Now You See Them, Now You Don’t! I have met People, called them friends, trusted them as if bonds could be eternal. But Naalukettu taught me that homes, like relationships, crumble and those who once sheltered you can turn you into an outsider overnight. I have seen affection wear out, like Appunni’s search for belonging, reminding me that what we call love is often just a momentary comfort. I believed in loyalty, but Second Turn showed me that even Bhima, the most steadfast of brothers, was betrayed by silence, by indifference, by a world that always looked past him. In people around me, I saw the same.... promises cracking when self-interest rises, truth bending to convenience, companionship lasting only until its weight becomes a burden. I have known colleagues and companions who stayed close only when it suited them, like the shifting warmth and distance in Time , where time erases faces and memories, leaving only a bitter recognition that nothing holds. I saw smiles that resemb...
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Ashes Wear White

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Ashes Wear White  The pathway is a torn ribbon, stitched with hurdles like broken teeth. I walk it, bruised, while faces flare and fade, blue as drowning seas, red as bleeding wounds, green as wilted envy, purple as bruises that never heal, black as midnight’s coffin. They arrive like fireworks; brief, dazzling, loud and vanish like smoke, leaving only the ache of air. At the end, all colors collapse into white; not purity, not peace, but a pallor like old bones, a silence that stings sharper than noise. It is the shadow we call black, but it burns pale, like snow that blinds the eye. Even fire bows to it. The pyre devours my body, yet this white shadow outlives the ashes. It loops around me like a snake swallowing its tail, a ghost stitched to my heels, a mirror where no one looks back. I am left with it, this whiteness that is not light, this shadow that is not shade, this eternal reminder that even in a crowd, I was only ever walking with myself.
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Lifeless Companion 🫂

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A constant presence, silent friend, My pillow stays till the bitter end. Through joy and tears, it bears my weight, A loyal companion, in love and hate. Why does it stay, when others flee? Is it bound by threads of loyalty? Or does it listen, without a sound, To the whispers of my heart, unbound? Perhaps it's lifeless, yet so true, A steadfast mate, through all I go through. No judgments passed, no criticisms made, Just a soft cushion, where my head's laid. In its silence, I find my peace, A refuge from the world's wild release. The pillow stays, through every test, A faithful friend, that's always best.
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Shattered Chains: Reclaiming the Colors of Life

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In the rearview mirror, the city lights dwindled into mere pinpricks in the distance, a fitting metaphor for the pain and suffering of the toxic relationship that had ensnared me for far too long. The night I chose to break free marked a grand finale to that chapter of my life, a narrative I hope will inspire those seeking their own path to liberation. Our relationship began like an enchanting overture, promising a symphony of love and partnership. But the discord soon overpowered the harmony. He unveiled his true character—selfish, manipulative, and utterly devoid of empathy. In conversations, he was a bad listener, only interested in monologues about his own desires and dreams. My ambitions were met with indifference or outright contempt. He insisted on marriage, a life locked within the narrow confines of domesticity, an unyielding chauvinistic vision. The climax arrived on a fateful evening, as our argument escalated into physical abuse. In that moment of chaos, I recog...
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Changanasseri Chronicles: Of Dosa, Debates, and Delight

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In Changanasseri's NSS Hindu College, where I'd stay, SFI and KSU, with politics in play. I'd argue, I'd debate, in a fervent twist, Silly fights and disagreements, I couldn't resist. But there's a place where all my worries would flee, Potty Hotels, with its budget-friendly spree. Filter coffee and vada, a combo so sweet, In this satirical union, I'd find a front-row seat. With laughter and banter, my friendships I'd toast, Over masala dosa and ghee roast, I'd boast. In my college life, it's a personal delight, Food and politics, a tandem just right.
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Rainy Road to a Forgotten Past: Love, Coffee, and Heartbreak

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In the rhythm of pouring rain, memories from the past often resurface like old photographs that were once forgotten in the attic of our hearts. It was a time when love was a delicate dance, and every moment spent together felt like an eternity. Our story, like an old black-and-white film, unfolds on a rainy day, where the backdrop is a winding road, a car, coffee, and cutlets from the Indian Coffee House. We decided to escape the bustling city one fine afternoon, taking refuge in the embrace of the monsoon. He drove, his hands firm on the steering wheel, navigating the slick roads while I watched the raindrops create intricate patterns on the window. The car's wipers swayed back and forth in harmony with our racing hearts. The soft hum of the engine was accompanied by laughter, whispered confessions, and stolen glances. Love was our silent companion during the drive, a bond that needed no words. The world outside blurred into a distant memory as we ventured into the heart o...
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