War with Words

Hope I didn’t want to pen down my thoughts today. Because I couldn’t find the words to weave sentences out of my emotions. Even if I had them, I feared it would only turn into a mess— Not a mess of words on paper, But a storm of emotions in my heart. I closed my eyes tightly. My mind began to remember. My heart began to feel. A girl came to me and asked softly, “Didi, can I get some food there? Can you please take it for me? I’m so weak. They aren’t allowing me in.” She held my hand in hers. My eyes noticed the coins in her palm, But my heart felt the fear in her touch. I was shocked and asked her, “Why?” She chose silence. I went to the bakery and asked the owner why he had refused her. He simply replied, “Have you seen her attire? If I sell to such girls, God will never forgive me. You shouldn’t talk to her either—just go home.” I smiled faintly, gave the girl some food, And asked, “Why did you choose this path, when you can speak such good English?” Again, she remained silent. Somet...

                                          MY DEFINITION OF TRAVEL Travelling..? It’s not just about the dictionary meaning. Everyone seems to have their own definition. For me, it has changed over time— Not because of age or maturity, But because of the situations life placed me in. TRAVEL AS A FANTASY As a child, travelling meant visiting a new tourist attraction and enjoying the journey to reach that destination. Exploring a new place was travel for me. Going on long car rides with family and cousins—playing fun-filled games, sharing snacks, getting scolded by elders while giggling with my cousin gang—was travel for me. Those late-night bike rides with my father, just to have parota and sharbath, were travel for me. TRAVEL AS A HECTIC When I was in my Intermediate and studying in Guntur, travelling from my hometown to Guntur felt like a big burden. I had to wake up at 5 a.m. to st...

                        My Dear Migraine You wanted to be my friend… So, will you help me face the bullets of questions people keep firing at me? “Why are you frustrated?” “Why are you depressed and lonely?” “Why don’t you like lights and sounds?” “Why are you afraid?” “Why do you keep getting headaches?” Instead of helping or understanding, they just keep shooting questions at me, dear. Do you know what? I lost everything the moment you decided to enter my life. People think I’m faking it—that my pain is nothing more than “just a headache.” But it’s not. It’s a sharp, one-sided, throbbing agony, like someone hammering nails into my skull. Sometimes, I think labour pains might be easier than this torture. Vertigo and unconsciousness —they have no idea what it’s like. They don’t know when it will strike, when I’ll collapse. Yet, I have to keep working, all while dodging their endless questions. They mock me for pref...