THY SOLITARY WRITER

  It was raining heavily that evening. He rushed out of the restaurant holding his diary inside his trench-coat, tightly clenched to his chest. The diary, his personal diary, has been more than a bunch of bound papers for him. It has been his sole companion all these years; asking about his day and listening to his words patiently with no judgment at all.  He took shelter under a tree and waved his hand to a cab while still holding the dairy with the other hand.  He got inside the cab and took out the dairy as soon as he got seated. He opened to the page where he left off. A drop had managed to seep through the guards into today’s freshly written account. He wiped the page with his palm which in turn smeared a word out of the last sentence.  "not" He read the newly formed sentence. "I can handle it." He shifted his gaze to the drops collected on the cab’s window, getting heavy and rolling down the surface, then he looked back at his diary. There was a smile on

 It’s morning already and I can hear my heart pounding against my eardrums. Is it normal? I don’t know, I won’t ever know either because that would require me to let another soul know what am I going through and that’s not gonna happen anytime soon. I feel this weird thing in my chest like someone is scraping away flesh using a grater and like there is no one point where it hurts, it does not even hurt in the first place. It just feels hollow and empty and fucking weird. I do not know if it is my poor vocabulary or they have not put enough words out there to describe what I feel inside me. I want this to fucking stop. Take deep breaths they say. Do this do that. Meditate and shit but those things are mostly said by people who are already fine and not feeling fucked up inside like I do. I have been drinking water since yesterday. Lots of water. Relatively lots of water. I don’t drink much water otherwise. A glass in a day maybe. Just hoping the water cleanses me and wash down whatever

For the longest time, I have had this feeling, this feeling of your soul crumbling from within, something emptying you, sipping away the life, the energy the peace, and feel this unexplainable hollowness from within which leaves you more helpless by every passing movement. I have been feeling this even before the time I knew it has a name to it. The feeling is not new as such, it is just the acknowledgment and the gravity we have given to this which has changed over the past some years.  The palpitations, beating of hard and excessive sweating you must have faced before something you were afraid of. Some might have told you you were being a coward or fattu. I have heard elders putting the same feeling as " ji ghabrana"  or " praan kablana".  For the longest time I have only heard this word as something you go through or feel and not remotely something you might have or suffer from which if I think about it disassociates the feeling from the person and dilutes the