Within My Mind?!

"I will see you soon."  It was the most uncertain promise. How long is soon? The gap between today and the last time we met in person was 342 days. W ill we really see each other next time, even if he comes back? Our homes are not in the same city, and thus, a few of his homecomings have gone without us seeing each other .  Mostly, we exist through phone calls, text messages, and shared glimpses of our separate worlds.  I will send him pictures of the beautiful blossoms near my house, cute animals acting all weird, and he will reply with photos of the food he cooks  and breathtaking mountains. Oh, how I wish we could capture these together. Today had been one of the best days in a long while. Over the past month, I had been assigned to fix a cluster of critical code bugs no one had seen before. Consequently, everyone chipped in with their half-baked solutions, and I spent weeks testing all of them along with my own ideas. When I realized he would arrive in a week, I...

Dear I would love to take you to the mountains. By now, you must know how much they mean to me, how much I adore them. How could you not be enthralled by them? They are peaceful, majestic, endlessly beautiful, and rank at the top amongst the best things that nature has to offer. But I'm tired of going there alone. Tired of sending pictures and videos, trying to capture what they give me  — rarely can I call you to show what I appreciate, what calms the chaos, and what holds me together in my chosen lonely life. And yet, even in the mountains, where my heart feels most at home in this unknown place, I know where my gaze would rest  —  on you. The most beautiful face I have ever seen. It would be impossible not to look. If I had the freedom to do anything in this life without the weight of the world pressing in, it would be this: sitting beside you, lost in the depth of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the way your smile escapes without warning, and penning down all things within m...

It was an evening drenched in misery. Soulful music lingered in the background and amplified the emptiness. Will there be a better moment than this to pen down the weight of today? I doubt it. I know these lines seem heavy, but I'm helpless to make them lighter. Let us start with the music.  " Years May Go By " by Rickie Lee Jones began to play, and instantly, I was transported to the lacrosse field, where Dr. Gregory House was standing, wishing he could play and hoping he could walk without a cane. Last night, a vicious storm tore through the sky. The entire neighbourhood plunged into darkness as the power vanished. In my apartment, water seeped through the ceiling like a slow, relentless drip of despair. I had to unplug everything—refrigerator, TV, whatever else might be saved from the damp. The air was humid, with no breeze and no relief. I could hear people gathering outside, their voices faint but constant. I barely slept. And I needed to, desperately. I had to be at...

I was sitting in a cafe, alone but surrounded by people. I ordered myself a Cappuccino. Cafes are a great place to get done with your work. You see so many people working, and you either get motivated or feel guilty that you are getting behind, and you put in more effort. Either way, you can get your work done. It so happened that I was stuck on a problem - something that had been bugging me for the past week. I rarely go to a cafe; however, I dragged myself to one with the above-win situation in mind. Nevertheless, as has been the case in the last week, I couldn't get past the problem. The waiter brought my order. I took a sip from the cup and the opportunity to look around. So many people; engrossed in something or the other. From the person making the coffee to people building a new product. From writers deep in their thoughts to people selling their products. It seemed everyone was busy in their own world. Then..., it suddenly hit me how many of them are taking a pause to think...

As the sun began its ascent, I found myself nestled upon the loneliest bench in Livingson Valley Park. But this stillness was abruptly interrupted by the unexpected arrival of three people in sharp, matching black suits and brown portmanteaus. Two of them stayed near the park's entrance, and the third occupied the space beside me on the bench. Before I could fully fathom the situation, the figure, whom I will refer to as Mr. Unk (shortened for Unknown), leaned in, disturbing the peaceful morning mood. "A splendid Sunday morning, wouldn't you agree?" he asked. ( Image source ) "Yes... Um... I am a bit confused..." I was interrupted. "I can sense your heightened perplexity." "Heightened? What do you mean by heightened? I was sitting merrily in this comfortable little nook until you, Men in Black, strolled into the park!" "Aren't you already perplexed because of your choices and decisions? Come on, you must agree. It is life, perple...

You all would be wondering (I hope) what the hell happened to me? This brief tale should answer your queries, take you on a short nostalgic trip, and might put a full stop on this blog. The date is August 29, 2020.  Someone called me from behind when  I was walking downstairs. "Siba, right?" "Yeah, that would be me. Do I know you?"  "I would say so. I am Siba Smarak Panigrahi." I froze. Did he just repeat my name? As far as I remember, only one of me is on this Earth. Obviously, I had searched my name on Google. "I am from 2030" Was that meant to give relief? I went into another deep shock. "Great Scott! Time-travel comes around in 10 years?" said I. "That's what you are worried about?"  "Just wait." I looked down, took three deep breaths, gave a tight slap on my cheek, pinched myself, rubbed my hands, warmed my eyes, and said, "Well, he should be gone by now." "Hello! I am real for God's sake!...

"How about the 8th of September? If that works for you." The message was direct and caught me off guard. I tried to remember if I had any plans, but nothing came to mind. So, I agreed without hesitation. We quickly settled on a place, and just like that, it was happening. I could hardly believe it—I had a date set up through an online dating site.

My son somehow got hold of the letter—the one from Dear Crush . He managed to understand the first six lines. I hadn’t wanted him to know, but at the same time, I didn’t want to hide what happened next from you all, either.

It’s a fine Monday morning. I was going through my old college books, which were covered with dust. I was searching for one to help my son understand a concept better. Suddenly, a letter slipped out. I picked it up. Something was scribbled on it— I suffered from a terrible toothache. I needed to see a doctor. Instead, I met a nurse. I told her about the pain. She listened and then walked away to call the doctor, leaving me with hope. But what remained? Me. My increasing pain. Nostalgia hit hard. To all my dearest people, I wish to share a glimpse of my thoughts from one evening—three days before I wrote this letter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I stood near the wall—specifically, in one corner of the floor—waiting. Just waiting for the people inside the HOD’s room to come out. I needed to get in for a signature. I had been in the department since five in the evening. It was nearly seven now. Oh gosh! How...

I was under immense pressure. In the secret code language, we all understand—'Nature's call.' I was in tenth grade, ranked fifth in the class. Then there was Wharkin—studious beyond belief. I honestly don’t know if there’s a book she hasn’t read. Her study room was a library, books scattered everywhere, each tagged with what looked like summaries. But they weren’t just summaries—every book was underlined, scientific journals and research papers filled with pencil-drawn diagrams. I rushed toward the washroom entrance.  As I reached the door,  I was reassured by the familiar sight of closed compartments and felt relieved that I was in the correct washroom. I have this phobia that I might enter the wrong one. Yeah, at some point or other in your life,  you've probably had that fear too—or at least, every boy in our school did ! I opened the compartment and something else.  Oh, what a glorious, satisfying relief! I remembered visiting Wharkin’s house yesterday a...