A fictitious fool

I want to be an eraser. Not because I'm scared of ink. Not because I can't commit. But because there is something violently liberating about removing what no longer fits. Erasing is not gentle. It's abrasion. It's friction. It's deciding that this line — this choice — this version of you — does not get to stay just because it was once written with confidence. It's pressing down on the paper, knowing very well you might tear it. It's watching the surface thin out and choosing to continue anyway. It's deciding that whatever was written there no longer deserves that space. Yes, the imprint stays. Yes, if you tilt the page toward the light, you'll see the ghost of it. The paper doesn't remain the same; the scars change its nature, its life, its essence. But you still get to write over it. Like Kintsugi — the cracks don't disappear, they just get filled with something that catches the light differently. The damage becomes the detail. The flaw beco...

Has it ever happened to you that in the middle of a heated argument, when you are trying so hard to establish your point with concrete facts and solid evidence, you start CRYING 😤? It's that moment where you want people to listen to you, to take you seriously than they ever have and you just CAN'T HOLD YOUR GODDAMN TEARS. What kind of an influence do these feeble water droplets hold over someone? As this relay of stinging words progresses, tears start forming a storm inside your core, waiting poorly to escape the throat. Impeding brain signals, these tiny monsters jump out in advance to make a scene and tarnish your whole stance. Embarrassing, isn't it? The impact of your gravity is as negligible as calculus in real-life mathematics. Of all the things that I absolutely despise about myself, this one still remains on top, undefeated.  Talking about self aversion, I don't think this is how I was naturally built. I mean aren't we all pious flowers of god and as we gro...

There is a notepad on my table. It has a picture of me from the Manali trip that I took with my friends 2 years ago. Around the picture, the white cover has black illustration of icons of a thousand different things that are to be dealt with when you are working into digital marketing and copywriting. The book is spiral bind and the quality of the pages inside is pretty darn good. On the back cover, the same illustration like feel is there but only with the significant personalities at the previous company I used to work at. The DViO lingo and the nuances that might happen everyday in that office. It's a pretty good notepad, not only to look at but feel the pages and actually write in it. On the front cover it says, Ankita's Thinkpad. Every morning when I would open my laptop, the thinkpad, sitting in the corner, would stare at me, not saying anything at all. But the other day when I was about to punch out, the illustrations of the thinkpad came to life and started yelling at m...

आमचे आदरणीय आणि लाडके काका, आमच्या आयुष्यातल्या तुमच्या अगदी मोगऱ्या सारख्या सहवासाला पूर्णविराम लागून आज १५ दिवस झाले. अजूनही डोळ्या समोर तुमचा तो सदा हसमुख चेहरा, तुमची गोल टोपी, तो काळा चष्मा ज्याच्यात अगदी एखाद्या हिरो सारखे दिसायचे तुम्ही, हि छबी जशी घर करून बसलीये आमच्या डोळ्यांच्या ओल्या पापण्यात. कधी हि नं भेटलेल्या व्यक्ती ला, पहिल्याच भेटीत, अगदी काही क्षणांतच आपलंसं करून घेणे, आपल्या दिलखुलास व्यक्तिमत्त्वातून समोरच्याला पूर्णपणे हरपून टाकणे, हे तुमचे स्वभाव वैशिष्ट्य सारखे आमच्या मनात घिरट्या घालत आहेत. प्रत्येक वेळी डायलिसिस ला गेले कि कुठली डिश आज नाष्ट्या मध्ये खायची आहे हे येतानाच ठरवणार, मग ती वाडेश्वर चे थालीपीठ असुदे कि वैशाली ची spdp. पुण्यात आले कि पूना बोर्डिंग हाऊस चं तुमचं आवडतं ब्राह्मणी जेवण, मला नाही वाटत मला असं कधी ऐरवी खायला मिळालं असतं. शारीरिक तब्येत ही तेव्हाच बळकट असते जेव्हा आपण आतून खुश असतो, आपलं मन आनंदी असतं, आणि या सगळ्याची गुरुकिल्ली पण आपल्याच हातात असते हे मी तुमच्या कडे बघूनच शिकलेय. योगायोगाने उरुळीला किंवा कधी तुम्ही सिटीत आले कि तुम्हाला भ...

It was half past four on a Tuesday afternoon. The rays of the sun had slowly started to scatter a little wider. The wind was almost completely stagnant yet softly brushing my loosely tied hair. The weather had a sense of mundanity, clouds and the sun, playing hide and seek. Every atom around me was barely moving, causing my mind to go numb. I had to come up with ideas for the new show launch that is due in the next month. Although my room has two windows that bring in sizable amount of sunshine and fresh air, today it was like someone's got this plastic on my face, tightly held around the neck, and I am choking on the last bit of life left in me. But just then, my phone buzzed. It was my manager. In her too sweet to be good voice, she asked me an interesting question. What happens to the dreams that we do not remember? Where do they go? Huh!  She was writing an interesting piece around some relevant topic. In the beginning, she asked me to answer in one line. I said, they don't...

Has anyone ever asked you what home means to you? When you long for home, what does it really mean? When after having a gruesome day at work, your only wish is to return home and suffocate yourself with a thousand pillows. Don't you often feel homesick even when you're already home? Like you could be having the time of your life yet there is this void that annoyingly reminds you of home? Like in the cafeteria, when you're having a sandwich for lunch but what you really want is dal chawal? When it's pouring outside and you're safe in your car but deep down all you wish is to dance in the rain like you used to back home?  I used to think home must mean a million different things to everyone. Its ambiguity knows no bounds yet the core feeling can be mutual. When you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and a flashback starts running with random snippets from your beloved memories; No matter how stressed, or frustrated you'd be, it vanishes within a moment. An extra...