Posts by Anwesha Tripathy

The One With The Counting

Do you remember, The time we spent together During power cuts in childhood With suppressed giggles Under moonlit nights You with your bare, hairless chest And a pair of pyjamas With holes that I counted The whole night. And on nights With the stars looking Down upon us As we lay, Talking and laughing, Counting the stars As if we could. And do you remember The days we spent Together,

As Well As I Know You

And then comes the night, Again. After a day too long, Of promises over phone calls And apologies over Text messages. Another day when I didn’t see you, After ten months and ten days, Of nothing but shared silences, And terrible fights, And longing, And love. As if the pillow I gently tuck under my Arm at night Somehow becomes you. As if we dangle from a wire together And

The Shore, The Waves and The Lover

Shaima caressed my cheek as we watched the waves go back and forth in the sea. Her hand smelled like sand and mint gum, like herself. I turned my face a little and kissed her palm.   “You okay there, hon?” I asked when I saw the look on her face.   “Uh-huh.” She nodded absentmindedly.   “Why do people say that waves and the shore are like lovers? All

Love Him Like I Do

I had my eyes set upon you since the day I first saw you. You were one of those popular guys everyone in college had to know – not that I minded.   You were so effortlessly sweet and polite; it often made me wonder if it was all a façade. How can someone be so generous and smart at the same time? But all my logic took for a

A Brief Encounter with Depression

“Your eyes remind me of home,” she says when she meets depression in a dark alley.   *** Home isn’t warm, fuzzy or familiar. Home doesn’t give me solace. Home is far, far away. And it stinks of you. Maybe it’s not the home that has always been, Maybe it’s because I have been in there for so long, That a home without you seems like one that doesn’t exist.

The Army of the Suicidal

“Hey, mum. I am extremely sorry for the irregularity of my letters. It’s been real hard to write with all the stuff going on here, you know. I miss you, mum, I really do. I couldn’t be more upset about not writing to you enough.   You’d be happy to know that I have been doing pretty well here. This is kind of like the dream I never knew I


As he ran deeper into the forest with his daughter in his arms, the whole day seemed like a blur in his head. All he could think of was the men running behind him with guns. He could do anything in the world to save his little daughter – his little sunshine.   His legs hurt. His throat was dry. His daughter was crying out with fear. He couldn’t afford

If I Were To Date Myself

And sometimes I wonder, if I were to date myself, would I?   ‘Nay!’ is the first thing I can think of.   Is it the quirks, or the foul habits? Like, no, I don’t drink or smoke. I do get high on ideas and imagination, though.   The last time I went out with friends, I dropped a whole glass of soda on my pants. I also eat a

A Braveheart’s Archenemy

<script async src=”//“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> In this whole wide world, there wasn’t a person I hated more than James Morgenstern.   He was the reason I was on the edge all the darn time, he was the reason I never slept without a weapon under my pillow.  


<script async src=”//“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> “My relationship with Jeanine wasn’t as smooth as it might have looked like to some people. We fought every day, almost every moment we were together. Somehow she would always find a reason to get annoyed at me and I’d always snap back