Posts by Eshwarya Khanna

The Stained Cape

The people who say that money can’t buy you happiness are either liars or rich. Everyone living in the house no. 26, Blackdrop Street, except little Molly, believes in this idea. And by everyone I mean, Molly Smith’s hopeless father. Nobody knows yet if he’s hopeless because he’s poor or is it the other way round. But soon little Molly will prove the latter to be true.   It is

Depression and Lillies

Baba taught me that light travels faster than the sound, But I can’t find either of them in my bedroom. Maybe, because they’ve lost their maps Or, are stuck in a traffic jam. I have unlearned the art of locking the doors, And the threshold has only seen depression crawling inside my house. He breaks cassette players, and drops photo frames He runs around naked, And forgets to wear the

Fear

He wants to create windows in the walls of my heart, and I tell him that my heart isn’t his home anymore He pleads. He pleads, again. I tell him that it took my blood years to wash his footsteps from the floor of my heart.   He keeps the roses beside my bed. I tell him that I don’t know how to breathe the fragrance of the roses anymore.

Dear Jenny

There are tokens inside your pocket and a payphone at the end of the street. But you won’t really take the few steps to make that call to your father to tell him that despite all the differences, you love him. There is a letter beneath the stack of your favourite books, subtly kept inside a fancy envelope. But you won’t give it to the girl with whom you imagined

The Art of Dreaming

*The Art Of Dreaming*   Perhaps, the only regret I have in life is learning the art of dreaming. I remember when I was in shoes of a five-year-old innocent dreamer and talked about becoming a pilot, doctor or a superstar.   I didn’t how to dream, but I knew what to dream. As more hair began to grow on my body, and the size of my limbs increased in

Social Anxiety

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></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> “Trust me, I won’t act weird in the party today. I won’t smile too much. Trust me, I will speak when…”   Well, I am memorising the instruction manual I had written in the morning with a title, ‘Do’s and Don’ts for a

Notebook

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></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> She brushed her right hand on the white bed sheet while her left hand rested on her bare waist, that the red wedding lehenga had left for someone else to touch.   Her heart was beating too slow, as if it was tired

I Live in That Forest

I live in that forest that has its roots on the seventh floor of a glass door building. A forest having the roof of the sky where my dreams fly with the wings of thoughts. A forest that serves as a home to the broken pieces of my heart and the roaring lion of depression inside my soul. A forest, where the leaves don’t fall when the autumn comes, but

To the Father of My Future Girlfriend

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></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> I know that you’re always wondering who your daughter is dating. I know when she comes home late, the fear inside your chest reflects as anger on your face, and induces hatred in the heart of your daughter. There are times when your

Loneliness

Every time I sit beneath the sheath of moonless sky, I let my thoughts seep into the cavity of my heart so that I don’t feel empty. But thoughts are like the fabricated ideas and false beliefs that don’t replenish any space, but in fact, drink it all so as to evacuate it.   And then the feeling of loneliness gradually nuzzles my neck and embraces my body. I sit

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