Stories

With lines from “How an Algorithm Denied Food to Thousands of Poor in India’s Telangana” by Tapasya, Kumar Sambhav Shrivastava, and Divij Joshi, a Pulitzer Center reporting project. we enterbut don’t exist inside we wait at the threshold of empty plateswe press our palms against the cracked doorframewe carry the dust of our red soilswe trace the lines of hunger on our children’s ribs we can’t conceive of owning a carwe live in a slum clenched like a fistedges of hope fraying against every wallshadows pooling where light once was Read more…

“I’m glad to meet you,”I said.Like a line rehearsed.Like a coat worn for warmth, not for meaning. The words had no weight.No welcome.Just syllables sent to survive small talk. But what does glad even meanif it doesn’t reach the eyes?if it doesn’t soften the shoulders?if it doesn’t stay once the silence comes? Maybe it’s not a lie.Just a language we’ve outgrown.A hand-me-down greetingwe never stopped to question. Somewhere,“I’m glad to meet you”meant something.A spark,a stir,a soft landing. But today,we throw it aroundlike spare changeat strangers. Glad.To meet.You. Who is glad?Who Read more…

I was a storm trapped in a bottle,spinning against the glass,a prisoner to empty promises,which folded into silence,to intentions whispered,which then left to die. I stayed,through cold conversations,and half-hearted smiles,through questions unanswered,and nights where hopewas nothing but a shadowpretending to be light. I stayed,a hopeless dreamer,chasing echoes,mistaking borrowed wordsfor borrowed love. But illusions crack,and curtains fall on dreams.while intentions are echoes,and echoes fade quick. For a person is known,not by their intentions,but by their actions,which carry consequences. I gave timeto a bond that was glass—fragile, empty, see-through.I let it cut Read more…

Collab with Shruti.✨ Once upon a time,we were children with stars in our eyes,dreams so bright, they lit up the skies. We made plans on paper—promises bold,vowed to hold on,to never let go of what was told. But life moved fast,like rivers that flow,taking us to places—worlds we didn’t know. We held tight to dreams,though the paths weren’t clear,some we outgrew, some disappeared. The child within us watched,quiet and keen,reviewing our dreams, wondering where they’d been. A reflection of us from our past,the child is like those sunflowers—kept at home, Read more…