I don’t want to write about you. But I don’t get to control what bleeds onto that white sheet. The blue ink is a reflection of everything I’m afraid to admit. My pen knows what my heart refuses to acknowledge and does a better job at revealing all my emotions. A writer’s pen is foolish, I’d say. It lets out things that are supposed to be kept buried deep down in our hearts.
Isn’t it strange? How everything I try to do connects to you towards the end and yet how disconnected we are right now.
Isn’t all of this strange? It’s not that we don’t care anymore but tell me  — was it necessary for you to make me feel like an option? Maybe you’ll ignore this too, like the messages and calls, and just pretend to be busy. So, I guess, I have to answer all these questions by myself.
Yes, it’s strange! And I guess I will never get an honest answer from you. So, this will be my last goodbye to those probabilities and ‘what if’ thoughts.
As I smile and tie the last knot, I take a deep breath and stand up to examine my work. I smile again.
No. I didn’t tie you down to random things. I didn’t weigh you down with random prejudices. It isn’t because I’m bitter. It isn’t because I’ve been hurt too many times to realise what a good thing you are. It’s all your lies that are weighing you down. And I am removing them from myself and tying them to you instead. Just remember as I push you off my ship…
The only thing weighing you down is your own lies and fallacies. All of your empty promises.
All of your twisted logic — all those things which used to keep me all tied up in knots.
Now, they are the knots in your rope. Maybe, one day, you will wriggle free.
Maybe, one day, you will swim up to the surface.
But, my ship will be long gone. I plan to sail off into the sunset, far from you, and the water made fetid by your presence. Your poison.
I do not wish for you to drown. I wish for you to reach the surface and breathe deep. I wish for you to build your own ship. I wish for you to find joy.
I just wish you didn’t build it with planks and nails of the pain of someone else. I just wish not to have my sad sighs filling your sails. I just wish… I wish you knew how to be happy without another’s pain.


She Left

She left.

She left everything behind. She crossed cities, small towns and state lines.

She left behind frayed friendships and mistakes and love gone terribly wrong.

She left it all behind in the blink of an eye.

Continue reading “She Left”


From losing a 10-year-old friendship to making new friends within 10 days is a big task.

From having the whole class to play with to having no one to sit beside you is a big pain.

From liking every new song that comes on to being stuck on the same old playlist is a big change.

Continue reading “Adulting”

I’d Never Know…

I lost you when I was 9, and now, I’ll never know what it truly feels like to be loved. Whenever anyone came close, I pushed them away or hurt them tremendously because I could never forget what happened to you. That memory of you is etched on my mind like a permanent scar. On that date every year,  it’s painful; almost as if you were pulling strings of my heart. There is immense love there, but it hurts now. Is there a way to stop that pain? I know everyone has to leave someday but is it necessary to feel the pain for a lifetime? Will I ever, ever be happy without your memories? You should have taken your memories with you, shouldn’t you? Who would have known that what seemed to be the most naive yet most wonderful time of my life was soon to be followed by such tragedy? I’m sorry but your memories have become a curse for me now; it’s almost like, though you were the one who was gone, I am the one who died.



“What are emotions?” one questioned.
“It’s the plural term of emotion, I guess?” the other wondered.
“So.. what is emotion?” one questioned again.
“I don’t know,” the other wondered again.
“Ah, but it’s countable right? As in you can count them?” one asked.
“I don’t know.” The other stopped wondering.
The two lads conversed in commas and full stops, their silent demeanour unknown to the outside world. The world beyond, however, listened.
The day before they had to part ways, they sat again on the exact spot- where the statue of a weeping man rested. It was a legacy left behind by the ancestors of this town and the mayor had thought it was a brilliant idea to set it up in the east side of the town. The statue was a representation of demise for the prisoners and freedom for those who escaped. All in all, it meant the weak perished.

Continue reading “Tears”

The one thing I noticed was that during those days, it would always rain heavily in the afternoon, at the worst of times. As the professional bike rider of the nearby vicinity, it was something of a ‘job’ for me to traverse the gravel to and fro the university where I studied and the home where I lived. Hearing the sound of the gears whirring as the other bikes passed me, I spotted a man with half-unkempt clothing and protruding earphones. But as soon as a drop of rain falls by the side of his face, I could see him whizzed past me like the drone of a cricket.

Chehara Vitaran

If there is a way to feel old without being old, I think I’ve just found it. The songs they play on the air are so lifeless, lacking soul. It’s music, for sure, but it’s become lacklustre, trite. Has everything gone downhill since then? It sure seems to be. I can’t look at the paper with a straight face anymore in the morning, nor can I get on board with the latest fad, only to forget it tomorrow like what I had for luncheon yesterday at the canteen. Everything looks so cynical to my mind, and so jaded to my eyes, the foregone conclusion that the world has moved too far whilst leaving me behind. The things my parents and grandparents told me about the world sure seemed brighter than what I originally thought. That’s because after tasting history and culture, I find the things of the modern age to have fallen from grace, by comparison, a shrivelled shadow of the former days. Here I pine for the days I never knew, reliving the days I never experienced, wishing I could go back to a time that never was.

Chehara Vitaran