Nidhi Katoch blog

 I tossed the books, and made space for myself in my bed, Thinking I’ll clear this mess the next day, knowing very well, that I won't do it. I picked up my phone, a few texts from my friend about what was I up to and that I needed to call him back. I opened the list of things I need to buy for the week. Scrolling through the phone mindlessly, wasting a few hours, and then throwing it on the bed. I stared at the ceiling and tossed myself toward the window, the curtain had slightly moved toward the left, giving the path to moonlight to enter the room. Again that time of night when it becomes difficult to ignore my emotions.  For once I wanted them to see the world through my eyes, for once if they would have understood me. For once. A distorted figure. Blood and Tears.  Ashes and smoke. Charred bones. My letters. That nauseous, suffocating smell. Blood and Tears. It felt like the walls were coming closer and closer, soon these walls would merge with the Window. The blue cur...

I was standing in front of the gate, for a moment I saw you smiling but soon you faded. I’m still carrying your photograph in my wallet, only to keep reminding myself how you used to look before going to that damn place only to never come back. I walked for a while in the compound before settling myself on a covered diwan of verandah. I was about to lighten the cigarette, but the thought that you would have hated it held me back. Why was I still waiting for you to open the kitchen door? I could hear your voice in my head. The lilies have grown all over the place with dandelions. I looked at the sky, the sky is always so blue here, I watched clouds moving, covering the sun. My heart is also clouded, whether to take a step ahead or stay on the path, is this place should I settle? Why is it necessary for me to settle when you were here, I never used to give a thought about it. What did you get by settling here, in this house, surrounded by tea gardens? Maybe peace. Whenever I used to ask ...

I touched the tattoo on my chest, your initials which I tattooed after you were gone, to feel your presence in me. But somehow it feels hollow now.  If you ever had known about it you would have been so mad. I looked at the dead plant, I again forgot to keep the pot in sunlight. Am I also avoiding the sunlight, since when had I started to romanticize night? Blurred images of needles…smoke…drips…doctors… chants…cries…broken pens…and that damn colour blue… I lay my legs dangling off the bed and stared at the ceiling fan, I could see my reflection on the fan. Today this tattoo was catching my attention again and again, it had been there for a while now. Why was I trying to feel it now? I needed to bring more paint, don't know what had come over me to paint this room again. The color pink… The phone rang again, how many times I have told them to leave me alone? I turned the silent mode on. Throwing it away I picked up the book lying beside me. Words were also not making sense. A sudden...

When we were sleeping under the stars, lying over the grass on the hill from where fireflies rise, you asked me whether I would return during winter and if I Loved the people who loved me. I found my voice choked. Aman, I hated you so much for asking me these questions at that moment. I just kept staring at the sky without saying a word, pretending I was lost in my thoughts.  You called after the first snowfall of that year, and although you didn't say a thing, I could hear the contempt in your voice. You wanted me to be there, but the snow settled in the corner of my heart, which hadn't melted. Aman, when you laughed while watching the sitcom, and I couldn't even smile, I was so jealous. The whole night we watched the sitcom, you laughed, smiled and kept stealing glances at me while I just stared at the screen. I still feel those ashes in my hand; sometimes, I touch the pages folded by you in my books just to feel like holding your hand. People still ask about you here, bu...

I woke up in the morning feeling heavy on my chest, heavy with all my emotions. I remembered your last words. When I removed the curtains from the window, I saw the new day. But for me, time had stopped long ago. I got a call from a friend—a friend whom I left at half-eaten dinner last night. I picked up the call and promised to meet him again tonight.  I lay down on the bed again. Thinking about what life has become after you’d left. I felt your hand on my shoulder, asking whether I wanted tea or coffee. I replied, “Whatever you are having.”, with a bit of surprise. I saw your body moving swiftly with the music. I didn't remember when I turned on the music. I don't even know when I last heard this old '70s music. I have always thought of you as music. When you left, the music from my soul took its leave forever. I saw my old wooden book rack, which you’d built for me. Mirror on the wall, an old date on the calendar. I've forgotten to change the date again. I promise my...

The last time I saw his face was at the end of June. His questioning eyes were filled with loneliness. I tried to reason that shutting the doors would never help his hauntings. The smoke from the cigarette lit in his fingers filled the room. I walked toward the window to open its panes. I don't know for how long this window had been kept closed. There was a peepal that had grown over it. With some difficulty, when I finally opened the window, it felt like I'd set someone free. When I looked back, it was only me who felt this way. Opening the window symbolises him, memories of his love flying to the far place.  They say eyes never lie, but sometimes people just learn to hide the truth from their eyes. But I knew he was pretending. He offered me coffee, and when I nodded yes, he went to the kitchen to make one. I don't know why I always go to meet him. Maybe I'm also another loser hopelessly in love, trying to pacify my pain by looking at his pain, which seems much bigger...

I stared at the half-finished coffee; the mug had my lipstick stains on it. At first, I had the urge to remove them with tissue, but I didn't know what made me stop.  I sat on the verandah to watch the rain fall. A little kitten came and curled up on my lap. Earlier, when you were here, I was just another person for it. But now it also tries to find you in the sound of rain, in the droplets, in the petrichor. We both listened to the rain falling on the slate roof and slid down with heavy downpours. We had never bonded before, but now this kitten never leaves me alone whenever I'm at this place. How peacefully it was sleeping on my lap!  I had no idea how I would be able to leave it alone here. But this kitten is made for the wild. Whenever it misses you, it sits by your door and leaves. You can't cage a wild bird like I couldn't cage you forever. Even the mental pictures are blurred. You know it had been a long time since I had sung a song. I started to hum with the rai...

Last night, when I heard the rain my mind raced back to the times when rain only meant binge-watching Byomkesh Bakshi. I turned on the heater, the orange hue filled the room. Wish I could turn the blue into orange or pink or red or any bright colour but blue. I saw sitting you over the window, in a yellow dress, laughing over some silly joke, trying to tie up your waist-long hair. When I approached, you were not there. You flew out of the window. You were the child of the Ganges, like a river you all always flowed through every thick and thin. For how long I'll have to think about you. They say I need to settle myself down. Settle but where? What is meant by settling down? If you’d been here, I would have asked you.  Your friend called again. Sometimes I feel she tries to find you in me. We ended up crying together. They may care, maybe not. I do wish badly to start trusting the world again. I'm still figuring out with whom I'm angry. Now every call drains me, I'm afrai...

I looked at his face, once again, before saying a final goodbye. I looked around the room, there was a crack in the wall, a thin crack, like the lines of my palm. Lines of Fate. Fate! What a strange thing. There wasn't much change when I was here before. I saw my name on the wall, which I had written with coal. I still wondered what had brought him here. There wasn't much left for me to say, so I left.  It was a cold December night, my hands were freezing. I could feel the cold breeze on my lips. New moon night, made me realize that beautiful things, people, and thoughts always deceive you. They left! It is the sun who is always there for you.    Even covered with clouds, it provides light. It's my fault I fell for the moon and thought that warmth would stay forever.  Through the window of the old house, in the lane, I saw a ghost staring at me. It started to grow bigger and bigger. I stood there, motionless, staring back at the eyes of the ghost. It was about to eng...

I know how you always used to find happiness in the jingles of bangles. I'm wearing those bangles now, and it seems they are sobbing, humming a sad song. Yesterday, someone crossed by myside, wearing your perfume, it's weird I still remember how you used to smell. When I look at these new faces for a long time, their faces start to dissolve into one, Among all the faces, I only want to see yours, among all the voices, I only want to hear yours. When night drapes itself in moonlight, I start to think about you, just another damned full moon. Fetal position, The broken alarm clock, shattered pieces of glass and drops of blood. Absent-mindedly I hurt myself. I carry a photograph of you in my wallet, the old one. I'm afraid of looking back to those memories, those crazy stories. How I used to sneak out, wearing your cardigans and now I don't even touch them. Unconsciously your name slips out, your number is dialled. I hate to be loved. With love, you need to love others bac...

 Dear Aman,  As I picked up the pen last night, to write another letter to you, I started to wonder if you ever read these or not. The last time when I met you were trying to remove the mole on your cheek. You were so adamant about erasing the memories. I tried my best to make you realize that you can't run away from yourself.  I've seen it, dead do breathe. They might not respond, but when they are covered up in sheets, one can sense they're breathing. Well, death has life. I know it doesn't make sense to you. But it has. It is bound to come to everyone like the different people who come to us at different phases of our lives. It might have emotions too. Acceptance is the hardest thing one can ever do. But when it does, peace comes along with it.  Everyone is living with guilt. Even I'm. Sometimes I feel guilty about sensing the insecurities of people and weaving stories around them. I know our times under the shades of pines are over. And we both have zero hope of...

Death has a smell, a weird smell, which keeps you following wherever you go. When I opened the doors of that house, it felt like time hadn't moved a bit here. Except there's the skeleton of a rat and a spider's web. The good old neighbour came to ask if I needed anything. I politely smiled and asked her to sit with me for a while. It was an attempt to make my house smile, our chitchat. She and her lovely son always ring me to ask how I am doing. There's a thing: in villages or small towns, people may be nosey but some of them genuinely care. I was asking about everything and behaved like the same old person, which once I was. I opened the shoe rack, and my boots fell. Her eyes fell on them. She asked me about the last time I went on the ride. 'It's been a while.' She started to reminisce about the crazy adventures her son and I used to go on. How much our coming home late used to annoy them all? Now, there's no one to annoy, no one to scold, no one to te...

So finally, after so many months, I again picked up my guitar. I always have had a love-hate relationship with music. It's probably because I sing for a few people. I can hear your interpretation in every song. I heard your voice, sweet and lovely, a faint folk tune. I'm afraid I'm losing touch. Who cares anyway?  My fingers unconsciously started to play a folk tune you used to sing more often. Your life among the woods, stories you used to intricate in your songs. In January days, when time stopped due to winter, our talks were never-ending. I jokingly used to call you a storyteller.  Yesterday your friend called! Her accent had a hint of home. To make her comfortable, I started to talk in pahadi . She was talking about your adventures, your songs and stories, and your first love. I think, I was never the first in your life; that's why you left with your first one. Your romantic nature, despite the toxicity and cruelty around you, still surprises me. You've always ...

January morning, Foggy winter lanes, three of us Walking in the Garden, Hide and seek of sun, kicking sand over each other's shoes. Planning to eat another unhealthy meal, maybe 2-3 more coffees. Clicking pictures of stranded old buildings, watching peacocks trying to impress their partners, me complaining about why men don't put this much effort, obviously to offend my two friends. That was the day of Lohri, none of us at home. It was the shared feeling of loneliness that brought us together. But none of us wanted to accept it. We decided to hang around the city, on bikes. I lay my head over my friend's back, as it was too cold to open my eyes and I was so high on caffeine after crying for 13 hours, the previous night. Lying on the floor, lonely nights, the language close to your heart but you have no one to speak to, you have to embrace another language like you've been speaking it your whole life, your phone rings a lot, probably every other second, there's someo...