Nidhi Katoch blog

Tonight I'm walking on this mall road, a new place, and I feel like the lake is calling out for me. There are a bunch of friends and their guitarist friends are having the time of their lives. Singing and cheering. Few people have gathered around them. And two youngsters may be in their early 20s smoking like there's no tomorrow.  I still carry the cardigan knitted by you in the winter of 2012 when we witnessed the snowfall while watching outside the window, in a room filled with the dim yellow light of a heater. I wrap it around me in the hope of falling asleep in your arms just one more time. Black fleece still has a sheen, I don't know if you were there or not last time I wore this very cardigan to say goodbye. The wind coming from the mountain makes me wear the cardigan again. The warmth is still there. Remember, how we binge-watched Byomkesh Bakshi and talked about Sherlock Holmes on our evening walks? How much we differed about our concept of love and hate. How much y

I was roaming on the rooftop at night blowing rings of smoke. Oh, these late hours when I can't make up my mind if should I sleep or wait for morning to see the sun. I checked the call logs. Not a single call was there. There's not going to be any.  I scrolled the internet only to throw away my phone. I swore loudly. What a relief! The full moon scattered its light all over the place. I could see those rings rising clearly in that light. I kind of felt bad for smoking again. I stubbed my cigarette under the shoe. I tried to enjoy nature like I used to before. But inspiration wasn't there. I've been travelling a lot for the past few years. And those shards again renew my wound the moment I return to my place again. Why doesn't the sky ever become black here? I cursed the place again. But who was I to blame? I'd chosen to come here. Now I'd to collect the mess I'd made of myself. Isn't it the fun of making your decision, that you own your mistakes with

I watched green water moving back and forth while sitting on the shore. Fall had arrived. I felt the chill in the breeze. The sun was subtly shining. I always feel like there's a  blue hue in the cool bright mornings. I so badly wanted to pick the colours of the day and paint them on some blank canvas. I tried to understand what water was trying to say. What message was it trying to convey and for whom? Sometimes these sounds of water appear cheerful to me, sometimes sad and sometimes these are neutral as if the lake is immersed in deep thought. This water has listened to many stories and problems. It has become a partner in the loneliness of many people. It has witnessed many winnings and embraced the tears of defeat within itself.  But where does this lake share its thoughts? At night when everyone leaves for their homes, with whom does it share its emotions? When I lie down on my bed I usually hear that the lake is crying. Who is going to soothe its pain?  I was so overwhelmed w