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God, a subtle force of nature. A force of nature that wills you forward, wants you to keep living. Nothing less! But also…nothing more. Like the trees that want you to live, by virtue of the oxygen that they impart. Like fruits, that want you to live, by virtue of the nutrition in their flesh. A force of nature. Some call it the Brahman, some call it Chi- and that is all it is, and more. God isn’t here to plan our future, or punish our deeds, rather simply a force…of existence. Unfortunately for all of us, God isn’t anyone to blame. God was never the doer. You were. ...

I close my eyes The warmth in my chest Grows at the thought of you Your arms around my shoulders As I shivered in the lonely night You held me tight, held me close And even through the monstrous night I knew I had nothing to worry about With you by my side. Anger. Simmering, boiling. My eyes are bleeding red. Who gave me the right to see you like this? You look calm, but nothings alright anymore. Blue faced, without a care. Cold, damp, on your final mortal bed. That your end was so near, how could I have guessed? I returned tired and fatigued From my long journey overseas, Trying to build a life that you’d be proud of Only to see that the one thing I was sure I’d always return back to Was gone. Snatched away from me, tearing me to shreds. Borrowed time. I’m living on borrowed air. Why am I even alive anymore? ...

Pain. White, blinding pain. it’s just pain, that’s all I feel. Searing white, like I’m being burnt alive in a furnace. The same furnace to which he was taken. If I cared less earlier, now I no longer remember what feeling anything other than numb, sickening PAIN feels like. Deep, dark red, it pools around me (I’m surprised I held so much of it), surrounding me No visible wounds on me, but the feeling of being skinned alive justifies it. I remember vaguely the happiness that once used to fill me every time I thought of home. They all exists, those memories. It pains to much to remember, now. Now, when it’s all gone, and when I know with certainty that I will never experience any of it anymore. Not in this lifetime. The finality is huge, larger than life. I will never feel joy again, and I refuse to have it any other way. All of it now lies in the past. My vision blurs, the deep red coloring the corners of my view. It’s been months. I haven’t shied away from my thoughts. Every nook and cranny has been visited, all the beasts there are my friends now. I’ve tamed them - they now obey me, and me only. Oh, my lovely little beasts. ...

So, let’s address this once and for all. Why do I write? Quite frankly, I’m forced. It’s a gun upon my head, a compulsion. Like the tale of Vikram and Betal. The King is bound by his royal promise to the people of his kingdom, But Betal has an annoying way of spending the time it takes to get him there. As the resolute king huffs and puffs uphill towards the tree with Betal up his back, Betal recites morally riddled tales into the night. At the end of every tale, there is a weighted, expectant pause - a question for the king. If the King has an answer but stays silent, his head would burst open and it’s game over for everyone. If he does answer though, the spirit escapes back to the tree and poor Vikram has to go back and fetch him all over again. ...

Have you ever seen someone for the first time in your life, and felt an odd sense of familiarity? And not just some light feeling- but strong enough to feel it like the force of ripples in the field that holds us together. You’re gawking, and trying to process it, and the other person just stares back at you, slowly growing more concerned as the seconds pass — you’ve not felt that, no? Ah. ...

Elaborate, Perfectly beautiful, pristine, Larger than anything this human mind can even begin comprehending - Is this game of life. I’d met you earlier, When I was perhaps too young to understand But now, I recognize you immediately. I’d run away from you back then, Hoping beyond hope that I’d never see you again But you’re here, Back in a different form. Your physical appearance is different. We’ve never met before - Or rather, you’ve never seen me before. To me, you’re an old friend. And this time, an escape won’t be that easy. I’ve been cornered. I spare one glance of smug realization towards the skies, Take a deep breath, And pass on a nod of acknowledgement to you. The interaction begins. ...

“I swear, it was true, In that moment, it all felt real. I needed nothing more than her, Just her by my side, and I’d have everything I’d ever wished for! I plead guilty of having loved, again. I am guilty yes, but please have mercy on me.” "…I have nothing more to say, thank you", He added hastily after a pause. Today, we have a new case. He pleaded with folded hands, His face bowed down slightly, A single tear rolling down his cheek. On his knees by the aisle, He was at the Court of the Damned Where the guilty are brought to justice Where fate puts forth her judgement. Before him stood large, tall figures Darker than shadows, too gigantic to be seen all at once, Their faces obscured by distance, hidden in sheer height - The Judges. This wasn’t his first time in this court. He’s been here before, and, Between you and me, He’s going to be visiting us again. ...

“What Do you See?” Of late I’ve come to understand the way things work around here. People- they often fit into a loosely defined “template”, sorta like a fingerprint with almost 80% accuracy - too complicated to be explained off in two words, but rcognisable enough to form and fit into a category of their own. Listening for patterns, watching your eyes move as you speak, your pauses, your little gestures. You’re a wonder. You may speak two sentences but I hear five, and depending on how accurate probabilistic determinability may be, I see the path we take from this point onwards, our intricate dance, at best, ten steps into the future. ...

Have you ever sat down cross legged, eyes closed, hands on your lap, and experienced the beautiful sensation of thinking? Oh how joyful it is, the pleasure of thinking. Tell me, what is this feeling of having thoughts? Have you ever been without thoughts? How do some thoughts bring joy and some anger, some are contemplative and some are mere figments of your imagination; what kind of thought is it that runs at the back of your mind, giving you life, making you, you? ...

a deep sleep your conciousness awakens you stay where you are for a moment, still, waiting for the last vestiges of your sleep to leave you, memories from your dreams still hanging on to your present you hear the rustling of leaves as a silent warm wind blows through your open window you hear a few chirps, a few footsteps and some distant chatting, laughter it isn’t dawn, but rather dusk and you’re waking up halfway through the day to live through the rest of it and also perhaps a half of the approaching night you notice the sunlight slanting through your windowsill casting kaliedoscopic patterns on your walls reflecting off, onto the ceiling ...