P's Notes

There is something magical, in the pages of this book for it isn't new. I like wondering about the people who read it before me. As I go on reading each page I imagine them reading it too. I think about their stories, as they share this magic with me. I know them by the lines they underlined and by the note on the front page. It seems like time has stood still And I know them and they know me, through the stories amid these pages.

You are so dark, How will I see you in the night? He said it, and they laughed. My heart cringed, But I smiled. I smiled for there was no better expression  to hide my unsettling emotions. This wasn't the first time, after all. I looked like a man, she said for I needed to get rid of the facial hair to own my feminity; to be a lady. I needed to sit cross-legged, and talk and laugh slowly. For that's how ladies are. And here I was with chapped lips, no eyeliner wondering if I will ever fit. Your profile picture is pretty,  but it needs to be edited. I was asked to apply some filter, that can hide the acne and dark circles and make me look a little less chubby. For chubby was bad, being lean was bad, Acne and dark circles were not pretty, But why assume I am seeking prettiness?  In the age of push-up bras and Instagram filters, the definition of being beautiful has changed. But I choose to not conform. For I don&

I wonder if I will ever be able to tell them what it was like... what it was like to cry myself to sleep, every day. what it was like to not want to wake up in the morning. For the time has gone, And I am still alive. I wonder if it is possible to weave those emotions and days into words? The threads are loose and I am short of words The words that I have are not enough, To contain the emotions I felt back then. I can't find a way to let these stories out, They are buried inside me. Somewhere. But I don't think they feel trapped. My soul is their home, and this is where they belong.

I have been telling them, it will pass, But I am not sure if it will. For "time" heals everything is an illusion, A convenient comforting lie. Do they think I am invalidating their pain? Do you think I am? Is comfort what they seek right now? Or am I just being untrue to myself? I have been there. I should know. But I am not sure if it has passed for me. Or if it will ever pass. I ain't sure if "time" has managed to heal it. What do I tell them, then? That the pain will linger, And you will learn to live with it. Is that the truth?  Or is it another comforting lie,  that we are made to believe is true.

I am 22 years old and this is a narrative of the day (21-Aug-2017) that changed my perspective towards life. It was a regular day. I woke up and was rushing to get ready for office ignoring the slight pain that I had in my stomach since morning. I was planning my day and was only worried about some stupid song that has been playing in my head for I did not want to sing it aloud in front of people. I reached office and attended a couple of meetings struggling with the pain that was still persistent. The doctor at the infirmary gave me a tablet for acidity but it didn’t work. I wanted to work so I sat on my workstation with a hot water bag trying to ignore the pain which was intensifying with every passing second. Suddenly it shook me and I found myself crying and shivering because of the excruciating pain. That’s when my colleagues noticed me and decided to drop me home (hostel). I came back home and was lying on the bed. I remember not being able to get up. I remember feeling

I was 12 years old when I read my first novel. I picked it up from my school library. I had never heard of that book before. My teacher did not ask me to read it, neither was it recommended by my friends. It was completely a random pick from a random bookshelf in the library. I guess what attracted me towards the book was the book cover. I could relate so much to that girl on the cover. I don’t remember much about the book now but as I began reading it, I remember falling in love with Matilda, the character. I remember seeing so much of me in her.  I remember how the clumsy-little-shy girl inside me found a new friend. That is how my love for books began. As I grew up, I kept falling in love with different characters and stories. But Matilda, among all of them, is still closest to my heart, for that was my first book which made me realize that “ between the pages of the books is a lovely place to be .” Thank you, Roald Dahl! :)

I graduated in 2016 leaving behind three of my best friends: Ranabir, Sutirtha, and Purvash. Ranabir was my batch mate whereas Sutirtha and Purvash were my juniors. Words won’t be enough even if I dare to talk about the relationship that all of us had with each other. I shared a unique bond with all three of them and it was beautiful. The only assurance that I had on the day of my farewell was that we are still going to be in the same city. Ranabir decided to stay in Delhi and prepare for masters whereas the other two were still in their final year of college. I was placed in Gurgaon only, so I knew that I could easily meet them on weekends. This is us on the day of my college farewell.   I joined my new job in Gurgaon in June 2016. The company hired around 40 graduates from different colleges of Delhi University. So, I wasn’t alone. We all were fresh from college and were looking forward to our first corporate exposure. Before joining in Gurgaon, we had a one-month residenti

Do you remember the last time you thanked your mom or dad? I don’t. I was amused when I suddenly thought about it. I must have said thank you zillion times, at least. From a pizza delivery boy to an auto driver to even the irritating insurance executive, I have thanked everyone but my parents. We thank our friends for staying in touch, for coming over, for listening to us, and sometimes for just being there. What is the problem then? Why have I never thanked my mom or dad? It’s just weird. I don’t know how to say “thank you” or “I love you” to them. I have been sharing all the facts about my life with them but I haven’t learned to share my feelings yet. I can tell them that I am sick but I don’t know how to tell them that I am in pain. I can tell them that I am happy but I don’t know how to hug them or give them a peck on their cheek. I remember when my mom used to wake up at five in the morning to prepare breakfast and tiffin for me and my siblings. I have two brothers

Hello Everyone, This is Prakriti, a 22-year old Piscean who is trying to figure out life (and this blog :D). I am not an intellectual and I do not have intelligent opinions on politics, sports or art. I am not the person who can analyze the economy of this country or comment on inflation and GST.  This blog would just be my way of expressing what I feel as an individual. I might talk about some movie that I liked and why did it make me cry. At times I would talk about home and how much I miss it. I can talk about books and Bollywood. I can talk about my friends and the FRIENDS (TV show). Once in a while, I will also tell you about the people I have been admiring. I will talk about life and how growing up sucks.  I mostly live in my own world that is not-so-full of people. Zoning-out is my thing so please don't mind if I ask you to repeat what you just said. :P So there I am, a huge fan of Phoebe Buffay and in love with Harry Potter. :)