Harshaman’s Stories talk about feeling the tug between two places – one that feels like home and one that is dutifully home. It took me back to my own crossroads when I was the age he is at now. Freshly minted adult in a dirty metropolis, I was charmed by the fresh bloom of the garden city. It was the
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I left work late but determined to use the remaining hours. The back of the cab was silent. I got to my to-call list, hitting deadends. I paused for those rare seconds in a Mumbai day when one thinks of absolutely nothing. Then I realised I was flying. Riding flyovers used to feel like flying when I used to actually
...continue readingWhat does loneliness sound like? A scream that no one seems to hear. Gasps that don’t make it past the throat. Sentences written in invisible ink. The redacted words on a page. It’s feeling unwanted, unnecessary, irrelevent even. Then you remember. You still exist. The print under the graffiti, the face under the veil, the writing on discarded applications. The breaths
...continue readingDo you say all the things to the world that you wish somebody would say to you? Do you spend your moments putting out what you’ve been told will come back to you, manifold? It can feel like a lonely world when you find yourself sole custodian of cheer and hope and joy and good humour. The thing is, people
...continue readingI’m talking to you. That part of you behind closed eyelids. Inside a deep inhaled breath. Tucked away into a memory so intense, you don’t look at it often so it becomes a secret. Who are you in that darkness? I think we’re all the same. The same disproportionate halves of a body. The same anxious uncertainty. The same disorganised
...continue readingI see you look with yearning eyes for people who don’t make time and space in their life for you. I can only give you second best – my company. I say second best, not because our conversations are less than the ones you could hope to have with anybody else. But I can only be second best to the company
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