Shishukunj

The Weight of the Unseen

The sadness beneath the smile,
Shall never be uncovered.
If it’s discovered then-
Shall never be spoken about,
If it’s spoken then-
Shall never be written.

The writings stay in the blue orb,
People shall never discover the sadness,
which was never meant to be uncovered.

If read so, the sadness will follow,
And follow Mankind till Eternity.

When Love Finds You

Love;
It’s not a word,
it’s respect.
It’s not just a feeling,
It’s more than that.

God has sent you,
with your pair.
But your doings will decide
whether you’ll get it,
Or leave unaware.

God gave us family,
For whom we have
time to spare.

Love is sometimes the thinnest thread,
Even a small mistake can be a threat.
But sometimes, maybe, as solid as rock,
Which is strong enough to take on all the challenges.

It is a cloak with the enchantment of binding,
It’s nothing more than a simple finding.

As the gentle water droplets graced the crimson flowers and tender leaves with their presence on a misty morning, Aasha opened her eyes only to find the skies lined with grey, thundering clouds roaring as an attempt to signify their presence.
The weather was pleasant, arousing her mind and rapturing every inch of her soul. As the clouds poured their hearts out, Aasha put on her fulvous tainted Crocs and stepped outside for a brisk walk in the rain.
Conscientiously placing her steps on the ground, she took a bird’s eye view of the ravishing scenery around her, trying to capture every moment of her zestful walk and paint a picture of it in her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind would go blank and would take her back to square one, deserting her at the same point from where she had begun.
Aasha worked as a computer programmer at a software company and was an individual with a daunting and analytical state of mind, a trait which often served as an obstacle in her way of connecting with nature. After her stroll in the neighbourhood, she engaged herself in household chores and soon after got dressed and left for work. She was not much of a social butterfly and kept to herself most of the time. An occupied person with a hectic schedule, she did not participate in social interactions and was not fond of any worldly attention either.
Just as she reached her workplace and settled in her seat, facing the big computer screen placed on her desk, pondering over new and distinctive ideas, a boisterous phone call disrupted her chain of thoughts. With obvious irritability and frustration, she answered the call in a rather discourteous manner.
“Hello, Aasha Patel this side. How may I assist you today?”
Oblivious to what the person at the other side called to tell her, her phone smoothly slid out of her hands as the fatal news was brought upon her. Her parents had been the victims of a fatal car crash and had lost their lives during the mishap. Sinking into her chair, her face stripped of expressions, she took a deep breath, giving her best shot at controlling the storm of emotions that wreaked havoc inside her.
For her, it seemed that the world was on the brink of obliteration. For her, time had ceased. With trembling hands and an aching heart, she picked up the phone receiver and continued her conversation with the speaker, who, amongst other things, informed her that she was supposed to come to her parents’ residence in order to perform their last rites. Silently picking up her bag, she stormed out of the bustling building.
Aasha’s parents lived miles away from her city, far off in a small town. Their relationship had not been very active or healthy for the past many years. Immersed in her life, Aasha had her own problems to tackle while her parents, living far away from her, only wished for their daughter to be ecstatic and lead a good life. She would avoid speaking to them and would seldom visit them.
By the evening, Aasha had reached the small town via a train. Compared to her city, the town was dull and did not have much movement. Aasha could not sight many people at the train station either. When she reached the house, she stepped in to find some of her relatives seated inside. Greeting them with a faint smile, she half-heartedly accepted their condolences and performed the last rites of her parents.
Aasha stayed there, performing her duties, and meeting old acquaintances, distant relatives, and family friends. When the last of duties were over, it was Aasha’s last night in her hometown. After returning home at the end of the day, an exhausted Aasha went to her room, freshened up and silently sat on her bed. Racing her eyes throughout her room, her mind was unsettled, still unable to accept the demise of her beloved parents. She repented every instance in which she distanced her parents from her life.
With sleepless eyes and a heavy heart, Aasha walked towards her parents’ room and when she opened the door, she was greeted by numerous photos, each decorated on the wall as a memory of the beautiful moments the family had shared together. Touring the room, each photo shattered her heart into pieces. Staring at her family photo, she could feel teardrops sliding from her eyes and down her face as her heart yelped in pain and she fell to the ground.
The floor was hard and cold, a representation of a grey and lifeless world awaiting Aasha, a world without her parents. She yearned in pain, bawling her lungs out, holding the photo of her dear parents, knowing well that now she could never be surrounded by the warmth and love of her mother’s embrace or be comforted by her father’s bedtime stories. Just as she sobbed, she could hear the pitter-patter of raindrops outside the bedroom window. Wiping off her tears and standing up, she stepped outside and went on a stroll around the area.
As each droplet of water fell on her face, she was reminded of memories with her family. The drops seemed to comfort Aasha, helping her find solace at an hour her heart and her soul screamed in agony. The water seemed to calm Aasha’s agonizing heart. Aasha strolled for hours together, and at the brink of dawn, she could see flowers blooming all across the place. As she bent over to have a better look at a blooming flower, she realised that nature is always there to comfort you at the hour of doom, and that the connection with living beings and the connection with nature is what makes life worth living.

Speak

I try to speak

But there’s a lump in my throat

They’re all staring at you!

My mind evokes

“They hate you

You’re as good as a failure

You’re nothing but a nerd”

My face goes paler

The thoughts start to erode.

I write on the board.

But they spot my mistakes.

Desperate to win

I start to erase

It was as if I was a rook

And they were the king

Me doing all the work

For I was just like a fling

The thoughts start messing with me

Sweat dripping down my face

My hands start shaking.

For there is none left of grace

My eyes start to glisten

Are you okay? They ask

I’m fine, I say.

Oh but alas

I sit in my seat

They, the People who clapped

“They’re just being polite”

I felt like I was trapped.

I start to break down

Not being able to take it

People walk by

Thinking of disgracement

I want to run away.

Consumed by my mind

This place was not for me

For they were just not my kind.

But then I remember

What all dearest to me said

Don’t let it mess with you!

Consider them dead

My breathing steadies

A wave of calmness washes by.

I raise my hand

Confidence finally by my side

No longer did I analyze people

I didn’t even shed a look

For I knew this time round

I would no longer be the rook.

The attacks lessened

Day by day

I felt much happier

Much to others’ dismay.

So this is a lesson

I hope to preach

Always remember

SPEAK!

Autumn’s Embrace

No One Knows

I wrote this poem about a place I visited in Spain two years ago. While I was talking about how that city contributed to making my trip so special, I was told that it had met a flood and was now not that happy place I associated myself with. That’s when I realised I am fortunate to experience what’s now gone. The place is gone but the memories will surely remain forever.

No one knows.
No one knows when you’re looking at something not knowing it’s the last time.
A person, a place NO ONE KNOWS.
Till it fades like an old chime, forgotten with time.
Suffer through thinking, knowing what’s going on in the world right now.
It’s not a battleground, a misused land, leaving stories untold,
Now the memories root in mold,
No, it won’t just go down in flames.
No, you won’t be all alone,
Everyone has to play this game.
You might feel lost for a while,
But I promise —
You’ll find your home.
I smiled at what has slipped away,
Now broken things are here to stay.
Once full of joy, now just a name –
You know what they say,
Don’t cry that its gone,
Be happy because it happened,
Something you never imagined.

The Doorstep Diary

The Road Wished to be Taken

This is a self composed poem inspired by ‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost.

While going to school,
Sitting in the bus all alone
Pondering upon a 1000 things, I saw a heart capturing road
The road I wished to take
The road I wanted to walk on
It gave me peace and a sense of calm
Maybe because it wanted wear
I gave all my heart to the road
Wishing to leave my footsteps on it
Holding the hands of that one person on whom I could rely
Walking on the road which I always wished to walk on
And oh! With a sigh I got to know that this wished-to-be-taken road was a leading street to someone’s house
That someone whom I never knew
But I wish ever I could, go and seek the permission…being able to walk on the road
Which I always wished to.

The Streets Lay Barren this Morning

The Streets Lay Barren this Morning – Pahalgam Attack

The streets lay barren this morning.

Quaking yesterday.

all quiet for now.

the loudest quiet…

Of a breath hitching

an old wound. Re-twitching.

Torn apart.

Clothes.

Bodies.

Souls.

Torn apart.

I stand upon this road.

The smell of blood and bullets lingers still.

Lives and lies spilled upon the hill.

Suffocating air, up in the open grasslands-

Throat choked by hands.

And faith by demands.

Men treated like grains of sand.

Acting on command-

And yet. The street will stand.

The trees will sing of injustice,

the children will recite,

by the passing of the night,

there’ll be arrival of the light.

But the tale sings still,

still here.

A chapter of death,

a warning.

Streets filled with mourning.

The street lies barren this morning.

Pain(ting) – of a menstruator

I’m the craft itself.

A pause. A period. Then a halt.

A certain “art” within,

Yet it’s a flaw, a fault.

Art. A white canvas below,

Waiting for color to bleed in,

Color of love, blush, roses and: blood.

Red’s holding a dead seed in.

My insides, a tube,

My body a brush, going fast and slow

The rhythm paints well, pains well,

Swifting in a twist, a clot, a flow,

I’m an artist unrecognised,

Sentimental. Cramping. Fainting.

In the muse(eum) every month,

Stare at my Pain(ting).

Born to Die

Bleeding, all of me is bleeding
With my deprived soul chained to the excruciating shackles of interminable anguish
As the demons caged deep inside my putrefying soul are let lose
I let them lurk in the dungeons of my once-tranquil mind
Unveiling the counterfeit cloth of illusion tightly wrapped around my sore eyes
They feast on my affliction, unforgivingly tearing apart the very intellect of my existence.

Bound to embrace his cold, defunct body with a fading sagacity of once-peaking affection
I beseech for mercy, to the Death that shall come for all
I implore for the clemency I see diminishing in Death’s eyes
As his body lies festering at my sinful feet
Which had once trampled him in their march towards the well that was said could quench the unending hankering of gluttony in a venal man’s mind
My aching ears yearn to hear his soothing voice again
The voice whose destitute cries they had harshly neglected when they needed to be heard the most
Death cruelly laughed at the miserable sight of my shedding eyes
The eyes which could not shed an ounce of tears when he was unjustly slaughtered

Death burnt my ego to ashes
Despondent to face the humiliation he was made to face with silence, my eyes could not meet those of death which were fervent with a fire of vengeance
Desperate, I pled for death
But death did not come for me
For a stone-hearted destiny had taken them away
He, who was dead at my feet, the justice that once prevailed
They, who were burnt to char, the children of hope who once played in the orchards of my benevolent heart
The peace, which sang the ballads of love and serenity to soothe my sensitive ears
For it was I who had died
My rightfulness that was crushed to pieces
And Death, who just chuckled at the thought of taking away
The life of a morally dead person.

The Roadmap to Success in Math: Know Your Start and Finish

Mathematics is not just about numbers, it’s about direction. As a Math teacher, I often see students struggle with proving questions, especially in algebra and geometry. The main reason? They jump into finding solutions without understanding where they are and where they have to go.
Imagine leaving your home without knowing your destination. You may keep walking, but will you ever be able to reach anywhere? The same logic applies to solving math problems.
Before attempting any steps, students must clearly identify two things:
1. What is given (our starting point), and
2. What needs to be proved or found (our destination).
Once this path is visualized, the process becomes purposeful. Every step taken is like a turn on a road — guided, thoughtful, and inching closer to the goal. Random manipulations or memorized steps without clarity often lead to frustration.
Here are a few tips to make your math journey smoother:
Pause and write down the ‘Given’ and the ‘To Prove’ clearly.
Ask yourself: What tools (formulae, theorems, identities) do I have?
Check each step — is it taking me closer to the final proof?
Doing math effectively is all about thinking like a traveller who travels with a map in hand. Know your route, plan your moves, and enjoy the journey of logical discovery.
Happy problem solving!