Living Diagonally In My Parallel World!

For the first time, I have attempted to write prose in Ghazal form. And it took a lot of time... many weeks. It’s still an amateurish effort 😊 but I’ve tried maintain the Radif and Qafiya while trying to keep the meaning intact. And yes, I know I have many more miles to go…. 😊😊😊 Over the past many months, I had to unlearn and learn a lot of things. My burnout nudged me to get used to many new aspects of everyday life… to pause and admire the daily things that we see, take for granted and move on. Reluctantly though, I started discovering the joy’s of Solitude – not the isolation but revelation. I realised that silence is not emptiness, but truth, and the journey of life itself is the treasure. Solitude is like a philosophy of inner abundance, where life’s deepest rewards are already present, waiting to be discovered. I realise this is getting deep, but the connect with ones “self” was a revelation for me. I think I am now enroute to understand the silence of my father in his las...

September had came to Pune, when the monsoon lingered like a guest reluctant to leave. The air was thick with dampness, the streets glistened under fading showers, and the smell of wet earth clung to everything. As a real estate consultant in early thirties, I had spent years convincing families that happiness could be measured in square feet and doors facing east.  My husband, Mihir Pandit, was a Chartered Accountant, meticulous and disciplined, with a wardrobe of neatly pressed shirts and a mind that thought in numbers. We lived in a spacious apartment in Kothrud, with French windows opening to Gulmohar trees washed clean by the rains. On paper, our lives were perfect. But little did I know that paper dissolves in water. My second miscarriage happened quietly, like a candle extinguished by a sudden gust. I remember the sterile smell of the hospital, the white walls that seemed to mock my grief, and Mihir’s hand gripping mine with a firmness that felt more like duty than comfort...