Living Diagonally In My Parallel World!

Pia Gupte was 29 when she returned to Pune after five years in Singapore. She had been working as a senior brand strategist for a luxury skincare firm, crafting campaigns that sold dreams in glass jars. Her life there was sleek, efficient, and lonely. Now, she was back in the city of monsoons and memories, nicely attired in a beige top with cigarette pants, minimalist gold earrings, and a watch gifted by Kapil Diwan — her boss, her confidant, her almost-fiancé. The watch was expensive, understated, and told time with a quiet authority—much like Kapil himself. Akhil Prabhu, 30, was once the idealist who scribbled verses on the back of lab reports. He was now much more practical in his apprach and look out as a senior researcher at CSIR-NCL, studying polymer degradation and the slow decay of things once thought permanent. He lived in a modest flat in Aundh, surrounded by books, succulents, and silence. When Pia messaged — “Can we meet? Vaishali, 5 PM?”—he paused, then replied, “Sure. B...

  The bus was late. Not fashionably late, not the kind of delay that invites mild irritation and a glance at the watch—but the kind that makes time feel like a puddle you’ve stepped into and can’t get out of. It was 1 AM on NH-48, and the highway stretched like a sleeping serpent under a moonless sky. Trucks rumbled past like tired beasts, their headlights slicing through the darkness, then vanishing into the void.   I found myself at a roadside eatery—a modest stall stitched together with corrugated tin sheets and tarpaulin, its edges fluttering in the night breeze like the hem of a sari caught in motion. A single yellow bulb hung overhead, casting a halo of weary light on the cracked wooden counter. The air smelled of diesel, damp earth, and something warm—tea , perhaps, or the promise of it. Behind the counter stood a woman, her hair tied in a tight bun that spoke of discipline, not vanity. She wore a faded sari , the kind that had seen many monsoons and many midnights....

Roshni had passed away two years ago. Ninad was still collecting fragments of his life. It all began fifteen years ago with rain. Not the kind that rushes down rooftops, but the kind that lingers—soft, deliberate, like a memory returning. Ninad Joshi, now 43, had then stood under the stone archway of Pune's  Sahitya Institute, watching droplets gather on the edge of his umbrella. He was there for a poetry reading, dressed in denim’s and a casual shirt  that matched the sky’s melancholy. Despite being an avid biker, he had always preferred silence to speech, metaphors to declarations. Roshni Kaur, three years younger to him , arrived late, her dupatta soaked, but her laughter and energy, louder than the thunder. She was a study in paradox's - a Kathak dancer and philosophy lecturer, born in Ludhiana and raised on verses and mustard fields. She wore a rust-colored dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her earrings chimed lightly with every step, as if announcing h...

Disclaimer –  I am musically illiterate and this is my interpretation of this great song. ☺ Gulzar had once said a good poem or ghazal is one that gives different meanings to different persons depending on their experiences and understanding. So, I take full liberty to express my views on this classic. Just ignore any mistakes that I make.   ख़ामोश - सा अफ़साना पानी से लिखा होता न तुम ने कहा होता , न हम ने सुना होता दिल   की बात न पूछ , दिल तो आता रहेगा दिल बहकता रहा है , दिल बहकता रहेगा दिल को हम ने कुछ समझाया होता ख़ामोश - सा अफ़साना … सहमे से रहते हैं , जब ये दिन ढलता है एक दिया बुझता है , एक दिया जल्ता है तुम ने कोई तो दीप जलाया होता ख़ामोश - सा अफ़साना … इतने साहिल ढूँढे , कोई न सामने आया जब मँझधार में डूबे , साहिल थामने आया तुम ने साहिल को पहले बिछाया होता ख़ामोश - सा अफ़साना … The song can be heard here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hB8giAIiAs0   The song " खामोश सा अफ़...