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The Observer

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  Kabir looked at his watch. The second hand had stopped. He waited, almost expecting it to move if he gave it enough time. It didn’t. Across the office, Rhea was typing. A phone rang near the reception desk. Someone laughed in the conference room. Outside the window, a bus pulled away from the traffic signal. Everything else was moving. Only the watch had fallen silent. Kabir turned his wrist towards the light. The silver case caught the afternoon sun. He held it close to his ear. Nothing. His grandfather had worn the watch for almost forty years. Kabir still remembered his hands winding it every evening, slowly and carefully, as though time could be persuaded to behave. Three days before his grandfather died, he had taken the watch off and placed it in Kabir’s palm. “Take care of it.” Kabir laughed. “I’ll lose it.” “You’ll lose many things,” his grandfather had said. “Don’t lose time.” The memory passed. Kabir looked at the watch again. His chest had begun to tighten. He loosened...
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The Taste of Onions

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  While sorting through some old files, I came across The Taste of Onions , a short story that was published in Woman's Era nearly a decade ago. Somehow, I never got around to sharing it with readers of this blog. I'm happy to do so now. It is an interesting tale about the quiet sacrifices that often go unnoticed in everyday life. Looking back after all these years, I find that the story is less about onions and more about love, dignity, and the human capacity to rise above the ordinary. I am happy to share it here with readers who may have missed it when it first appeared in print. 📖 Read the Story:   The Taste of Onions Originally published in Woman's Era (March Second, 2016).
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From Death to Deathlessness: My Experience at Osho Fragrance Meditation Retreat, Sonipat

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You are going to die. The question is—have you ever truly understood what that means? I  recently attended a six-day immersive meditation program at Osho Fragrance, Sonipat. The theme of the program was From Death to Deathlessness — Mrityoma Amritam Gamaye. And it stayed. Not as an idea. But as a quiet disturbance. In life, everything derives meaning from its opposite. Light is meaningful because darkness exists. Happiness is felt because pain has been known. And life… Life gains its depth because death is there. Remove death, and life becomes flat. Mechanical. Just endless repetition. Wake up. Work. Return. Sleep. Repeat. We begin to mistake this cycle as the end game. A better career. A bigger house. A more luxurious car. Social validation. Relationships. Responsibilities. All necessary. But not sufficient. Because okay is not enough. There is a deeper truth we avoid. We come alone. We go alone. And in between… we remain alone. Whether we accept it or not. But man resists this. H...
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Location: Sonipat, Haryana, India
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Maybe She Never Existed

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  Tara and I worked in the same office. Different departments. Same floor. We mostly met near the coffee machine or during lunch breaks when both of us wanted to avoid people. She worked in Marketing. I worked in Operations. This meant she attended meetings with expressions. I attended meetings with spreadsheets. For nearly two years, our friendship survived entirely on coffee, sarcasm, and office gossip. Then one Tuesday morning, I showed her an email. “Read this,” I said. She took my phone casually. Then stopped stirring her coffee. The mail was short. From: unknown.sender19@protonmail.com To: varun.p@brightline.com If you talk to other women here, I will kill you. Tara looked at me. Then at the screen again. “Well,” she said softly, “that feels slightly unhealthy.” “I received it ten minutes ago.” “On your office mail?” “Yes.” She sat down slowly. The cafeteria around us remained perfectly ordinary. Coffee machines hissed. Somebody laughed too loudly near the billing counter. Tw...
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Location: India
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