Inkblot

A big wave! It hit hard but the sand did not dishearten. The sand was shining. The Sun, veiled in clouds, was ready to sign off for the day. The sand’s soul shattered into a hundred thousand grains, yet it remained a single body. A big wave again! The sand was cleansed to its purest, as if healing from bruised human footprints. Another giant wave! A tiny boy sought a hug, and the wave cradled him in her bosom. Foam wove patterns like silver lace on brown velvet, a fleeting masterpiece for the sand. The waves hummed lullabies to the restless shore, their song as old as the Earth. A wave again! Milky lather embraced the brown sand, soothing and consoling, lovingly. - Namrata

Every morning, I wake up to the sound of my ringing alarm, but I'm more alarmed as each hour ticks by— not by the clock, but by the gaze I cast when I look at time passing. What’s my power button? My laptop has one, in the top right corner, knowing when to power on and when to rest— so sure of itself, while I search for mine. What’s my power button? The plant in my balcony grins, its hidden button pressed by sunlight and rain. With every drop and every ray, it dances in a quiet, green sway. What’s my power button? Is it the blare of an alarm? Or the taste of my favorite brownie? Perhaps it’s the kind words I hear about myself, lifting me like a secret switch, bringing me back to life. -Namrata

Legs feel so heavy. Am I wearing a skirt? Or have they just left me naked after I was hit hard? Are my bones connected? I wish they were! I want my legs to walk on the beach, holding his hands. What if I don't keep my promise? Will he leave me behind? I want to know if my hair has grown— Maa will be happy to comb and braid it when she sees me. And where have my hands gone? I feel so numb. What do I do with my energy when I can't move? My body feels like a ship lost at sea, adrift on waters I cannot see. Though I cannot see anything, I can see everything. I see everything in green and blue, and sometimes in yellow and orange. So, are my eyes fine? I feel a small ache in my heart because I know he comes daily to see me. I remember his perfume so well. He keeps his hand here, but I wonder where my hands are. Papa stays here, being my protective angel, being my guardian. Maa comes every morning with freshly brewed coffee. My memories are so fresh, so is my mind. Time feels frozen; ...

Do you know what my backpack's like? It is black. It has quite a few zippers, ample space for all my fillers. My cat loves to curl up inside, and my dear backpack doesn't mind. It keeps a hundred secrets tight, without a hint of sass in sight. Candies and chocolates, a sweet disguise, Tangled thoughts and dreams that rise. Sometimes it’s heavy with confessions and fears, Yet it hides them all, never shedding tears. It has seen many colors, in autumn, monsoons and summers! It’s braved the blazing rays of day, and sheltered from the warm sun’s sway. When a dear friend couldn't walk beside, the backpack stayed as a loyal guide. The friend, grateful and full of cheer, appreciates the seat saved, always near. Notebook, journal, and cherished mementos, Nestled inside, keeping secrets and torments. It’s faced hunger and panic shocks, But never sneaked a bite from my lunchbox. Toner, foundation, lipstick, and hairbands, never quite where they should stand. Tablets, self-love, and g...

In the days when I don't feel good, I write letters to my friend who’s far away from me. Letters with no expression on my face— but filled with hope for a clearer mind tomorrow and brighter tomorrows to come. I reflect on the resolutions I’ve made, write about my hopes, hoping to leave the muddy waters still, to see my clear reflection tomorrow. I know my friend is selfless and kind; she reads every word. She has answers to my questions, and questions my decisions. She is the one I long to lean on. My friend is the future me, reading all these letters, one after another, consoling and strengthening me for everything I've been through. - Namrata  

Dressing up for a party, the thrill of a new gown, stitched for a friend's wedding. Going to work, in professional attire, feels good. But your heart still longs for the worn, familiar black t-shirt. Its fabric, almost faded, has seen so much— like the soul wrapped within it. Lipstick stains, flecks of foundation, the scent of your favorite pasta, and drool from sleepy nights. It’s weathered countless days, through laughter and tears, stretched and pulled, yet never torn. Each thread tells a story— of resilience, of comfort, of all the moments woven into its seams. Who is your eternal love? Without hesitation, it's the black t-shirt— nourishing you with unconditional warmth, even after thousands of washouts.