A letter to someone not-s0-valuable but deemed to be important

Sender’s name 
[Disha Khemchandani]
Apartment name and number 
[Like hell]
Street name
[I am]
Area code
[Going to say so that it finds me once again]

Recipient’s name 
Apartment name and number
Street name
Area code

Subject: Declaration of hate

Hope you are not doing well.
I hate you. I cannot imagine that I would have to say this, but yes I do. Since the time I have understood what it is like to feel you, and to have you lead me towards all those walks down the memory lane; I have just been on a downward spiral. You are the anchor that ties me down to every memory that drills a hole in my heart. 
No, I don’t want you to recreate that coffee shop scene when I cracked a ‘joke’ and He no. 1 sat with a still face, while I sip on my Frappucino now in 2016. No I don’t want to remember that hospital where dad breathed his last, while an ambulance goes past by me in 2013. No I don’t want to think about the simplicity of the 90s with you twirling to the tune of ‘Ho gayi hai mohabbat tumse’, while I am trying to make sense of my professional life in 2016. No I don’t want to think about the perfection and organisational skills of He no. 2 while He no. 3 struggles to arrange the perfect date. I am just happy that He no.3 is the only person, who accepts me and I don’t want you to ruin something that is shaping up well. No, I also don’t want you to creep into my typos and give me the impression that the misspelled name is the right one for me. 
Nostalgia, you are a witch. You will find your way from the deepest of the holes and chant the choicest of the curses to again put me off-track. Like you always do. 
Nostalgia, you are a message in a bottle, which nobody wants to find on an ‘off’ day by the beach, while he or she hopes for a better tomorrow. 
Nostalgia, you are a letter, which I will never post. But I will make a boat, and sail it, hoping that the universe listens to me. I would want it to put some reins on your horses. And in the next world, it should place you on one of those planets that are never discovered and only theorised in books. 
Yours. Never, 


Free writing-Dad

I have built you a grave in my words and art. I know if you can see me from up there, you will want me to visit you more often. Maybe mould you in different words or sketch you in different ways. Even if I am not able to do that, your thoughts never leave me alone. They are like still air in my mind. Sometimes, they transition into a breeze and my eyes water.

When you were taken away from me and when I wrote my T.Y.B.A essay on your demise, I thought after that essay, I will not have anything more to say. That will be me putting flowers on your grave and moving on. But, that never happened. I kept revisiting you in various ways and all the time, the pain of you going away would show me some wisdom, which the previous time I missed.

When your memories flow over to my shores, even if I am in the worst of my moods, for that time, I pause. I soak it all in. I give myself the privilege of tearing up for that short while. Considering with you, my ability to cry for hours also passed away.

With you, a part of me passed away. That girl with whom you had fun, with whom you watched movies, with whom you discussed DDLJ in great detail, with whom you watched movies for an entire week in the theater, with whom you guffawed over meals…That girl is long gone with you. I don’t think she will ever return. I might see her memory in glimpses, but I will never see her again. She left your memory with me. Organic and whole. But for that, she had to go in entirety. For, she cannot exist with the memory of you dying. Your death was a growing up call for her. To get me into this world, you took her along with yourself. I can see her leaving with you. Wearing a cream frock, holding on to you and leaving with you

Thoughts of you are enough to add chaos to an already chaotic mind. Especially during the peak days of the month. I go on that thinking trail and then somewhere, work suffers.

I tell myself that it will be fine the next time, but somehow, I always screw up.

When you passed away, there was so much anger within me. And as the days passed, your memory remained intact and somewhere all that anger faded away. Now when I think of it, that anger had kept me together. Those extremities had held me from falling apart. In the present day, the memory of you is enough to crumble me. I keep doing so many things. I zentangle, teach, write and I also joined an initiative of mentoring a street child, but still the depth of the void in my heart created by your absence is directly proportional to all of this.

After you have gone, I have got this habit of affirming what I already know is right. It has got me into trouble so many times. People often think that I have low self-confidence and low self-esteem, which is quite true. No matter how I camouflage it, people are able to see through it.

This brings me to my two years in advertising. They started off well. I actually thought that maybe this is what I can do and should do, but boy! I was wrong or what. There are so many worlds within us, which we hide with such efficiency. If you have confidence issues, then be assured, nobody will even have an inkling of the amazing person you can be. My time in advertising probably hid my worlds to such a depth that recovering them now might need some archaeological excavation.

In this jibber jabber of the digital world, I often think what all have I missed. I forgot to ask you some important questions. The one that comes to my mind immediately right now is about your fear. What did you fear? What made you want to hold on something so tight that you never ever want to let go again? I never realised that even you could be scared of something. I always thought that nothing can scare superheroes, but maybe something did give you nightmares.

I remember watching you at Daddy’s funeral. If my memory has not ditched me, he was 83 when he passed away. Your eyes were starting to brim with tears. I remember asking you that were you ok. I had still not realised the gravity of the situation. You lost your father. I had you. I did not know what it felt like to have your blanket snatched from you. Even though daddy was 83, I am certain he must be your superhero.

Closures are so important. Last words stay on the mind all the time. In our case, I’d say screams. I will narrate your tale in different ways, but six years don’t seem like six years. There are times when I miss you so much that I’d just want myself to be split open and sometimes the pain is such that my fingers find order on the keyboard, hoping that the sound of the keys is enough to outdo the noise of the chaos. My mind still goes back to that day, when you were ill and you wanted to go to the movies and I told you that once you were fine, we will go. But, that never happened.

When I start to write, I want to say so many things, but coming till this point feels as if I have fought countless dementors’ kisses. Maybe, this is why I can speak of you in different ways all the time. Because, I am never done. I’m never over. There are so many things to say that even time runs out of its allocated time for these conversations between you and I.


I have no form. Nobody can even guess how I look like. That is the best part. Even my creator has no idea about my appearance.

People have always pounced on me. They call me the sole reason of their distress. But, have you given a thought to what your life would be, if I was not there. There wouldn’t have been any challenge for you to overcome. It would have been all easy and everything would have been served on a platter.

Still there are some mad souls who seek to find me. Let’s give you a clue. I am the gift you get when your close one dies. It is not a one-sided transaction you see. You lose some and you get some. This is just one of the ways where you can find me. Though, I have seen people going crazy when they are desperately trying to deal with me. Idiots! All of them.

Now once I am in your life, I will take away everything that has belonged to you. For instance, loved your boyfriend too much? I may just send in one of my rookies to come between both of you. Of course! You also make my job easy. With the thirst to stand up on your feet, by suppressing your grief and supposedly trying to be all strong, you make it so much easier for me to penetrate…your mind!

Now all of you call me a villain. But, when you overcome all this, you come out much stronger. I am there for a purpose. I am like that bitter medicine you need at times to find yourself and all the philosophical crap. However, there is a catch. If you cannot deal with me, you will be forever stuck in the rut. I am like quicksand. If you find your way out, good for you. But, if not, then God bless you with all the illusions I will show you.


( In memory of a friend who was fearless, enjoyed life to the fullest, my support, spoke French like it was a child’s play, armed with an unmatchable sense of humour and wit and a bloody awesome writer!)

I had a listless expression on my face. I was doodling random lines and imagining it to be a great piece of art. He sat next to me and was looking at my ‘art’ with an amused expression. After a moment of silence, he looks at me with wonder and says, “Tune toh M. F.Hussain ko bhi peeche chodh diya.”
I burst out in the loudest laugh ever, only to be reprimanded by my professor. Years later, I sit in the class resisting the soporific air, only to realise that heaven is echoing with his laughter and his comments on my doodles.

RIP Jigar Sheth. You are deeply missed.


“ You have to come with me now”, said he.

“ I told you, I still have to do some more things here”, said she.

“ But, what about my duties”, said he.

“ Come on, you have to buy me some more time. The end result will be worth it. Trust me”, said she.

“ You know I am answerable to my boss”, said he.

“ I know, but I will talk to him. He has always adored me. I know that”, she said with a mischievious glint.

This conversation went on for many years. He tried to wangle his way out, but she was firm on her decision. In front of her adorableness, even he had to bend.

Until one day, she finally said, “ It’s time!”

Finally, the angel was able to convince Zohra Sehgal to come to heaven and spread some joy there too.

In memory of the most beautiful and grand old lady of cinema. (1912-2014)


Chowmein causes rape,

An Iron rod that left incurable scars,

A proposed ban on sex education,

A terror attack that not just took countless lives,

The carcasses of the Badaun girls that were hung by the tree,

All these and many more had evinced,

The slow death of Humanity.