d_demandasaurus

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Aatmarama

I met Aatmarama on a quiet stretch of beach, where the sea was patient to us all. While we struggled with surfboards and waves, he came and lay beside me a stray, perhaps, or perhaps simply free. At some point he rested his head on my arms and slept, as if trust were the most ordinary thing in the world. When we began to leave, I told him not to follow. But he did. Again. And again. I remember thinking then that affection was permission. That if someone chose your company, you could choose for them in return. So I lifted him and took him with me to my shelter, believing I was doing something kind. But kindness that assumes is often just another form of arrogance. My shelter was not safe for him. Something went wrong. He was hurt. Scars where there should have been none. And the anger came quietly, sharp, deserved, and unforgiving. “You were trusted.” “You were family.” “You should have known better.” The words were not loud because of rage alone; they were loud because disapp...

Minutes to doomsday of a year

Headlines talk in fire, I answer in code, Public scars flash, private fractures erode. Time loads the chamber, truth stays untold, This year doesn’t end it starts to unfold. JANUARY The news says a blade learned a famous address, walls failed, security blinked, blood answered the door. I learned quieter violence emails shaped like exits, praise wrapped around traps, being asked to kneel by people who once learned how to stand from me. No sirens. Just the sound of self-respect grinding its teeth. FEBRUARY A voice on a screen ignites the country, everyone shouting about limits, decency, law. I watched my own limits rot politely. Dreams packed away like winter clothes, hands busy with dust, water, repetition I clipped myself before anyone else could aim. MARCH A nation wins again, history replayed on loop, gold held high where doubt can’t reach. I won something too then distrusted the silence that followed. Chose the lower ground, because at least it felt solid, even if it brui...

Bombay Gotham

I stand on an island surrounded by the sea, a place that never wanted itself to be Where the Victorian Gothic facades rise like hymns of another century, and the stone animals perched upon them breathe a silence that outlives every monsoon, every riot, every crumbling of the present. Owls with carved feathers guard the library domes, their eyes wide as if they alone can read the secrets the city hides beneath its noise. Cats, slender and alert, arch above courthouse arches, watching justice arrive late, as it always does here. Reptiles coil around forgotten pillars, their stone tails wrapped in stories that no one remained to finish. Grotesques cling to cornices with teeth bared sentinels of vanished fears, echoes of an empire that carved its nightmares into the body of the city. And beneath them, Bombay rearranges itself. Streets widen; skylines rise; old doors vanish behind new glass; war offices turn into cafés where people speak of futures the past could never have imagined. S...

9.42 pm Metro

Tuesday, I wait for the train. I stare into the tunnel, expecting the light to curl in from the left. It never does. Like most things lately, I get the direction wrong. Saturday felt right for five minutes. A decision dressed up as courage because someone clapped for it. I let myself believe that applause was truth. It wasn’t. It was me begging for reassurance and calling it bravery so I could sleep. Closure I pretend I want it. But the part of me that feeds on “what if” keeps the door open, just enough for hope or delusion to slip through. My heart is full of unsent sentences. My throat is clogged with things I will never say out loud. My mind has replayed Sunday so many times, it’s losing colour. Sunday told me, clearly, that I am not important. Monday repeated it, as if I needed confirmation. Still, here I am, waiting in this tunnel for a light that isn’t meant for me, even though everything outside is brig...

Jurrasic Heart

I was born in the amber-dark, a creature stitched from instincts and fractures, always mistaking survival for purpose. My heart has been a park running on failing generators alarms muttering, fences flickering, order collapsing one tremor at a time. The kind of place where love becomes the first creature to escape containment. I’ve chased every warm silhouette through the ferns, never understanding that affection isn’t engineered, isn’t summoned with codes or coaxed with control. It is wild a ripple in a still pool that foretells something larger than me. Chaos theory keeps laughing in my ear: a breath, a blink, a misplaced fear and everything changes. Not because fate is cruel but because I still try to cage what was never mine. I see it now in the ruins of my own making: I’ve been the malfunction, the cracked pipe, the quiet system failure that lets the beasts roam free. To love is not to electrify the fences, nor demand the jungle kneel. To love is...

Changes

The sea’s running a fever again Clouds gossip above the costal hue deciding who’ll cry first. I try to clear the grey, Thunder turns blunder Another looming cloud awaits Then, out of nowhere, the sky does a soft reset. Wave crashing like memories old the traffic sighs back to life. Smog around, no clouds around Even in sunlight, I’m half-drenched Bombay doesn’t do closure, just drizzle all the way