Halfway To Asphodel

"What do you do when you're happy?"

The leaves of the plant seemed to lap up the sunlight, just the way a hungry being would. I watered it regularly, yet it didn't seem like it was having an effect, its long, once luscious leaves were drying up. Of what I knew of plants, they needed sunlight, water and soil, something I believe I had provided. The plant was gifted to me by a well wisher, saying, "you're now the father of this plant." I do not know what plant it is, but I figure it's a house plant, potted and me

Chauhan pens his newfound infatuation.

If you've been paying attention - and I won't blame you if you haven't - you'd have noticed that I don't write fiction as much as I write non fiction. Granted, on my recent track record you can say that I don't write at all, but that would not be totally true. But yes, I don't write fiction. For me fiction is everything false and pretentious we have as humanity. No other species is so self-absorbed to let go of reality to such an extent that they forge untruthful faux realiti

I'm done with the metaphors. I'm done with the similes. I'm tired of analogies and trying to explain things by the means of examples. I'm exhausted. This might be the most raw post I've ever written, careless in the expectation of its aftermath, carefree in its reaction. I want to let my fingers glide across the keyboard, untethered and free. If only I could. Not because someone bar myself is stopping me. But because even the normally simple and easy task of writing is a huge

"He will try to dissuade you," Master Tai had said. "He will use his powers of speech and charm to make you give up and give in. Make sure you don't." Funnily enough, Mling never noticed any kind of charm in the devil's speech. Sure, like every evil protagonist he had a tendency to dive into monologues, but the more he zoned into his speech the more sense it made. But Mling was told to not listen, not pander to his powers. "Your words shall have no effect on me, Surumajn;" Ml

Everyone strives for what they think they’re bound: pain a pound, love profound, and a life abound. But then, why do I seek to go back? What do I seek when I say I want to be back? Why do I wish to breathe as I did, live as I did, and sadly, attach myself and love as I did? Every passing day I realise that I lived unhealthily. Breathed superficially and loved inappropriately. Yet, why do those imperfections in my way of life still seem like a destination to be reached or a pl

I have been struggling with my mental health since long, and I finally decided to see a psychiatrist for it. Long story short, I have clinical anxiety depression. I don’t want to go into details, but my road to recovery starts here. The doctor told me to avoid my sources of stress for the time being until my brain’s ability to handle stress improves. So I’m taking his cue. I’m quitting every form of social media. And thus, putting a pause on my writing. I’m going into a prope

Time travels. And time-travels. The entire escapade of humanity can be defined within that hyphen. Humanity has bequeathed a very predictable pattern in various - or almost all - of its attempts to liven things up. Things start with an unquenched naivety, followed by reluctant yet imperative ignorance, caught up by wistful chasing and regret. And nothing highlights this journey as the squandering of time and the Hotel California style stay in that squandered time. And that is

I have contemplated becoming a carefree psychopath exactly four times in my life, always with a resolute gusto and an absolute lack of empathy, and each time it has ingrained itself in my life history as distinctly joyous yet short-lived bouts of ecstasy. I thought this was reflective of my tendency to be evil, an insufficient fear of god, and my willingness to break free; but it is only as I pen this right now, silent on my back in the midst of a pandemic enforced lockdown,

Videos of dogs being rescued have become the smile providers I need at times. But it also fuels in me a great curiosity.

As it is very aptly said, “yaadein, yaad aati hain”.

Apologising is one of the basic manners taught to children in school, told to be used frequently, and advised to be taken in unconditionally

Chauhan's writes a story about love - lost and found.

Chauhan's pen reeks his need to trudge on.