Letter to a Stranger #4 Walking Catastrophe

Dear Walking Catastrophe,

You take my breath away, literally. I can’t breathe while knowing that you exist in the same universe as I do and still so far away. It makes it so hard to go on living, do you understand this feeling?

Probably not.

You are so unaware in your naivety, it would make me laugh if it didn’t twist my gut ever so often. I feel elated in just knowing you. life would be meaningless otherwise. You make me look at humans in a different light. But hell, it is unbearable to go on existing after that. It is like my life went still the moment I realised it. but the world just moves on and so do you. My ever-changing , ever-growing, out-of-reach muse. I think you’d destroy me if we ever touched.

I can’t decide what I want more and what I fear more. Seeing you once and being assured that you are all that I think and more and then knowing that you would still be out of reach or never seeing you at all and living with the burden of that unfulfilled desire that all the light that existed in the universe specifically for me, I would never get to breathe in.

The last time I laughed truly out of my core was over your lame joke and smile. The first time I felt truly alive was the first time we talked all night. And it is this point of obsession with which I know you, that would scare you away if you ever met me. because you know all the best parts of me and you are them personified.

And yet, there exists this darkness inside me that only seeing you can subside. But as the time grows and so does the distance and so do I, the darkness also grows within me, and I fall farther and farther out of light.

I think if I saw you walking by, i wouldn’t stop to call your name, and if i showed up at your doorstep, you wouldn’t remember my name. Because it’s the inevitable sweetie, we were never meant to be.

I exist in a paradox and you’re a walking Catastrophe.

There’s so much more that I could say, that I should say but I would not. Because nothing would ever be enough.

All the love in the world won’t suffice,



Letter to a Stranger #3 The Unseemly psychopath

Dear, ‘I’m not a man, I’m an idea’,

Here’s an idea for you.

We’re all so better with masks. You wear yours at times and then take it off too. Yet, you have a problem with the second skin I’m wearing.
You weren’t lying when you said you are all of these. But I am too. And somehow you seem to have a problem with that.
Now that’s the biggest sign of hypocrisy.
You’re an idea, you say, different people in one body. But do YOU like yourself? Behind the pretence of awesomeness, because trust me, I’ve been there. I’ve acted that way. I loved myself to death and hated me too.
I think you’re the same. What’s even more shocking is that you won’t admit it either. Like I don’t. You lie to yourself just as much and as much as you’re helping others, just like I used to do, you’re forgetting to help yourself.
You’re always afraid, terrified that it would all fall apart. Or maybe you are not because you refuse to think about it. I did too. And see, you’re going to be hating me for drawing all these comparisons. Because you hate when i do that. think that I’m like someone or someone is like me. Because we’re all different people with our individuality. but you know what?

Sometimes we have similar defence mechanism and yours definitely resembles mine.
This safe home that you’re creating for everyone would alienate you.
And yet if you ever read this, you’d never admit it. Because, surprise surprise, you lie to yourself as well.
You and I aren’t so different. In some areas, we are. Completely opposite. Or actually not. You have a very positive outlook on how people should live their lives, feel their emotions. I do too. But for others.
Not for myself.
And that’s how you are. You want all this for others too.
Never doing the same for yourself.
So tell me, when you look in the mirror, what do you see? All the advice you give me, are you just repeating the words to convince yourself as well?
When you try to peek in behind my walls, are you strengthening your own?
What a word. Yeah, it angers me. But you don’t.
Somehow, I pity you. Because I see myself in you. And well, I pity myself too. When I’m not busy hating myself or loving myself that is.
You’re tired aren’t you? About being identified by your past, your tragedies. Because that isn’t who you are.
But you’re forgetting that it is a part of you and it has helped you make you who you are.
You’re always trying to see triggers of others, persistently, avoiding yours.
It makes me smile, quite often.
It makes me think of you even more. Is this how I will be in a few years? Or worse.
I’m too young to know. A kid, as you say. And I think you haven’t aged much either. You just got better at pretending. So better that you created an image and then became it. But your real self came out occasionally, so you moulded it too.
And now it’s all gotten so complicated that you don’t even know who you are so you accept this personality. The unique ideas, the joker, the Moriarty, the unseemly Psychopath.
If given a chance for a fresh start, would you take it? Or are you just bored and tired now and death is the only light at the end of the tunnel?
Sometimes I think you just need to cry it out.. all the sadness and malice inside you. Or you just need a tight hug. But you wouldn’t like that. If you’re like me, you hate being touched too or any intimate physical contact. All YOU need is love, but you’re not at a point where you’ll accept it.
I don’t know what to think anymore. All the worst parts of myself, all the terrible personalities of me that I share with some, all my insecurities. They’re basically you, personified.
I think that’s why I talk to you even when it brings out the worst pathetic selves of me out on the edge.
I’m a masochist at heart.
And, you are too. But I bet you wouldn’t admit that either. Because you’re worse than me.
I’m a masochist, not suicidal. I want to hurt myself. You want to stop existing.
Who needs more help here?

I knew you long before you knew me, from your bio that you let everyone see to the little things that you don’t. You don’t know me well enough yet but when I get interested in a person, I get hella curious and then I have to know them. It’s an urge. You think I was a target, so YOU befriended me. I left that train on purpose so you would find me. And then I just had to wait and you came like a fly on honey. Keeping the conversation going wasn’t too hard and I’m not ashamed to admit it that you surprised me, with your thoughts but mainly with your insights.

I knew you were good, but not that good. So I had to adapt. I had to become exactly what you were expecting me to be. What can I say, it is what I do. I mould into people’s perceptions of me. If you met 30 people, each who think they know me the best and you line up their stories and opinions of me, it wouldn’t match up. Those different personalities in a body. I’ve been doing that long before you. I’ve gotten quite good at it. Only I let the personality depend on you and then carry it from there.

Apologies, we’re here to talk about you, not me.

The thing is, you let me in. Because you thought it would get me to open up and you were right. I’m still not sure how much of your stories I believe and how much is a lie. But it worked like a charm. But while you think you are helping me, I don’t know, maybe on a subconscious level you are, as much as I would let you, I am also using you.

Raw material.

It’s quite fun. I think you would like it. You take inspiration from people and write what you want. Well, I let myself become the inspiration and write people. Every person I’ve met, if they’re even mildly interesting, then I have a whole image in my mind, a whole story waiting to be unravelled with them as the centrepiece and so far darlin, you are doing the job magnificently. Playing right into my hands. And I hope you never find out. Not until you are all used up or until I get bored of you. Whichever happens first.

But I have faith in the universe so i’m sharing this alright, with a firm belief that you’d never land here. That you’d never find this and even if you do, you wouldn’t believe it is about you because baby, you live in denial. You think me a white swan, an angel with the germ of humanity. And I’m a leech, who has just been pretending for far too long.

All writers are liars and if you disagree, well hello there, fellow writer. 🙂

With undying love that does fade away,

Dolores Umbridge/ ALEX

Letter to a Stranger #2 Dilemma

Dear Stranger,

You are a walking paradox, do you know that? With your always plastered smile on your face and the tonnes of stress you walk around with. I don’t think I’ve seen a person as smart, hard-working and yet laid back as you (unless I look in the mirror) but you’re still more than all that.

Why did you have to ruin it?

I was having so much fun keeping you in that perfect light, admiring you from afar until one reckless moment of courage when I texted you that Sherlock quote. I guess it was all doomed from the start.

But it didn’t end being that bad. Those conversations were moments I cherished. my heart skipped a beat with the ping of the message and I find so many similarities between you and Stranger #1 that I’m starting to think I do have a type and it’s the unavailable ones who wouldn’t look at me twice but still give me hope with the ocassional conversation. The perfect lives of yours that you’ve given so much time to create is so tempting, but you wouldn’t let me peak in it, all for your constant effort to keep it as it is.

And I was getting used to it, letting the attraction fade away until one fine day one thing or other led me back to you. I don’t blame my best friend for wanting to know you too and I  definitely don’t blame her for not liking you the way I do. She’s stronger than I am. But she understands it still, only you don’t.

You do things, to make it known that you are aware of my existence and yet you refuse, to let me take a larger part in your life. What a dilemma it is, to try and carry on the way we are or just move away, let it die.

But I can’t do anything until I know what YOU want and I can’t know that until I know you well enough to ask. So it is a paradox after all.

So I sit here, typing my frustrations out because I am a coward to ask you directly that Hey, Monsieur? Would you like to go get some coffee?

Not love, but a crush for sure


Letter to a Stranger #1 Infinite

Dear Stranger,

There’s a gaping hole where your figure always loomed. I’m afraid to look, because if I don’t, I can assume that you are still standing there, indifferent to my gaze but… there. But if I do look, from the corner of my eyes, your absence will steal the last fragment of hope that I’m holding on to.

It has taken me a lot of time to admit this to myself. To stop thinking of this feeling as a petty nuisance. To stop thinking of you as an obsession. Because honestly, that is what you were to me.

Someone, I could look up to – with your always punctual never-changing routine, your sorted out life, your belief/ faith, the sense of control over yourself. I didn’t envy you. I had no wish to ever be like you but it must feel good eh? I just wanted to feel that way.. Atleast once. So I followed you. I observed you. I became you, if only for a day. I tried to befriend you. We were friends I think, or so you said.

( this is all sounding too stalkerish. It’s not, trust me. This is how I am with anyone I admire. They take up space in all my thoughts at the point of obsession. It’s normal. Borders on unhealthy but… I guess that’s why it would have never worked out between us. I would have cared too much. You not enough).

But you lied to me.

Or maybe you just deceived.

Or Maybe I’m the one at fault.

You said we were friends. But you didn’t say goodbye.

You should’ve knocked at my door if I wasn’t around like I knocked at yours six times ( not counting the one where you left the door open especially for me). I did like how considerate and nice you were or are. I don’t know what to think anymore. There’s no one in this world I’ve given this much importance to. What is so different with you?

It felt like you were seriously making an effort. Being the introvert you are, when you striked up conversations on days I felt too tired to think of a conversation starter, I rejoiced in those moments of victory. I was finally wearing you down to accept my friendship.

But maybe you were just being polite. Or a little worried when I was silent. Because it usually meant I was sick or something.

Now that I think about it, the signs were always there. That you didn’t want my friendship or anybody’s for that matter. You were quite content in your solace.

When I asked if I annoyed you with my questions and you answered ‘quite frequently’… I should have taken the hint. But then you didn’t accept my apology and that made me think maybe you enjoyed me pestering you.

And when you mentioned that you didn’t let anyone get close enough to you, I took it as a personal challenge to change that.

I wanted to make this.. Us … Important for you. Tables got turned and now I’m stranded.

Between hurt and indifferent. Okay, not indifferent. Because it is bothering me too much.

Was it when I wouldn’t let you stay quiet? Was it when I asked too many probing questions? Was it when I wanted to stay in touch even afterwards? When did you decide that you were tired of me intruding on your solitude?

For one second, I can forgive you. But you didn’t say goodbye to anyone. People who cared for you, liked you… You just disappeared with no word and left behind no trace of your existence.

There’s just that empty space that your body should be occupying. A remnant of your shadow. Me mistaking people for you, only to realise they don’t quite fit the description.

I still follow the same routine that you and I did. It will take some time to break the habit but the will is just not there anymore, nor the excitement.

The only time I let myself be vulnerable and it ends up being like this. I guess subconsciously I specifically chose such people whom I have no chance in a million years to befriend. The perfect ones. The quiet shy genius ones.

I connect with the flawed ones. They are the ones I click with.

But I always want more.

I want the impossible.

I want to prove that I am capable of something different.

And it hurts to lose.

I have an image in my head.

Of your long lashes, the expressions you made, the rare instance when you smiled and the one thing I got to see a lot. Your cute face.

As long as I am here, I will think of you. It is hard not to. But when I leave, I’ll erase every trace of your existence.

I will be the one to say goodbye once and for all.

I haven’t touched.. The folder with your details in it. Yes I got one. Because I’m a forgetful little thing but I wanted to remember every little thing about you.

I haven’t seen the show that I took only for the chance to discuss it with you. It all seems pointless now.

I have replayed the sound of those sitar strings a hundred times in my head and I still regret interrupting you.

I have played so many scenarios in my head. What I could have done differently? If I could go back to not knowing you at all, would I still ask that lame question? Would I still make an effort knowing it won’t mean shit in the end?

I don’t know. I don’t think I’d be able to resist.

You are just too tempting because you were everything I’m not but wished to be, once upon a time.

I thought I was okay with my imperfections, even proud of my flaws but you made me realise how much I crave perfection still. How much I want, no crave, to lead a simple sorted life with no complications, no intense emotions. My brain says BORING but my heart really wants it. It has grown tired and weary already. There’s only so much it can handle and endure.

But no same case with you, is it?


It fits I guess.

No Love, just a lingering hope to get a glimpse again


Two years, Eight Months and Twenty-Eight days by Salman Rushdie

tumblr_n6hno2qIxr1sfxmouo1_500Two Years Eight Months and Twenty-Eight Nights

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My Rating: 3/5 stars

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Hardcover, 304 pages
Published 2015 by Random House

About this book:

Inspired by 2,000 years of storytelling yet rooted in the concerns of our present moment, this is a spectacular achievement–enchanting, both very funny and terrifying. It is narrated by our descendants 1000 years hence, looking back on “The War of the Worlds” that began with “the time of the strangenesses”: a simple gardener begins to levitate; a baby is born with the unnerving ability to detect corruption in people; the ghosts of two long-dead philosophers begin arguing once more; and storms pummel New York so hard that a crack appears in the universe, letting in the destructive djinns of myth (as well as some graphic superheroes). Nothing less than the survival of our world is at stake. Only one, a djinn princess who centuries before had learned to love humankind, resolves to help us: in the face of dynastic intrigue, she raises an army composed of her semi-magical great-great–etc.–grandchildren–a motley crew of endearing characters who come together to save the world in a battle waged for 1,001 nights–or, to be precise, two years, eight months and twenty-eight nights Continue reading

The Colours of Passion by Sourabh Mukherjee

This book is provided by Arudha Club in exchange for a genuine review.

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My Ratings: 4/5 stars

Genre: Thriller, Suspense

About this Book:

“Who killed Tollywood heart-throb Hiya Sen? Within days of her fairy-tale wedding with Manav Chauhan, the dashing young entrepreneur, Hiya Sen, the reigning queen of Tollywood, is brutally raped and murdered by three men. As ACP Agni Mitra investigates into the high-profile murder, he meets Neha Awasthi, with whom Manav broke his engagement to marry Hiya, Neha’s father Deepak Awasthi, who was eyeing business benefits through the alliance, Mayank Kapoor, an alcoholic model, and Rituja Bose, the diva who had reigned over Tollywood over the past decade. When two more murders connected with the case make headlines, it’s time for Agni to find answers to perplexing questions and unveil shocking truths.

The Colours of Passion breezes through Kolkata’s glamorous world of industrialists, movie stars, models and fashion designers laced with drug addiction and illicit liaisons, with a heart-wrenching tragedy at its core.

My Review:

The colours of passion by Sourabh Mukherjee is an interesting thriller that begins with the rape and murder of a popular Tollywood actress.

As the attackers are identified and jailed, a trail begins to form that shows that there are bigger parties at play there. I like how the story had a strong start with which to intrigue the readers so as to keep building the suspense.  The language and the writing style itself supports the thrill that the plot tries to build. The introduction of ACP Agni, the person who has a strong passion towards solving cases is also well done and his character remains so strong throughout. The doubt as to who the murderer vpuld be remained in my mind till the mystery was solved so it was not predictable in any way. 

Another positive point would have to be the editor who didn’t let a single error remain in the book. 

The author seems to me like a person who wants to raise the name of Indian literature with his compelling stories and and crisp writing. 

As the single killing of Hiya Sen turns into an event of serial killing, it makes the premise more intense and every character is a suspect. The justification of characters and the carefully concealed agenda of the crime made this story distinctive.

I would recommend this book to all suspense lovers.

About the Author:

Sourabh Muherjee is the author of the psychological thriller *In the Shadows of Death: A Detective Agni Mitra Thriller* and *Romance Shorts*, a collection of dark-romance short stories. His books have been highly appreciated by readers, bloggers and the mainstream national media. Sourabh received the Golden Pen Award in the Monsoon Romance Contest 2014 organised by Sulekha.com and judged by an eminent panel of literary luminaries.

Sourabh speaks in several events on a variety of topics. His points of view in a panel discussion on serial killings, occult crimes and ritual killings in the Supernatural Literary Festival, Kolkata (2017) with the legendary Ipsita Ray Chakraverty was highly appreciated. He was also an invited panelist in a debate organised by Rotary Club, Kolkata on International Women’s Day, 2017.

Sourabh writes a column for *Sportskeeda*, India’s largest all-sport website. His articles have been featured in *Yahoo Sports* too.

An Electronics and Telecommunications Engineer from Jadavpur University, Kolkata with a Post Graduate Diploma in Management from School of Management Studies, New Delhi, in his day-job, Sourabh works in a senior leadership position in a technology consulting multi-national. Author of several publications on emerging trends in business and technology, Sourabh speaks regularly in various national and global conferences and technology summits.

A keen observer of human behaviour and cultural diversities, Sourabh loves travelling and has travelled across USA and various countries in Europe and Asia. An avid reader of fiction, Sourabh is equally passionate about photography, movies and music.