The Journal #20: Greatness

I wrote this as I drank some very cold coffee that had been sitting in the pot for a while. When doing the dishes after a long day, you often face the decision of throwing some very well-brewed coffee, albeit cold, down the sink or drink it. It’s seldom that I choose the former.


In some ways, I’ve always been a writer, but if I was being honest, I really began writing because I wanted to be one of the greats. I wanted to leave something behind that was celebrated for years after I disappeared.

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The Journal #18: The Eagle

This piece was written while a mug full of instant chocolate mint flavoured coffee by Beanies was getting cold.


Today, I spent the afternoon working, sipping coffee, and watching an eagle on a naked tree nearby. The eagle likes to sit on one of its twig-like branches. I watched it fly high into the sky and then dive way down, almost like a torpedo chasing a target. There was nothing else there, as I could gather after I left all my work undone and the coffee to get colder, and kept watching it.

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The Journal #17: Love

This was written late at night as a result of not a cup of coffee but some peppermint green tea.


If I were to describe how my tryst with love has been so far in life, I’d say it was like the game of pinball. Have you ever played that old arcade game? Perhaps, not in an actual arcade but I’m sure you’ve played it on a computer or a game console. In pinball, you have these two bent pins, and you move a ball to different parts of what looks like a carefully designed maze. It seems random, at first. Then, when you look closely, you see different areas. Each area has a theme and a different way that makes the ball bounce off, and as it jumps to different places, it hits some places where it makes points. Pinball is all about scoring the maximum points by bouncing off the right places; love, unfortunately, doesn’t quite work like that, though.

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The Journal #16: Action

As I wrote this over multiple days, I was mostly sipping a Dark Roast from Starbucks brewed with my French press. As the days got warmer, I switched to a cold brew Dark Roast coffee from SleepyOwl instead.


It was back in first grade if I remember correctly when I first prioritised action. It was a sloppy assignment. You see, they used to give us books to make sure our handwriting turned cursive down the line, and they gave us notes to write pages of those. Five, ten, it was up to the teacher. I remember getting up at around one at night and walking up to my parents who were up. I remember telling them that I had an assignment that I didn’t do and that I wanted to do it because it was important. So, I did the pages, howsoever many were required, and it was only then that I could go to sleep.

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The Journal #15: Promise

These words are the result of an americano from the airport concessionaire which has nothing really good about it besides the fact that it is warm.


In life, I hope whatever you do, you never promise anyone that you’ll be okay. If you can, I’d suggest you never promise anything at all. All promises are difficult to keep, especially the ones you can make easily. You know, the ones which don’t take a lot of effort. Those are the ones that last a lifetime. I hope when you’re about to utter, “I promise”, you remember these words as they are written in front of you. I hope you never utter the phrase.

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The Journal #13: Freedom

Have you ever seen the donkey and the carrot? It’s an age-old idea. Keep showing the donkey a dangling carrot, and he keeps moving. That’s what we do to ourselves when we keep mythologising our lives. Our imaginary identities, the ones after we complete the illusory quest, is the carrot. We are the donkeys. No one knows who’s sitting on us. Perhaps, those who came before us. Maybe, those around us. Maybe us, ourselves. It doesn’t matter because the donkey is tired. The donkey wants to rest. There’s so much weight on him, and yet, the carrot. Oh, the carrot. The donkey keeps moving.

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The Journal #12: Detachment

I’ve been staring at the screen for a while now. It’s been weeks, I think. It’s been enough for my coffee to get cold, and for the cold coffee cup to become empty. When I was tired of staring, I put my hands on the keyboard because what the hell, I figured, I know there’s something there. So, I put my finger on the I key of the keyboard, and then I softly tapped it about six times, syncing my tap with the blinking cursor on the blank screen, until a sentence came out.

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The Journal #11: Juncture

When I moved to Pune some six months ago, I found myself walking along a path for too long only to realise that it didn’t lead me wherever I was going. I was still getting used to the whole area. It was unfamiliar, and therefore, sometimes, I had to retrace my steps back to a juncture before I could move in what seemed to be the right direction.

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The Journal #10

I’ve been busy, to say the least. Numbers surround me for most of the day. I have tonnes of chores and reminders going on in the background. I wake up earlier than I would like usually, and when I do find a moment to sit down and reflect on things, the only reflection that manages to enter my headspace is that I’m tired and that I should get some rest.

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The Journal #9

Lately, I’ve found myself saying fewer and fewer words, and apparently, writing even fewer. It’s not for the lack of thoughts for there are many, always. I don’t feel like putting them out in sounds, paper or the screen.

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