Rage and Love!

Isn’t it funny how you can go from loving somebody unconditionally to hating them in a split second

Isn’t it funny how the rage can consume you

can completely devour you

can chew you up only to spit you back out

completely disheveled and naked

left bare with nothing but hate as your compass points north

what’s even funnier is how easy it is to allow it to

it’s funny how a single moment can be flipped 180

it’s funny how in a split second everything can change

what’s even funnier is how no one could have known, yet everyone acts accordingly, as if they knew this would happen

as if they were rehearsing

as if they were waiting for this moment subconsciously

isn’t it funny how rage works

it feeds you fear and mistrust

it lives off the darkest aspects of you

it lives off of your anger, your hatred, your every dark feeling

and just like at an orchestra

it pulls every dark feeling together into one coherent mass

and just like that, it’s like a wave of emotions have hit you and you’re too dazed to fully comprehend

isn’t it funny how rage does that to a person

they act like soldiers

like little marionettes

in a twisted play

a play called life

and isn’t it funny how life works

it’s funny how you can switch from rage to sadness in a split second

kind of like flipping the light switch

and just like that, your rage is gone

and what’s replaced it is something else

something deeper

it’s called sadness

it’s funny how you can keep flipping through your emotions

rage, sadness, happiness, guilt, anger, disgust, rage, love, rage, rage, rage,

and

love

because at the end of the day

it’s funny how love truly does trump all

it truly does

even if you’re blinded by the hate to see it

believe it

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Set them free!

There are some ghosts that simply don’t seem to want to leave.

They have made a home in the between; feeling at home in the attic or basement with the other pieces of history.

Comfortable among the cobwebs.

Settled in the still air.

Delighted in the darkness.

One may visit them from time to time and this is where they get their energy.

Though there is no need for them in the present day.

Hopefully they will no longer haunt and soon fade away.

For time is now, in this moment and one can not go back and they can not be pulled forward.

There is no place for them to go and no place to grow.

They are stuck in a trap that opens and closes on both sides.

Time to time they will make themselves known to find a way to let go and be let go.

They are ghosts you are holding in some way.

When you hear them start to stir, through the walls or ceiling, open a window or a door and set them free.

There is no time to wait or hesitate.

They are ready, in full movement and ready to flee.

Do not invite them in.

Do not bring them back to life only for a night.

They are part of a past history.

Let this be their last haunting.

Now is the time to take back the energy.

Steady in your steps.

Let thoughts stream, in the present, is where they need to be.

Look them in the eye for a final time and do not let them come alive.

When the ghosts start to stir, whether it be in your heart or in your mind;

Let them be.

Don’t give them energy.

Set them free.

Open up and let them leave.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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I don’t wanna be a stranger anymore!

Emotions leak through the crevices made by the broken edges of the heart, lies that leak through perfectly glued excuses, what do you believe? What are the things you believe in anymore? Are you one of them?

Do you believe things will get better or will they repeat the same pattern as before?

Who will return to you when the week ends? Will you shut the door on their face?

What does it mean to forgive anyway? Isn’t it a bit redundant when it happens all the time? You get hurt and then you are the one that apologizes to them?

What kind of trouble did your beliefs get you into this time around?

Did you think what you wanted was really the truth? Or you just wanted to be truthful for once with someone?

What are these secrets that you would die to protect? What is this form of security around your heart and mind that keeps you from living your life as you want to?

When I see you taking a step back, I want to take a step forward, the more you purse your lips, the more I want to pry them open, what is it that you think when you look at me looking at you like you’re the only person in the room, the only person in the world?

Walk with me, along this line of trees, along this endless shore, along the houses that might be ours sometime in the future,

What is your favorite color of the sky? How does it feel when you have nothing left in your life to protect so you turn that need to protect to other people no matter what the damage that does to you?

What is this need to let others push you down from cliffs and from buildings just so you can feel the fall and feel alive just for a short while?

You’re not going to feel anything when you hit the ground, you’re going to have to start over once again, with someone new, make a new set of beliefs, brainwash yourself with new memories,
someone new to chase, someone new to protect,

What will happen when your illusions shatter? What will happen to your heart?

I feel like an outsider in your world no matter how much we talk,

I just don’t want to feel like a stranger in your life anymore.

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A coffee date! (By Mayuri Gopani aka Misnaming Diaries)

A boy and a girl from different backgrounds fall in love regardless of their upbringing. Never had this feeling before.
It was a glorious , beautiful day ..
We’d left the coffee shop but then he pulled me inside ,saying “c’mon, let’s be basic cool dudes and get some pumpkin spice.
I don’t like coffee. I never had.
But when he handed over to me with that blushing face and a cute smile on his lips , it was the best thing I’d have had ever tasted.
My hand still tingled where he grabbed it.
And then we had a little chat him asking me
“Who do you like?” He whispered
And I looked away but deep inside I wanted to let him know that it is you , you the thousand times and more. You are the only one I could think about. You’re super cool , handsome and funny..and I always love the way you tilt your hairs..
But unfortunately I looked down at my cup and shrugged my shoulders.
He looked at me “as if he already knew what was the truth” and said “what if I tell you about mine?” Will you tell me yours.-?
Okay I said.
And then the story begins !.

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Stages of Infatuation!

First-ever romantic gestures strung up on display for the world to see, strangers become witnesses to pleasant uncertainty. Not wanting to confuse kindness for interest, the mind wanders. Flowers die in winter; how could she ever know this could possibly bloom? My mind gone, yet my body present. Seemingly mundane movements leave me breathless. I touched him with an icy hand, trying to ignite the same fire and curiosity that he had set alight inside me, forever coursing through my veins, burning through my very seams. Intoxicating eye contact can’t help but look away. Stolen kisses in the dead of the night. Our hot, steamy breath competing against the cold that is July. Lost in each other, forever entwined. Perfectly crafted puzzles of our own creation. Left forever falling to the thought of you. Time is too precious, and how I adore every minute with you. When your eyes melt into concern and ask those few simple words, “You okay baby?” I realize nothing could be purer. Although not so everlasting as I intended. The perfectness was bittersweet. Nothing but a mirage, disguised with thick perfumes and smiles that could hide desperation. Indecencies now paint these paper-thin walls. You could do anything that you pleased, as long as it kept you, and you did. You created your own work of art on my very seams. You were only tainting me, so I showed no mind. Free to expel every desire you craved. Your fingers painted away at my skin. Teething away at me. If only your presence had lingered like the ink splotches and braille you marked me with. It’s not a bruise, just an ink spill. You vandalized my outer surface. I let you nevertheless. I would have done everything to make you happy, I did too. At the risk of me. At the risk of losing myself, and I did too. I broke myself trying to make you want me again and again. You could feel it in the air, the quiet weeping, the sad sob stories left behind closed doors and within tear-soaked pillows. The kind of pain that makes you want to scream. The worst part was that you saw my pain. I’m sure you felt it too, and I’ll never forgive you for that. I let you be my everything, and for that, I blame myself.

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Seven Minutes!

One time when my cousin and I were talking
He suddenly asked me if I’ve ever experienced witnessing a solar eclipse
I just smiled
Thought of you
Then said, “Somewhat.”
He asked why I said “Somewhat”
I explained to him that a solar eclipse lasts for seven minutes
Seven minutes just like my love for you.

On the first minute
My heart was beating so fast with joy
On the first chance that I got to see you
I thought before that only blue or green or brown are the only beautiful eye colors
But with each time I get to stare into your onyx-like eyes
Which contained all the secrets of the universe
I realized that I was wrong
I realized that I could also fall in love with black eyes
I just had to meet you.

I also implanted in my memories the moments I got to spend with you
I also gave more thanks for the moments when I was able to talk about you with a smile on my face
I even thanked the universe and God because they allowed me
They gave me a chance to meet you
To experience having you in my life
To have seven minutes to be happy with you.

On the second minute
When I looked at you once again
I suddenly remembered what my friend told me
As a warning if the time ever came that I get to witness a solar eclipse
“Be careful and don’t stare for too long.
You might be enamored by its beauty,
Get blinded, and fall.”
I suddenly remembered that because he was right
I stared at you too much
I glanced at you too much, not realizing that I was already falling for you.

On the third minute
Just like any person witnessing a solar eclipse
I was suddenly visited by the words “I wish”
I wish I did so many things differently
I wish I didn’t rush everything I needed to do
I wish I didn’t allow myself to be defeated by my emotions
I wish I immediately told you that I loved you
Because yes, I loved you before
And until now, I still love you
But I got scared
Scared that I wouldn’t be good enough for you
But I wish
I wish I said and did all the things that my heart was telling me
And didn’t let fear or doubt reign over my heart.

On the fourth minute
Yes, I admit that there were many “I wishes” that crossed my mind
But just like someone who is glancing at a solar eclipse
I was content when it came to you
I was content that I get to look at you
I was content that I get to see you smile
I was content in knowing that you were happy
I was content for the simple reason that you were on my mind anyways.

Yes, you’re on my mind
In the morning, you’re on my mind
Have you had your morning coffee already?
Have you had your favorite food yet?
At lunch, you’re still on my mind
I know that you’re busy but please eat lunch and not just drink coffee
Because I don’t want you feeling weak
At night, you’re even more on my mind
Are you going straight home
Or are you gonna go out with friends or eat dinner
Or maybe, if you’re free
Can we see each other
I’m sorry if you’re getting annoyed by my repeated invitations
But I wanna see you
I wanna see you because sometimes
I’m not content anymore that you’re just on my mind.

On the fifth minute
I was slapped by the truth that
It hurts
That it already hurts
That you’re already hurting me
Because I keep giving you so much love
That you never bothered to notice.
I thought that I was okay
Because I thought I was used to it
But it hurts even until now
Why is it that the things we consider beautiful
Are the ones that will hurt us so much?

The fragrant rose with many colors
Will hurt you when you poke yourself with its thorns
The beautiful view at the peak of a mountain
Will make you suffer until you can’t endure it anymore
And will make you give up
The goals and dreams that we like to immerse ourselves in
Will drown you in loneliness when they don’t come true
A person who will knock on the door of your life
And before you even open the door, they will let themselves in
And when they enter, they will suddenly grab your hands
Pulling you closer to them
Until the moment comes when you’re staring into their eyes
And you won’t realize that you’re already falling for them
Only for them to let you feel that they’re only just a dream.

I knew that I was gonna fall for you
And I tried everything I could so that I wouldn’t get hurt
I tried to control my emotions
I tried to not desire too much
I tried not to have too much hope
I tried everything to stop myself from getting hurt
But I couldn’t stop myself from loving you.

The sixth minute
Is when the moment came when I realized that
It was almost over
The seven minutes I’d be with you was almost over
The moments that were so happy that I couldn’t get out of my mind were almost over
And the words “I wish” arrived once again
I wish that I’d be given more chance and time to be with you
Even if it were just for one year
Even just one month
Even if it were just a day
Because yes
Yes, I’ve accepted that maybe we’re not meant for forever
But I’d be happy if I could just have one day of you
I wish and dream to be your sometimes.

The seventh minute
Is when the moment of farewell came
Goodbye
It still hurts so much to say “Goodbye”
But if the time ever comes that you need me
Don’t worry
Because even if I don’t know what will happen in the future
And even if the world separates the two of us
I will search for you
I will look for you
And I will return to you over and over
Just to experience once again those seven minutes with you.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Kiss me!

Kiss me, that’s what you said.
You always say that every time we are alone.
You say that the very moment I step into your home.

Kiss me.
Those two words echoes through my brain and then my body vibrates.
You hug me, I try not to hug you back.
It takes all my will not to return it to you, I badly want to.
To feel my body close to yours.
To be yours.
Be yours.
Be only yours.

Kiss me.
Something about the way you say it, commanding yet hushed.
A beckoning call, that I must indeed, kiss you.
Something that sounds authoritative yet I cannot help but concede.
I fold, I follow.

Hence, I no longer lean back when you lean in.
I just wait until your lips lands mine and despite this feeling, this ecstasy…
so heavily euphoric, like the smoke filling my lungs when I consume my cigarettes.

I want you.

I’ve never wanted anyone like this in a long while.

I want you to want me the same way I do.
And you do, you do want me.
Only in the way you want to. 

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Richa Talreja

(400th post guys ❤️)

Do check out Ms. Talreja’s amazing artwork!

You guys can follow her personal ID here!

And her art page ID here!

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Bupa dentist Melbourne…less than others (Kavita Choithnani)

The grand’s of the family would always work that the whole family should remain
together and live happy life in the same way the bupa is such head which would
take care of the different countries regarding their health and teeth.
Bupa dentist Melbourne would take caution of services like they made the
standards for the purpose of fees, make hospitals, rating hospitals according to
their treatment, rating of the doctors of different fields.
The dentist which would work according to the standards given by the bupa
syndicate is come to know as bupa dentist Melbourne. The procedure need to be
as per the instruction and guidelines given by the bupa as it would keep the
patient its priority.
Bupa would also provide the fees chart according to which the fees need to be
charged by the bupa dentist Melbourne. The bupa is a category of safeguard that
it would charge the minimum price of the treatment and also the medicines. All
the points related to the before treatment and after treatment need to be
discussed before the treatment.
For keeping the teeth surviving the bupa dentist Melbourne would work
altogether with the team and work for that. Removing the chain of teeth through
the root can be done and also the treatment to put the new channel of the teeth
can be done and if the patient want any cleanliness of teeth they should take
advice from the dentist is compulsory as it can harm due to heavy usage.
Factors need to be considered before choosing the dentist that it should be of
bupa dentist Melbourne as it would have all the knowledge related to the patient
problem as well as the procedure which need to be carried to solve the problem
through the expertise.

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You’re irreplaceable!

I know that it hurts at first, it cuts deep into your childhood wounds and all the times you felt you weren’t good enough. It takes you back to all the times you weren’t chosen whether it was your basketball team at school or the first job you ever interviewed for or the first person you ever loved. It reminds you of all those times you felt so replaceable, so rejected and all those times you wanted to be picked but you ended picking yourself up instead.

But here’s what I know for sure, sometimes not being picked for something you wanted is exactly what you need to redirect yourself or your life. It’s exactly what you need to pick another sport, another company, another career and another person. It’s exactly the kind of guidance you pray for and at first it may seem like the answer isn’t in your favor but it ends up being the best decision for you. I once read that sometimes what didn’t work for you actually worked for you!

Sometimes not being picked has nothing to do with you. Maybe you didn’t meet all the qualifications the company was looking for or maybe you were overqualified and they weren’t able to meet all your expectations. Maybe the company didn’t hire you because they knew you would have a voice and ask for a lot of changes they were not ready for. Maybe the person you wanted didn’t choose you because you were so sure of what you wanted and they were lost. Maybe you’re not the kind of person that’s going to reward inconsistent behavior or lies or disrespect and they don’t want to deal with any of it because they’re not looking for anything serious.

Sometimes people replace you because they didn’t get the chance to know who you really are and what you can offer and that’s not your fault that they couldn’t see that because the moment you feel replaced is the moment you remove yourself from that situation or that person. It’s the moment you stop trying. It’s that moment you can’t erase because for a second, you feel like everything you did wasn’t enough but just like anything in life, there’s always the other side.

There comes a moment after when you walk into an interview and you feel like you’re being appreciated and treated with the respect you deserve. The company is willing to do whatever it takes to get you onboard and you didn’t have to chase after all the managers for a follow-up. There comes a moment when you meet someone and they don’t hesitate for a second to show you how much you mean to them and how lucky they feel to be in your life. You’re not guessing where you stand with them or if they like you enough or if they care as much you do. There comes a moment when someone makes you feel irreplaceable and you will recognize it in an instant because now you know the difference and now you can see the signs.

Because I think the law of life goes something like this; those who made you feel replaceable are easy to replace but those who make you feel irreplaceable are the only ones worth holding on to.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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It’s too late!

My entire life I’ve tried to be a people pleaser. To do anything and everything to make people happy, to make them stay. Maybe that stems from my abandonment issues, my fear that everyone I love will leave.

I’m flawed in so many ways. I don’t always brush my hair, most days I get up for work 30 minutes before I need to leave, my skin isn’t clear, and my outfits aren’t always planned. I’m not a perfect person, but then again, I’ve never claimed to be.

Before I say more, I want to say goodbye, and thank you. Thank you to all of the people who never believed in me, to everyone who left and decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. I also want to thank everyone who was there, who always had my back, who stayed by my side while I figured out who I was.

But if you’re reading this, it’s too late… The guy you knew before is gone. You crushed his confidence and made him believe he wasn’t good enough, you made him believe he would never be good enough.

You don’t know me anymore.

This guy got up. This guy is smart and mature. This guy has people who love and support him. This guy has confidence and is determined to do something with his life. Nobody’s stopping this guy—he’s on fire.

This guy is more than enough.

He’s better than the jealous girls and fragile men who spread rumors about him. He’s better than the voices in his head that tell him he won’t make it.

This guy is loving and kind. He is successful and will make something of himself, no matter what it takes.

If you’ve come to find the old me, he’s gone. It’s too late.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Watch me go!

I saw you last night.

First time since I “broke your heart.”

You called. I answered.

Your voice crackling with desperation, begging to see me.

No part of me wanted you.

Still, I went.

Two a.m. love.

Actually, not love.

Artificial connection. Sex.

I wanted to be touched, but not by you.

I don’t regret it, but I will never go back.

You pulled out.

I cried.

Seeing you in front of me.

A stranger.

You begged me to stay, to let you hold me.

I panicked.

I felt claustrophobic, trapped.

I ran.

So fast.

4:30 a.m.

No one in sight.

The silent streets gave me the answer I was looking for.

They whispered, “Never again.”

I agree.

I trusted you once.

With my whole heart.

A trust unearned, undeserved.

You broke me.

Breaking my heart in a way you knew would sting.

Infidelity.

The only kind I couldn’t justify.

Emotionally charged, historical, connected.

Ex-girlfriend.

Blonde.

You were being too attentive.

Something was off.

I cracked the code to your iPad.

Four digits you hid so well.

I read the texts.

“Do you feel guilty about yesterday?”

She did.

You didn’t.

You kissed her.

In the car.

The car we drove in together.

Her airpods in the center console.

Did you think I wouldn’t notice?

Your hometown.

Me, a visitor.

Adjusting to your habits, your needs.

Being the good girl.

The one who does the laundry and the dishes.

The one who makes you coffee in the morning.

The one who cuts your hair because the barber is closed.

That’s not me.

Never has been.

But for you, I sacrificed.

Too much it seems.

Your family telling me how happy you looked.

Not happy enough.

You were greedy.

Still are.

Needing attention from your girlfriend and your ex.

I wanted mine too.

Instead, I channeled it into you.

All my love wasted.

My fault.

You were never capable.

I knew that.

Now?

You’re obsessed with me.

Of course you are.

You watched me walk away.

You see what you lost.

My ass out the door, your ass stepping in.

I saw the light on the other side, you finally saw it in me.

You only started giving because you got caught.

You fucked me, thinking of her.

Now, you will fuck another, thinking of me.

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Let it hurt!

They say,

Let it hurt then let it go.

I think you should know… I never let it go.

So free, but always running.

Restricted those lies to myself.

Pulled back the curtains and allowed sunlight in,

only to close them once more.

I cannot remain true to myself while constantly pretending I was alright.

I cannot remain true to myself while pretending it didn’t cut me up like knives.

I pulled the dagger out from behind me, but I cannot complain when I run headfirst into it.

I owe no apologies for these self-inflicted wounds.

I take full responsibility for the pain I have caused myself.

I repent and I invent,

I’m shedding everything I thought I once knew, because I cannot remain in the pain of being stagnant any longer.

They say,

Let it hurt

Then let it go.

Here I am being casted away pretending we never meant a thing.

We went from auburn colors to a faded black.

Colors so dark I wasn’t even sure how we mixed so brightly in the first place.

Let it hurt, Let it go

Though I’ll have you know, I’m not sure I ever let the pain consume me.

When things ended, I felt nothing.

I’ve become so numb to your tears and so dull to my fears I wonder if I still even have these emotions left inside me.

The pain I caused you, I feel sorrow for.

These regrets that consume me are slowly catching up.

I’ve been traveling and I’m obsessed with the beauty of the world.

I’ve been traveling and I’m obsessed with running away.

What am I running from?

Who am I running to?

Because doing this alone, I was starting to resonate on the thought of missing you.

I guess I never listened.

never let it hurt,

So I still have yet to let this go.

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Is this love?

One day, someday, today, the light will come.

It creeps up, the crawling dawn sleepily lolling over the horizon. The light is gentle and warm and glowing, dripping; melted ice cream across the window pane.

Can you fall in love with the way early morning light presses into bookshelves, spreading warmth into cold corners of the room?

It will seep beneath your skin, a layer of heat that blossoms from rose buds kissing the inside of your elbows, teardrops of sweat beading along translucent folds. I am tantalized, infected, enamored.

If swollen lips should tingle against soft skin, aching, searching, does this mean I’m in love? I don’t mean love in an endless sense, in the way you dream of romance as a child. All white lace and church bells ringing high, singing promises of forever.

I mean in love in the way that your heart aches when you fall into bed, crushing worn jersey and soft flannel into exhausted limbs. That feeling of peace when you come home from school after a hard day to be met with arms extended and heart open, ready to be cradled while the darkness passes into nothing.

But the light will continue. It will bubble and fester until it is too blistering to simply press your tired eyes together and bask in the pleasure of the heat.

No, this light demands you. Your attention, your mind; your voice, your body.

Before you know it, they have arrived. The sweet talkers, the soothing voices, the well-meaning and the well-mannered. The hellions, the soul crushers, the confidence eaters. In whatever form (and don’t be surprised should they shift before your eyes), they will come, and they will try to steal this. They will see your light, maybe before you see it yourself, and in their way siphon this from you.

And it might even feel good when they take from you. Punishing you in the way you’ve always felt you needed to be punished, justifying your worthlessness, highlighting the caves that swiss cheese the inside of your ribs, the weak tissue of your body that has been waiting, hoping, holding its breath until it could let go and collapse and fall fall fall—release into itself, into nothing at all.

We cannot help but seek fullness, roundness, in this life. To fill the dark parts with soft cotton soaked in sweet cream.

It is then, in that moment, when you realize what has always been true. They could never take from you what is you, what you are made of. Starlight and moon-dust and all that is beautiful on and in this earth and far beyond.

Maybe this is just the magic of the early morning, or the feeling of smooth coffee coating my tongue and throat, or the faint taste of honey warming my lips. But I feel hope in the tender parts of my stomach, radiating.

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I hope you never stop!

I hope you never stop believing in love.

Even when your heart is broken, and your trust is shattered, and you have a sadness that seeps into your blood and rests within your bones, I hope you continue to fight for love. To be open to receiving love. To continue to believe in love.

I know it’s hard.

I know it’s easier to tell yourself that love is not for you, that it is the thing of teenage fantasies, and the plotline of romantic comedies, and something reserved for other people. I know it’s easier to believe somehow the lie that you are not lovable, that there is something inherently broken within you, that you are better off alone.

I get it; I do.

But I hope you resist the urge to hold onto those lies and instead realize this to be true – you are worth loving, and love is meant for you, too.

Yes, even you.

So please remember to keep believing in love. Believe in the thing that lights your soul on fire, the thing that makes your heart feel as if it cannot stay within your chest. Believe in the goodness that makes you feel as if you’re standing in the sun on a warm summer day, and as if you’re a child on Christmas morning, and as if you’re someone who has never seen the fall of fresh snow.

I hope you continue to believe in the tender moments that can only exist within two people. A silence that is not scary but comforting. A deep understanding of the light and dark that lives within another human’s heart. Tangled limbs and tangled words and a feeling of connection that the dictionary has yet to name adequately.

I hope you continue to believe in the strength that comes from giving your heart over to another human – and that magic is born from your bond and your union. It’s the kind of magic that can move mountains and make you believe that anything is possible.

I hope you never stop believing in love – for love will never stop believing in you.

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AWARELESS TO AWARENESS ❤🌈 (By Siddhi Sheth)


“When did you decide to be gay? What happened to you? You’ve changed? That’s so gay!
that person doesn’t really look like a man/woman” ?


We all have heard people saying things like this all the time even in a random conversation.
Why is this community of people looked down upon? Well, let’s become more aware of
what the LGBTQ community really is and learn how we all can overcome our deeply
rooted gender biases and be more accepting of people of our own community.


LGBTQA stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and asexuality & allies.
Allies are heterosexual and cisperson who extend their support to this group of community
and, significantly, we encourage them to be accepted by our patriarchal society by giving
them equal rights, freedom just like individuals who choose to identify themselves as male
and female.


Talking about gender sexuality lies on a spectrum, belonging to this wide range of spectrum
doesn’t make people indifferent. We have been oppressed by our rigid cultural and
education system which typically lacks awareness about what sexuality is. People who
identify themselves as queer or gay are not born gay or bisexual but they instead choose to
belong to a different gender just like a heterosexual cisperson chooses to identify
themselves as male and female. Suppose you have a friend named Ted and he likes to eat
pizza with pineapple toppings which of course you don’t like buttttt this doesn’t mean
you’ll abandon your dear friend right? Ted is much more than just eating pineapple pizza!


He is firstly a human being and might have all those qualities that you possess so why is it
that we have difficulty accepting them as our people? Possibly because we have our
stereotypes and prejudice that we hold onto due to the influence of our culture,
environment, and political view around us. So how do we educate ourselves and others
around us? We can begin by looking for specific prejudices that we hold and learn why we
hold them in the first place? Wearing certain types of clothes doesn’t give us the right to
make assumptions about what gender an individual belongs to and that doesn’t mean that
we should discriminate against people from wearing things according to their preferred
style.

Society, in general, has imprinted criteria into our minds which influences our perception
about how we ought to behave, how a male and female should dress which makes a
community or a culture very reluctant and rigid to accept people belonging to diverse
sexuality. one thing that it fails to acknowledge that choosing to be homosexual, bisexual or
queer is not a phase or a fun thing to do it takes a lot of courage to come out there is a
misconception that coming out makes things easy which is the not the case. If we as a
community let people decide to be whatever the heck they want and let them live, we live in
a democratic country where everyone is allowed equal freedom of choice and freedom of
expression.


To sum it up, people of diverse genders are “normal” and holding stereotypical beliefs
against them will not only affect them emotionally but also psychologically. Accepting our
deeply rooted patriarchal belief and becoming aware and educating ourselves and not
letting it influence our belief is a way we as a society can become truly democratic.


Everyone deserves to be respected despite section 377 being legalized. We still need to work
towards LGBTQ awareness and treat them with dignity. By assisting to the marginalized
LGBTQ community we can help them earn socio-economic status. Creating awareness
groups to educate schools and colleges to prevent bullying.

By including parents in
activities can help them be more inclusive and accepting, by implementing LGBTQ
friendless policy in the workplace will encourage more acceptance among employees.

A short poem by Fritz Perls,
I do my thing and you do your thing.
I am not in this world to live up to your expectation,
And you are not in this world to live up to mine.
You are you, and I am I,
And if by chance we find each other,
It’s beautiful.
If not, it can’t be helped.


~SIDDHI SHETH
(heterosexual Allie

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A letter to that friend who’s hurting!

My friend, this world is oh so intimidating. All I wish I could do is set you free from all the hurt and brokenness surrounding you right now.

No matter how many movie nights in we have and stunning sunsets I show you, I find myself still getting that late night text from you with the words “I feel so alone”, and it eats me apart inside that I can’t help you more.

Because you deserve more than this.

You deserve for your mind to love itself. You deserve to be surrounded by people who care about you way too much. You deserve to enjoy moments that are oh so special. And you deserve to feel like a badass woman.

To be completely honest it’s difficult seeing you like this. Someone who is a light in my life, has their light shut off right now. You’re appreciated more than you know.

We both know that ultimately it is you that is going to decide whether this world is worth pushing through and fighting for. I am just here to help you see the positives in it. I’m being honest when I say that when I think about your future all I can see is how far this world will take you. The places you’re going to go, the people you are going to meet, and the gem moments you are going to experience. You just have to hold on and get yourself there.

And I know you are probably rolling your eyes after reading that. You’re most likely thinking, “Do you really think it’s that easy, are you crazy?” Well, maybe a little crazy but I am choosing to show you how strong you are through my eyes and many more. All I want is infinite love and joy for you always.

I hope you come across this again when times feel a little less like you’re walking through mud. I hope that you are healing and you can start to understand why you broke.

Stay positive, love.

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Castles in the sky!

I always wondered what it would be like, playing house with the person you love.

Our imagination works to create a fairytale like the ones we grew up reading.

My mind painted a picture of white duvets and breakfasts in bed, where we talk about the lives we’d lead if we were just a bit younger and just a bit more naive. The winding road trips and the cartons of blueberries and your ‘60s mixtape. Finding old lottery tickets, ghost stories, your hand in mine, Sundays forever.

The white picket fence, replaced with a castle in the sky.

Don’t you feel like the walls are caving in? you ask me one night. You’re sitting on the couch in a dress I’ve never seen. People say to hang art on the walls. To give the illusion of space.

You have a faraway look in your eye, but I ignore what I see and listen to your words instead.

We drive to your parents to pick up the paintings. Four paintings of a rose.

Her favorites, your dad says as he packs them in the back of my truck.

I hang the roses. I see a garden, but you see the spaces in between.

We felt everything after midnight.

The piles of dishes, the unmade bed. The stack of papers on the desk, with your scribbled words that read: all we’ve ever wanted is everything.

The mess inside my head and the truth inside of yours.

So I ask what you want, and you tell me you want your heaven and you want your dreams.

I write to you to say that I’ll be the first to hang your pictures on gallery walls, to play the songs you write, to read your old stories and watch the scenes you star in.

I pick up the phone and stare at the ceiling.

The piles of dishes are gone. The bed is made. The stack of papers left with you, all but one that I keep in a drawer.

Stars dance next to me on the bed where you used to lie. You tell me the stars are dancing next to you, too.

I thought our home was those four walls, but our home is the sky.

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It sleeps!

I sleep, and the sickness sleeps with me.
It curls up safely inside me, making itself right at home.
I wake, and the sickness wakes with me. keeping me company in every motion, every inhale, every exhale. the sickness is a sucker for theatrics.

It drowns me in discomfort, it torments my body at every twist, every turn. and when the sickness is done admiring their handiwork, it hands me the broom and the dustpan on its way out the door, leaving me to clean up the mess.

It promises to be back when i wake the next day. do not fret, you haven’t seen the last of me. it’s an invisible crest I carry with me, a scarlet letter of sorts. do not get too comfortable, the sickness taunts. it threatens to make a mockery out of me, bringing me to my knees in submission.

The sickness has made a warrior out of me; I train daily for another opportunity to outsmart it, evade it, destroy it once and for all. but the sickness has secrets, a private arsenal I am not privy to. it is always one step ahead of me, no matter what I bring to the fight.

Most times I wonder: what does the world see when they look at me? do they just see the illness, the ugly, the scars, and the bruises? do they only see the war-torn shell of a human, making a fool of herself every chance that she gets? do they see weakness, do they lament my pitiful efforts? am I just another walking liability, a tragedy in mortal form? they must not see the talented gifts and passions that I possess. no, they must not see the daughter, the sister, the friend. the elusive illness ruins the party once again.

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You deserve someone who decides to do more than just staying!

I am tired of hearing we deserve someone that stays. We deserve more than that. I have been a witness to many relationships where partners had no intention of leaving but we are worthy of a love that is more than taking up residence on the other side of the bed, more than having a body on the other side of the dinner table.

I’ve been there. Been in a relationship where I knew I could trust their fidelity but I should not have trusted them to love me. On my bad days this person only made them worse, found ways to make themselves the main character in every story. They never took the time to understand me, slowly stopped touching me or listening to anything I had to say. I felt alone even with them sleeping right next to me. I knew I deserved more but I listened to others when they said “but they are a good person”. My own therapist even looked at me as if I was expecting too much. I wasn’t and you aren’t either if you’re wanting more from someone who isn’t making you feel valued.

You deserve to be put first, to be someone’s first thought at the rise of day. You deserve to be uplifted, words to hold you when the world lets go. You deserve to be rooted for, someone with arms raised for you on the sidelines. You deserve grace, someone to hold your imperfections with soft palms. You deserve to be desired, to feel want inside the grace of their fingertips. You deserve to be known, someone who’s memorized your favorite color, your coffee order, favorite flower, time of day, the wishes you’ve whispered in your sleep and all the things that give you butterflies. You deserve to feel whole, someone who would never take away from your precious life.

Please don’t settle for someone who only stays. I know loneliness can get the better of us but being with someone who causes more grief than joy, or isn’t adding any effort to your days will only leave you feeling more hollow. Demand more for yourself. Have the courage to wait for a love that you are deserving of. We deserve more than stay.

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I dialed !

I dialed your number hoping you’d pick up the call
That we could just pretend
Pretend again for the moment that everything is as it should be
It happened without coaxing, without pretense, without pressure
It seemed so easy and I visualized you picking up on the third ring so that you didn’t seem too eager
I’d ask you what you were doing and you’d tell me how you were thinking of me too and hoping that I would call
That you were just waiting for a moment of opportunity to know that you weren’t alone in your feelings
To know that you weren’t the only one replaying the memories over again in your head of the things that we said that came out as empty notes of acceptance and letting go
And we’d laugh
We’d laugh
We’d laugh and forget about the pain in our voices
All of the truths revealed that to be honest, neither one of us could really forget
I visualized the inflection in my voice as you spoke to show that I was genuinely happy to hear from you and that this wasn’t just a moment of weakness
I pretended we’d agree to meet over coffee the next day and catch up on life awkwardly scanning between each other’s eyes and our surroundings to gauge how honest the moment seemed
But you never picked up
I let it ring and heard your tone over the voicemail – something that used to seem so familiar but now felt so disconnected
I tried to hide the emptiness I felt welling in my heart
I hung up before the beep – All the words escaping me that could have left a message
“You called?”
I barely opened my eyes as I read the text message the next day
“I dialed you by accident,” was all I could say

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My daughter is not ours!

I’ve never been much of a man. I barely crack 5’6”, can’t handle my liquor, and I’ve never been in a fight in my life—but when Lainie got pregnant, I decided it was time for a change. I started working out. I learned how to change the oil and tires on the Buick. Hell, I even bought a pistol. I was going to protect them, Lainie and my unborn child both, whatever it took.

I could tell Lainie thought it was all a little silly, my newfound quest for manhood. It was easy for her to say. She was doing her part. Carrying the burden of life inside her, while all I could do was hold her hair, in the early stages of pregnancy, as she puked into the toilet—and sometimes I even fucked that up. She seemed to think she could do it all herself, and she was probably right. When I brought home the gun, she was livid. All we needed, she said, was a baseball bat. And someone strong enough to swing it, she might have added.

I took it back the next day and bought a Louisville Slugger instead.

The baby came without a hitch—little Annika, looking just like her mommy—and what we lacked in protection, Lainie made up for with near-neurotic preparation. She had it all; the books, the vitamins, the breastfeeding techniques. But perhaps her favorite new mom-toy came in the form of a Kiddos Baby Monitor that she got at the baby shower. I can’t remember who gave it to her.

It gave off a small hum, scarcely a whisper, every single night. Vague static; white noise—interrupted, only on occasion, by a cough or hiccup or whimper from sweet Annika. She wasn’t a fussy baby at all. The monitor rested on Lainie’s nightstand, securing my wife like a second quilt. A small red dot, indicating the device was alive and well, dimly bathed the room in crimson, and an optional display provided a blue-tinted camera feed aimed at Annika’s crib. We could hear her, we could see her, and all was well in paradise.

Oh, there were tough times, sure. The jaundice was bad and it led to things even worse. Pneumonia. Strep. Infections no fun for an adult but an enormous goddamn deal for a baby. We spent plenty of time in the hospital. The nurses all loved Annika. They always remarked on what a well-behaved baby she was.

The marriage grew stale, but what marriage doesn’t? The sex was rare and forced, just another thing for Lainie to check off her to-do list. Was it ever really not that way, though? I tried to remember, but life before Annika seemed trapped in a cloudless haze. Becoming a father seemed to alter the very structure of my brain.

The first year came and went. The Kiddos Baby Monitor ran out of batteries, and we never bothered to replace them. Annika was crawling. Then walking. The first word, spoken at the dinner table, which Lainie and I were both there for: Mango.

The words kept coming. MommyDiaperFull. They were all expected, yet all met with excited applause from her mother and me. And then, one day, while Lainie was at spinning class and I was doing the newspaper crossword on the couch, Annika piped up from her playpen with a word I did not expect.

Fa-ther.

I sat up, straining silently to listen, sure I had misheard. But then it came again, even clearer than before.

Fa-ther.

Most dads would be thrilled. I was confused, and frankly, a bit unnerved. I had no idea where she’d learned that. I was always ‘daddy.’ In fact, as far as I’d seen, nobody had ever so much as breathed that word in front of her. Yet there she sat, squawking away, giving voice to a word uncomfortably formal as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Father. Father. Father.


Lainie didn’t seem as interested as I did. In fact, she seemed more than a little bit miffed—Annika had been growing more distant from her lately. This was the age children usually clung tightest to their mothers, yet Annika seemed to have no such proclivity. One doctor theorized that Annika might be having her needs met through another source—did she have a stuffed animal she was particularly attached to? A blanket, maybe? We could think of nothing.

We had her tested for autism. Hell, we had her tested for everything. Nothing could explain her level of detachment from us, nor her remarkably tame behavior. The professionals had never seen anything like it, but didn’t seem to think it much cause for concern.

“Count your blessings, friend,” one of them told me in a heavy English accent as he escorted me from his office. “Between you and me, nine out of ten kids her age is a right little shit.”

Still, we couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. One night, Lainie had decided she’d had enough. She dug the old Kiddos Baby Monitor out of a box in the attic. She put new batteries in it, rewired the camera in Annika’s room, and for a few hours, the white noise hummed beneath our sleep once more.

I awoke to the sound of Annika babbling away in her crib. I turned toward the monitor, and my eyes swam, barely open, in the sea of crimson from its light. She was repeating the same word, again and again.

Fa-ther. Fa-ther.

I rolled over toward Lainie. She was still asleep—Annika wasn’t being very loud. I stumbled out of bed, wiping my eyes, and picked up the monitor. My fingers fumbled for the switch on the back, and when I flicked it, a dull blue glow sprang from nowhere. I squinted my eyes to see into Annika’s crib, and I let out a strangled cry. The monitor slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor. Lainie woke with a start, mumbling.

“Whatsamatter?”

But I couldn’t speak. Someone was holding my daughter.

Without a word, I ran into the hallway, not even bothering to grab the Louisville Slugger from the closet. The door to Annika’s room was open. My socks slid out from under me and I crashed to the wooden hallway floor as I reached it, and as I lie prone I had a clear view into the bedroom.

Annika sat up in her crib, crying wildly for a change, startled by the noise. Nobody was holding her.


“I swear to God, honey—”

But Lainie wasn’t having it.

“The first night we start using the monitor again, and it just happens to be the night an invisible man breaks into our house? And leaves her placed all neat in her crib where he found her?”

“He wasn’t invisible, and I can’t explain it, Lainie, I’m telling you what I saw.”

“Alright,” she said, as though humoring a child. “What did he look like?”

At this, I drew blank. I couldn’t exactly describe him—I hadn’t looked long enough. I felt that I had seen him before, though. Somewhere. I felt that seeing him at all, even in a completely non-threatening context, would have made me deeply uncomfortable. But I didn’t know how to explain this to Lainie, this vague recognition. So I just shrugged. She scoffed.

“Jesus. What am I supposed to do with this.”

But the whole thing had her spooked, I know it. That night she told me—if you hear anything from the monitor, anything at all, you wake me up right away. So I did.

Father. Father. Lainie’s voice rang out above the dead white noise.

Lainie snatched the cooing monitor from her bedside table less than a second after I’d woken her. She sat up and flicked the switch.

Lainie shrieked a horrible sobbing shriek. She flung the covers from her and leapt from the bed in one fluid motion, leaving the monitor face-up on the sheet behind her. On it I could see the man, cradling Annika with a light bounce, more clearly this time. And in a flash I knew exactly who he was. And this time, I stayed right where I lay.


It took Lainie a long time to calm Annika down—that scream had put a good scare into her. I don’t think Lainie even noticed that I never came in. By the time she got back to our bedroom, the lights were on and I sat on the bed, spread out with a couple of her old college photo albums.

She walked into the room and stopped in her tracks. She looked at me, at the albums, and back to me. I think in that moment we both knew it was over.

“He wasn’t in there,” she said after a long pause. “I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t him. Nobody was in there.”

“Fine,” I said. “But he was on the monitor. You know he was on the monitor. Why, Lainie?”

She looked down at the albums, at the old pictures from which Will Harding’s dumb fucking face grinned up at both of us, feigning innocence.

“Father.”

She looked at me, and the guilt shone in her eyes.

“Will’s the father. Not me. Will Harding.”

She started to cry. I stood up and walked out of the room, pausing a few inches from her face to say, softly, almost sweetly:

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

Then I left the house and never walked back inside. Lainie brought all my stuff to my new apartment a couple days later. The divorce went through quickly; she didn’t want it but she understood. She, of course, got custody of Annika, having the tremendous advantage of not only womanhood but of actually being Annika’s biological parent. I didn’t fight it. It’s amazing how quickly I stopped loving both of them.

Will Harding was a big, brash man. He had tattoos, muscles, and watched football and drank beer and got mean when he did. That’s why Lainie left him, after two passionate, terrible years. She once told me she married me because I was everything Will was not. But it wasn’t long before she realized that by the same token, Will was everything I was not. I guess old habits die hard. And three months after Annika was born, so did Will. He found out that Lainie had had a baby and came to the house. She shut him out, screaming at him that he wasn’t the father, he wasn’t, he wasn’t. But he knew—she was lying. So he got real drunk and real mad and didn’t put on his seatbelt and on his way back to our place he sped his fucking Camaro up a curb and into a big brick mailbox.

Lainie went to his fucking funeral. She told me she was getting her teeth cleaned.

She sent me a Christmas card last year—she and Annika, smiling underneath a hearth in cheesy red sweaters, stockings hung on either side of them. I looked at the little girl I used to call mine, now seven years old, and felt nothing. I wondered absently if I should feel guilty, and if I’d somehow failed as a dad. But those thoughts, often though they came, never lasted long. She didn’t need another father—she already had one, after all, and she seemed to like him just fine. 

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Learn to love after trauma!

It’s hard to imagine that there might be other people who have endured trauma and might be experiencing similar roadblocks as mine. It’s a harsh reality, albeit comforting to know I may not be alone, to think someone else might have to feel these gut-wrenching emotions and battles.

Now over half a decade ago, I was in an emotionally, physically, and psychologically abusive relationship. Through my naivety, I had no idea I was dating a true sociopath for much of my young adult life. I’ve written page after page about these experiences. I have talked hour after hour in therapy about these traumas. I have worked long and hard to heal these scars and rebuild my own identity. I have come to terms with the horrible things that happened to my mind, body, and spirit over those five years. I gained strength, courage, and advocacy for my own self-worth. It took a long time, but I found peace. I found myself again.

I always knew my trauma was an old friend that would sit in the corner, never fully leaving the party. However, I learned how to protect myself from his harsh glares and biting words. I knew I could live with these memories and continue to learn from them. My internal battles were mainly fought and won. But now I’m realizing, all these years later, another war was waiting over the horizon. I had no idea how much more work I had to do until I started to love again.

Granted, my trauma has haunted many relationships since. It finds the smallest cracks to seep into and rips apart any chance at a connection. I have consistently had trust issues. I have sabotaged relationships with good, kind men for no reason other than it didn’t feel right. These were all minor battles, foreshadowing of the war to come. These minor characters in my life were never the ones I loved deep enough for the gates to open. So, they came and went in my life, never causing much of a commotion.

Things started to change when the real, “sometimes you just know” kind of love came to me. The effortless kind that seems to make you levitate. I found someone that reminded me I have a soul to give again; it was so easy to give. My old friend didn’t start to rock the boat until I was fully invested and fully absorbed in this love. And then, after a few months of bliss, he started to show his hand. My anxiety started to rise. Small things were becoming red flags. Trivial issues started to look like foundational problems. My own reality started to warp and I questioned every single one of my instincts. Am I overreacting to this? Am I being gaslit again, or did I cause this? Have I been the problem all along? At the peak of this emotional response, that debilitating feeling of anxiety that seems to consume my whole being, I find myself thinking, I wouldn’t wish this on my greatest enemy.

I drown in these thoughts, these inconsistencies, these anxieties. How do I recognize if I’m being abused again when I can’t trust my own brain? Is he yelling because I yelled first, or is it because he has anger issues? Is his apathy because I cry so much or because he completely lacks empathy? My impulse to protect myself kicks in during an argument and my voice needs to scream louder and firmer to make sure it’s heard. It remembers what it feels like to be small and suppressed. My body needs to be bigger and stronger because it remembers what it feels like to be taken advantage of. My heart fights to be nourished and cared for because it remembers what it feels like to be broken.

Then begins the endless cycle of self-loathing and regret. Those actions and words were not the real me. I worked so hard to rebuild and process this trauma, it is not possible I’m still damaged. All of those walls I have built to keep predators out were knocked down when I started to trust again. Now I second guess everything out of fear. My logic says that everyone is an enemy, but my heart sees the kindness in their souls. Where does the truth lie?

I wish I had a cathartic ending to this war, something to write in the history books. But I am learning. We all are learning. I hold out hope that one day a balance will start to form and I will be able to trust fully while not losing all of my strength. My internal conflict of overthinking will subside and the truth will become clearer. Until then, I will have patience with myself because even making it this far is a cause for joy and waving banners. I will find strength in the idea that maybe, possibly, I am not alone.

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I’m in love with the wave of you!

We deserved better timing. You deserved a better name than The One That Got Away. Our connection held a magnitude far beyond that cliché. It was kinetic – the kind you felt in the atoms that held the space between your skin and mine.

I mistakenly began to live in the book of you and I, not realizing you were just visiting a chapter of me. Both of us writing the words – you the epilogue, me the prologue. Even in our ending we balanced each other out.

I learned a lot with you. I learned that fleeting can still be impactful. That heartbreak is capable of compounding. While I was healing from him, I was hurting over you. Because while I was healing from him, I ended up hurt over you.

But the beauty of life is the dichotomy that she often dances within – and while I was healing from him, I was also able to attract you. While I was healing from him, I was able to open up to you. While I was healing from him, I was being inspired by you. While I was healing from him, you built me a safe space to do so.

In another lifetime you stayed a little while longer but in this lifetime I met you right after him. The Universe has a sick sense of humor. How do I mourn something that was never mine? Am I allowed to? How do I turn off the lights in the attic that holds the ephemeral moments of you. Are they even mine to keep?

Your t-shirt was only meant to be something borrowed and now it has found a home in the back of my closet as a reminder. A lesson in the form of an oversized Harley Davidson t-shirt.

I was a sinking boat that you pointed back home and I’m left here navigating the waters trying to accept you as the lighthouse instead of the shore I make it back to.

Until then, I’ll be swimming in the memories of the time I, for a brief moment, got to surf the wave of you.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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This too shall pass!

I know you are having a really hard time right now. And I know that “really hard” doesn’t truly sum it up…not in the least. If we are being real here, I know that right now you are feeling pretty devastated. You are hurting, both inside and out, and you can’t figure out how to make the pain go away. Your thoughts feel way too heavy and overbearing, and you don’t know what to do. You can’t figure out how to make things okay again, or how to convince yourself that it’s okay to be happy, or that there are things to be happy about. Instead, here you are, curled up in a ball on your bed, just trying to make your way through the darkness. Hurting on your own, while the rest of the world keeps moving on around you. I know how much it hurts, and how fatigued you are from just trying to keep your head above the water. I know how exhausted you are from holding the tears back and I know how scared you are feeling to be so alone and lonely in this dark space. You want help and support, but you don’t know what kind of support you need. You don’t know who to turn to or what to ask for, because you just don’t know what will help. You have no ideas left as to what will lift this heavy haze, this immeasurable sadness. You would love for someone to throw you a life preserver, but of course, it’s not that easy. You would love to take a Tylenol or get a good night of sleep to wash away the hurt, but you know that neither of these will fix the problem. You know that this is no quick fix. So you continue to tread water, and pray that someone or something will send you a “cure” to this immense pain.

I can’t fix what hurts. And I have no magical dust that will bring you immediate relief. But I can bring you hope. Or at least, I can encourage you to remember that hope exists. I can remind you of how loved and cared you are, despite the pain you are in. I can remind you that you are still loved and cared for, even when you are sad. And I can tell you that I hope things will be better for you soon. I can have hope for you, in the hopes that you will try your hardest to also have hope. And believe me, I know how difficult it can be to find hope when everything feels so very dark. I know what it feels like to have nothing to hold onto, nothing to steady yourself with, and nothing to believe in. But I still urge you to try. Try to be open to having hope. Because above all, even when things are awful and heavy and even when life feels insurmountable, the secret is learning how to have hope. It is learning that faith exists and that faith is real. It’s reminding yourself, over and over again, that you can have faith in tomorrow. It’s learning that the load will ease up in time. It’s learning that life ebbs and flows and that the goodness will outweigh the darkness in due time. All I ask of you is that you try your very hardest to trust that things won’t feel this way forever. Because they won’t. And knowing that things will get better will give you something to fight for. 

And sometimes you have to remember that the universe is huge, and you are tiny, and that something somewhere out there in that vast open sky, is watching over you. Maybe it’s God, or the heavens. Maybe it’s a supernatural spirit. Maybe it’s magic, or maybe it’s your loved one looking down on you through the light in the sky. Or, maybe it’s just the stars and the sky and that bright shimmering moon that are shining light on you, letting you know that you are safe, that you will be okay.

And please know that even when you are sad, you are still so very special. Even when your heart is burnt out and your soul is tired, you are still so brave and strong. Your light still shines, even when the hurt is reflected in your eyes. And when you are sad, I hope you remember that you are something so precious that the universe made only one of you. And when things are hard, I hope you don’t forget this. I hope you don’t become so afraid of life that you forget how to live at all. Or that you forget to believe in yourself. To believe that you are capable of healing.

So if you are struggling right now, know this. Know that even though life can be so intensely painful, even though it can hurt more than you could’ve imagined, it won’t be this bad forever. The pain won’t stab you so hard forever. Eventually, it will subside. And you will be okay again. You will be you again. And know that even though you may feel like you have nothing left to live for, you always always always have something to live for. You are so loved. And there are many people out there just waiting to know you and love you. So hold on. Pain ends. Fear ends. Anxiety ends. And in time, the sunset will look much more like a sunrise. In time, the nights won’t be quite as terrifyingly lonely. And in time, you will find your way again.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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One year of you!

June

It wasn’t love at first sight with her but familiarity – the kind that only deepened the more our paths crossed, like walking on uncharted territory and feeling at home.

July

I told her I was bad with directions so she drew me a map showing me the way to her heart and told me that if I ever get lost, she can be home. I knew then that I was slowly unraveling, my secrets spilling out, our souls intertwining. 

August

It was always an adventure with her. Even when we were just lying side by side on a rainy day talking about our dreams, it was a completely different world of our own. And I never wanted to leave.

September

The end came as silent as the leaves falling in autumn. There was no deciding moment; one day the leaves were falling then the next, the trees were bare. Our time has run out.

October

Suddenly it was raining gasoline and I was made of paper, and her name was a lit match. I set myself on fire every time I let myself remember.

November

Home suffocated me, and her face was painted all over the places we visited; there were too much of her, of us. I slept with the lights on and my doors open, hoping one night she’d come back. But she never did.

December

I saw her again and I could no longer recognize those eyes anymore. I wanted a goodbye that was concrete, something that could answer my questions, to bring out when I look back, but all I had was one last look of the face I loved turned into a stranger.

January

I had extraordinary days here. But the bad days were all that I could recall recently. They were drowning me and I couldn’t breathe without hurting my ribs. I needed to get out, to escape, to run away from here.

February

I waited for loneliness to make me want to come home. It never came. Where is home?

March

She’s been in my dreams recently; the kind that even when you wake up, you could still feel it, as if it really happened. In them, all my questions were answered and all our wrongs were made right. We were back to our place, and she was back to tracing constellations of promises on my skin. I heard her say my name and I swore, I almost wanted to come back home. But I woke up and nothing has changed.

April

I saw her picture on my timeline today. And I wish I could say that I didn’t feel anything but I did. It wasn’t an entire ocean drowning me, or an earthquake shaking my world, but drops of rain on my skin – not too much of a feeling but enough to be felt.

May

Spring was almost over. There was a cherry blossom tree near my new house, that reminded me of us – how short-lived its beauty was yet it was a blessing to have witnessed it. Thank you. I’m okay now.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Thank you!

It can be quite hard for us to let go. Once we find someone who we connect with, it’s not easy to simply walk away. It can take us years to finally realize when it is time to go, and even then, letting go is not the easiest thing to do.

So, when the people we love abruptly leave our lives without any explanation or warning, it can feel like a shock to the system, like being thrown off of a moving train. We would have stayed on forever. We would have rode it right into the sunset.

Ghosting is an awful experience for anyone who has ever had to experience it. It is painful, it is harsh, and it is often a form of cowardice on the ghoster’s end. The warmth of love and affection is suddenly replaced by a harsh, cold winter. It can leave wounds that many struggle to heal from. As painful and enduring as it is, it can also be a way for us to get off a train that we don’t even realize we should not be on.

As Bob Dylan once said, “When something’s not right, it’s wrong.” Sometimes, things need to end before we even realize they do. When someone ghosts, it says more about them than it does about us. However, ghosting presents an unusual opportunity for self-healing. We often expect others to give us closure. We seek it out like a dog, calling and texting for that one last chance at it. Sadly, we never get it from those whom we seek it, and even when we do, it can feel terribly anticlimactic.

Ghosting presents us with the chance to give ourselves the closure we seek. We get to end the story how we want to. We get to tell ourselves that we loved and gave it our all. We get to analyze the relationship and understand where it went wrong in a way that helps us heal. As selfish as that sounds, we can give ourselves what we need to move on.

It is never okay to ghost someone. Everyone deserves clear and direct communication so that all parties have the opportunity to heal from the situation. However, not everyone has the empathy or the ability to do so, and what we can do with the circumstance of being ghosted is to let it allow us to be our own healers. We can give ourselves the very thing that the ghoster refused to give us, and that is the ability to see our own strength.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Importance of a male best friend (By Priti Dalwani)

It never occurred to me that how my life would be without my male bff? I’ve never taken a moment to realize that how my life has been at an ease and comfort ever since he has joined me. He has now become an integral part of my life. Having him is like having a brother who is there to guard me but not a brother, you get me.! Having him is like having an ice-cream which would never cause me flu. I think i’ve always been selfish on my part, as he has never complained about not receiving the equivalent amount of love that he has always showered upon me. He’s the one who has made me believe that guys are sometimes good assholes to have around and to talk with. He has helped me in restoring the faith that not every guy with whom you cross your paths is for sex and relationship. Girl friends are great but having a guy best friend is beyond a feeling. Although, most of the male friends are annoying but these motherfuckers are worth to be annoyed by.They are the ones who introduce you to the world of profanity and its benefits. They are the most useless and precious at the same time. I hate their vulgar side but not much enough to abandon them. They are creep but they’ll pay attention to your cribbing side. My girlfriends are my skin, with me through thick and thin but my guy friends are spine, they bloody support me survive this cruel yet lovely world. I don’t wanna fall in love with them because i feel love comes along with destruction and at least in this lifetime i am not willing to forego my precious treasure in the name of love.

You must decide what’s really enough!

You must decide what is enough.

You must decide what is beautiful enough, what is successful enough, what is stable enough, what is wealthy enough, what is good enough.

You will never be at peace in your life unless you decide what is enough.

So do it. Draw a line in the sand.

You get to decide what a good outfit is, you get to decide what makes you look best, you get to decide what a good day at work is, you get to decide what a healthy day of eating is, you get to decide what a successful week, month and year looks like, you get to decide what constitutes a healthy relationship, you get to decide what’s the right hairstyle for you, you get to decide. 

When you decide what is enough for your life, it means you are no longer on the endless, bottomless, vicious cycle of constantly trying to improve.

When you do not decide what is enough for you, you let the world dictate what is enough for them. And you cannot please everyone.

When you do not decide what is enough for you, you ensure that you will never, ever arrive.

Nothing will satiate your need to feel “better” because your emptiness is open-ended. It’s a bottomless well.

The incredible thing about deciding what is “enough” for you is that it directly counteracts perfectionism.

The question is not: “what is the most ideal thing I can fathom here?” it is: “what do I really need to survive, what do I really need to be okay, what is it that really makes me happy?”

When you are thinking of what your dream life would be, you are always going to fall short. This is actually not the foundation on which you can go about building a happy, peaceful existence.

Instead, you have to decide what is enough for you to feel okay.

Decide what kind of home is enough, what kind of clothes are enough, what kind of work is enough. When you do this, you begin to realize how very little you need.

No longer are you trying to fit and meet everyone’s expectations. No longer are you trying to edit yourself into some version of who you might, one day, become. When you decide what is enough for you, something magical happens. Everything around you starts to be enough. 

When we are finally conscious of what it is we really need, we set a lower bar for what it takes to achieve it. When we do that, we feel more accomplished, fulfilled and healthy.

We are finally free to enjoy our lives because we are not constantly trying to fix and improve them.

Do you know what happens when we start behaving like self-respecting people who feel worthy, affirmed, and successful? We start creating worth, affirmation and success like never before. 

The trick of it is that when we are resistant to determining what is “enough,” we are really hungry to self-hate ourselves into change.

This is not how it goes.

Instead, we become paralyzed and uncertain, we seize up and feel like we can’t step forward. It is from this place that we make our worst decisions. You cannot be a self-hating person and expect to build a loving, healthy life. 

When you decide what is enough for you, you become a self-accepting person. Then you start to behave like a self-accepting person. Do you know what happens when you do that long-term? You build a life that someone who loves themselves would live.

You have to do it now.

If the money you have now is not enough, it will never be enough, no matter how much you make. If you are not happy with who you are now, you will never be happy, no matter how much you change. If you do not appreciate your relationships now, you will not appreciate them no matter how many you have. 

Successful, empowered, happy people try to tell us this all the time. Only sometimes do we listen.

You are your own foundation.

You have to approach your life from a place in which you feel as though you are not constantly reaching for something unattainable.

This doesn’t atrophy your ambition.

This makes you whole, more motivated and empowered than ever before.

The irony about deciding what is “enough” is that eventually, it creates more goodness than we could ever fathom, far more than we would let ourselves have before. 

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Losing Originality

People accept us for what they want us to be,

And not for what we really are.

The result: we try to possess

Qualities desired by others

So as to be appreciated by them,

Thus, losing originality of ourselves.

Depression exists because we try to look at ourselves

Too much in comparison with others,

And try to manipulate our negative qualities.

With the positive of the others

The result of which is: we discover our internal nakedness.

When we discover our nakedness,

We begin hiding our true selves

And become different persons

By trying to put on different qualities,

We don’t possess, thus losing originality of ourselves.

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You’re allowed to thrive!

You’re allowed to thrive.

You’re allowed to dig deep into your soul and find the things that lift you up and give you purpose and feed them. You’re allowed to nourish them and cultivate them in your own life each and every day. You don’t have to wait for someone to give you permission to begin. You don’t have to coast by, you don’t have to fly under the radar, you don’t have to live in a way that doesn’t let people see your shine – you are allowed to flourish.

You are allowed to thrive.

Yes, you.

You’re allowed to thrive in a marriage or a partnership that makes you want to lasso the moon. You’re allowed to wait for the kind of love that sticks. You’re allowed to wait for that person who feels like home, and your best friend, and your biggest cheerleader all rolled into one human being. I hope you hear me when I say that you do not have to merely settle into your marriage or your forever partnership.

You don’t have to settle for struggle – you’re allowed to thrive.

You’re allowed to thrive in a career that makes you feel excited to get up for work every day. It’s ok to want something that fills your heart and your bank account with meaning. It’s ok to wish that the two would co-exist. (They can.) Just as you wouldn’t settle for the great love of your life, I hope you wouldn’t settle for a career that leaves you empty, either. Let yourself shine in the skills that you have, and stop beating yourself up if you flounder within that discovery. It happens to the best of us. The trick is not believing the lie that you will flounder forever – you don’t have to. You’re allowed to thrive.

I’m not telling you that there won’t be moments of struggle. Of course, there will be. There will be moments of struggle, and moments of floundering. There will be moments when you think that you’ll never break through the surface or see the sun again. The key is remembering that you don’t have to stay hidden beneath the dirt for forever. You were built to grow, to bloom, to blossom and to flourish.

You were made to thrive.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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I think my daughter is killing people!

I’m 90 kilos (down from 120 during my years as a starting lineman at Gujarat State), 6’4” when I slouch, and used to getting what I want from people.

It’s been an adjustment accepting just how weak that Kiara – all 26 kilos of her – can make me feel.

I know that I’m not supposed to give my ten-year-old daughter anything that she wants. But when she gets moody, sulky, or irrational, and I know that I’m the cause – well I just don’t feel all that strong anymore.

She’s used to getting what she wants from me. I guess the apple doesn’t fall very far, huh?

Anyway, that’s how I ended up on a cruise to Mexcio.

Kiara loves reading about history and other cultures. That shit comes from her mom, without a doubt. Reading was something that I only ever did out of necessity. But she tore through books about Aztec, Olmec, and Mayan cultures faster than I could figure out how to pronounce the titles.

She researched the cruise herself, and even made a fucking spreadsheet about prices and excursions. She asked to take a family trip, I said no, and we booked it shortly after that.

I’m used to feeling strong. Nothing made me feel weaker than the times when Kiara was hurting. The night terrors when she was five left no memory with her, but I’ll admit that I cried when I didn’t know what to do when she woke up screaming. When she fell out of a tree at age eight, I started the precedent of buying her anything she wanted. That began her reptile phase; I bought more toy lizards and dinosaurs than I knew existed. By the time she was nine, I was actually skipping prime Sunday NFL time to watch ballet recitals.

I know that the best parent isn’t an indulgent one, but it’s hard to be confident on the day that you realize that your child is more intelligent than you.

“Remember,” the ship’s guide announced to the group, “this stretch of beach is a nature preserve. No one lives here, no one takes anything from here.” She shifted her sunglasses and looked away from the small tour group and down the ramp to the dock. I scanned her body when her face was turned. Not bad overall, at least an eight. And before you judge me for looking, I’ll have you know that my wife is a ten in my eyes, and she’s the only person besides Kiara who makes me uncomfortably weak.

I’d do anything for my family.

“There’s a Mayan saying about this area. ‘The heart of the land belongs to us all, because we come from the earth. We take nothing from the earth without giving something back.’ It’s a beautiful beach, folks, so please take nothing but photos. My name is Sarah if you have any questions.” She flashed a sweet but manufactured smile and led the group down the ramp and onto the shore.

“Look, Daddy, it’s a heart!” Kiara squinted in the bright daylight despite her little pink sunglasses, and handed me a warm piece of obsidian. “Can I have it?”

I took it from her and stared at the rock. It was, indeed, heart-shaped, four inches long, and rather out-of-place on this rocky beach. Everything else was smooth and tan. I sighed.

“No, Kiara, the nice lady said that we can’t take anything from the beach,” I explained firmly.

“I know, but can I take it?”

We took it.

“Morning, Sweetness,” I said, tousling her hair as I passed by her sleeping frame, empty coffee mug in hand.

“Mmmmffxx,” she mumbled in response.

I loved getting up early; Kiara hated it. My heart secretly ached when I thought about just how much more of my wife was in Kiara than I was.

She sat up in bed, her hair a wasp’s nest of chaos. “I’m sorry about the bees,” she offered, eyes still mostly closed.

“What’s that now?” I asked, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

Her eyes didn’t move. “When I found the giant bees, I wanted to look at them, because I didn’t know that they could be so big. You told me to get away because it wasn’t safe. Then I laughed and you yelled at me. I’m sorry I laughed. They all yelled at me.” She blinked and looked around blearily. “Well maybe it was a dream.”

I looked at her with mild concern. Heavy sleeper that she was, Kiara rarely talked about remembering any of her dreams. Even the night terrors didn’t leave an impact on her, and she never had any recollection of them the following morning.

“C’mon, Sweet Thing.” I responded, trying to push it from my mind. “Let’s get out of bed. We’re set to go scuba diving today!”

I tried, and failed, to ignore the memory of the buzzing sound that had awoken me the night before.

I couldn’t ignore what happened the next night.

Kiara had been reading some books about the native species of southeastern Mexico. Those books had lead to internet searches about different animals, her curious mind never satisfied. “Did you know that some bats have tongues that are longer than their bodies? And that the kraken was probably based on a real giant squid? Dad? Dad?”

I smiled and asked her what we might see on land tomorrow. She dove back into her book, fell asleep within minutes, and I chose to leave her undisturbed.

That’s when she started screaming.

Do you have any idea just how much noise a ten-year-old girl can make? The answer is no, unless you’ve heard one rip the night with a soul-chilling shriek.

She had been asleep on the fold-out couch when she sat up. Still asleep, she opened her mouth.

I was sure the other passengers would report an attempted homicide.

I was able to hold her trembling frame and rock her back and forth until the screaming stopped. Then she fell back over, still out cold, and I left to take a walk.

I was only crying a little.

It was well after midnight, and most people were back in their bunks. My wandering took me to a remote passage near the stern of the ship. The lighting was dim, with weak lamps spaced at fifteen-foot intervals and darkness in the gaps between. In retrospect, I think that it was near the crew’s quarters, but my aimless wandering had no apparent destination.

I nearly shit myself when a man emerged from the shadows.

“Sorry!” The man shot at me, clearly rattled himself. “Sorry. I thought I heard a kid screaming, so I ran out here… did you see anything?” He emerged into the fuller illumination of a hallway lamp. He was just a kid, really, one of the employees of the boat. I guess I really had wandered off the beaten path.

“I…” What could I say? That a screaming kid is exactly what had sent me out here? “Sorry, no. I’m just out stretching my legs.”

The kid didn’t seem to relax. “Okay, sir. Why don’t you head back to your bunk? I’ve been hearing a lot of-” Here he cut himself off and looked into the air like he had sensed something odd. I was about to ask him what it was when the sound came.

Do you have any idea what a hiss mixed with a growl sounds like? Neither did I. But here it was, creepy, eerie, and extremely discomforting. It was followed by an odor so overpowering that it nearly knocked me to the floor. It smelled of fish and decay.

That’s when the spider’s leg emerged from the shadows on my right and slammed onto the floor.

I was far too shocked to react at first. It was eight feet tall and had crashed into the metal walkway right next to the kid. He froze, completely pale.

Then the other leg landed right next to him. The hissing growl followed, horrifyingly vibrating the floor.

And I saw that they were not legs at all.

They were wings. What had seemed like giant spider legs were actually the claws of an enormous bat.

Shimmering green scales hung down from the appendages like jewels. What I was seeing was completely impossible. It made no sense at all. So I turned to run.

But to my left, in the darkness on the far side of the weak lamp, I saw the tentacles. Long. Green. Filled with suction cups, tipped in a triangular appendage, at least a dozen of them. The owner of the tendrils remained in darkness.

We were trapped.

And then it got worse.

At first, I thought it was a snake crawling across the floor to my right, arriving to complete the impossible unholy trinity of coils from the darkness. Then I realized that it was a tongue. It slithered across the ground, half a foot wide and five feet long. It left a trail of thick, gooey saliva in its wake. It turned and rose up in the air like a snake being charmed, and lovingly tapped the kid’s neck. Ghostly white, he stared wide-eyed at me. The only part of his body that he was willing to budge was his lips. He mouthed a silent “Help Me” before the tongue spun around him like a vortex, pinning his arms to his sides, and sliding its thick, slimy tip into his mouth.

The kid slammed to the floor, and the tongue dragged him into the darkness with a sick screeching sound. He never broke eye contact with me as he slid into obscurity. Soon all that was left of him was a dropped nametag, oozing with thick saliva, the word “Corey” just visible in the dim lamplight.

Only when I started to breathe and move freely once more did I even realize that I had been frozen in place. I looked to the left, and saw the green tentacles slide away as well.

Two thoughts bombarded me at the same time.

Get back to the room and make sure your family is safe collided with If you leave him now, Corey will certainly die.

What would you have done? Answer that before you judge me.

Because I turned to the left and sprinted toward my family’s room.

I know that he was someone else’s kid. But his father wasn’t here. Kiara’s father was.

My fears grew with each step. As I raced back to Room 3191, I was almost certain that I could see the tip of a tentacle whip around every corner just ahead of me. It was as though the thing was taunting me, and doing a damn good job of it.

I heard the door creak shut as I sprinted around the final corridor to our room.

No no no no no no no no I reached my hands out, sweaty and shaking, and grabbed the handle.

It opened easily.

But what I saw was not so easy to understand.

Kiara was still asleep on the bed, the light shining dimly just above her. Four tendrils slithered across the floor, then rose up into a space above her head. But instead of reaching out and grabbing my daughter, they were being sucked into oblivion, disappearing impossibly into thin air. The tentacles whipped back and forth at a faster and faster rate as they got shorter, in the same way that the end of a piece of spaghetti vibrates electrically before the tip is finally sucked up. In a sudden moment, the tips were all pulled in and disappeared as Kiara opened her eyes and sat up.

She stared at me sleepily. “Dad, I had a really bad dream.”

That was last night. This morning, we woke up to the ship buzzing with rumors. One of the employees seems to have disappeared. Nothing has been confirmed for certain.

But I don’t need confirmation. My daughter accidentally killed someone, and I intentionally let it happen.

Nothing can change what just happened. Nothing.

But for now, I’m trapped on a ship in the middle of the Caribbean, and I’m terrified about what’s going to happen next.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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I was just a body to you!

I took all of the love you gave me, and I ran with it. I ran a marathon with it. Through hills and valleys, I carried your love. Your love was heavy. It wasn’t light, and it wasn’t easy to hold.

See the thing is that you never loved me, for me. You loved me, for you. 

You loved me because it was what you needed. It wasn’t because I was what you needed.

You never kissed me because you loved me. You kissed me because you were desperate for affection, to cover all of the sides of yourself that you didn’t want anyone to see. You didn’t want anyone to see that deep down you were burying yourself. You were laying bricks on top of your past, on top of your insecurities, on top of your ability to do what you actually wanted.

See the thing is, you always knew that it wasn’t me. You always knew that deep down you wanted someone else, something else. Yet, you were so desperate for a covering, and I was your covering. I was your escape route. I was just a body to you. 

With me, you didn’t have to confront the demons that were still chasing you after all of these years. With me, I could be your life, and that would distract you from the nightmares that were still in your mind. You were so deceiving. You were so good at fooling me. You had me believe that you were fully invested, that you genuinely cared about the broken bridges of my life, and you were willing to put the pieces together. You would wipe my tears, kiss my lips, and touch every corner of my body, not for me, but for you. I was just a body to you. 

See the thing is, all of these things collapsed, as they naturally would. Eventually, it got to a point where you couldn’t hide anymore. You had to look me right in the eyes, and tell me why you loved me. You had to tell me that it wasn’t for love, it was for the lust. You had to tell me that it wasn’t for my strength, or my resilience, but for my body, and only my body.

I was nothing more than just a body for you. A body that was ready, and available for your unrealistic urges.

I was just a body to you.

Once you had seen all of me, once you had experienced every part of me that there was to experience, you just threw me away. No apology. No conclusion. You had finished me, and you were ready to go. You knew that you were on the brink of hurting me more than anyone had before, and yet you still did it.

Simply because I was just a body to you.

 Although this realization is painful and disgusting, for all of these things I thank you. I thank you for using me. I thank you for giving up on me. I thank you for not fighting for me. I thank you for opening my eyes to the fact that nothing can replace transparency, and that true love isn’t two bodies who are compatible. Thank you for showing me that true love is a commitment. True love is someone who sits with you, and listens to all of your demons. True love is someone who chooses you. True love is someone who wants to conquer everything with you, and see you just took what you wanted, and gave up. And for that I thank you.

And my God, I can’t wait to find the person who stays. I can’t wait to find the person I can love with all of my broken pieces and can love me with all of theirs. I can’t wait to find someone who sees me as a body with a soul that has grieved, loved, and conquered each day. I can’t wait to find someone who sees me as more than just a body since I was just a body to you. 

I am so much more than just a body.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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I am the girl!

I’m the girl you meet at the bar, the one you’ll flirt with, the one who’ll stumble back to your place at 2am, words slurring, clothes flying everywhere.

I’m the girl you meet at the club, dressed in a shirt that’s probably too low and a skirt I can’t sit comfortably in. Our eyes will meet from across the bar, my bright red lipstick alluring you more than you’d openly admit. I’ll be the one with a whiskey neat, an AMF, or maybe a long island. Anything strong enough to give me that liquid courage.

I’m the girl you take shots with, our breath smelling like alcohol as the words flow oh so smoothly. We talk about superficial things – our favourite bars, favourite restaurants, favourite hangover food. We never approach anything too serious, after all we’re just here to have fun.

I’m the girl who grabs you to the dance floor, yelling ‘this is my jam.’ Our hips grind to the sound of the music. It seems so easy. We’re without a care in the world, it’s just us and the music.

I’m the girl who will grab your face and plant one on you. Confident. Forceful. You’ll know I want you. The one who will make out with you on the dance floor. A room full of people and yet I could care less. I’ll block them out, convince myself it’s just you and I.

I’ll allow myself to be flirted with, to be charmed by you. However, I won’t be naive. I won’t find myself in this alternate reality when you want me for me. I’ll know it’s all bar talk; you’re just here for the moment, never the long run.

I’ll allow you to play me, partially because I’m playing you. I’m flirting with you, using my charm and the presence of my body to allure you.

I’m here for the moment, come morning I’ll be gone.
Maybe I shouldn’t be proud of this. I’m just another player. An empty girl searching for a fix. But, maybe it’s temporary. I wasn’t always this girl. I used to want something more, something real. I didn’t want to be the girl you took home; I wanted to be the girl you woke up to.

Maybe it’s just temporary.

I’m lonely and need something to fill my empty crevices. I need to feel wanted. Like I’m important. Like I matter.

Or maybe it’s as superficial, as the world’s a bit quiet at 2am and sleeping alone is no fun.

All I know is, in this moment, I could care less. I have no regrets. It’s just fun and games.

I’m the girl you drunkenly hit on and I’m perfectly fine with that.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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You deserve it!

I never thought a person’s presence in my life could turn my life upside down and make it feel like it’s the right side up finally. Looking back to where we started, I never thought we’d be where we are now, what we are now, how we are now.

I never thought I could crave another human being the way I crave you. You make me look forward to every tomorrow because it’ll be another day to be with you. It’s like all the chaos of the world disappears when I’m next to you.

Before you, I always thought I knew how love would be like, would feel like, would look like. But you proved that love is far beyond my wildest daydreams — that love is in fact made of delicate little tugs in the heart that form little melodies that make your soul dance under the stars.

I never knew what love is until I found myself just looking at your face and all I could think of was, “God, I want to share my life with this person.” You make my world a better place, and I wish I wouldn’t need to live it without you. You taught me how to love and feel loved. You fill my heart more than you’ll ever know.

I want to thank you for sticking around. I want to thank you for your patience, your kindness and understanding, for the compromises you make, and for the effort you put in to make our relationship work. Thank you for carrying us both when I can’t hold my own. Thank you for carrying us through. You make me want to be better. You make me wanna be the best version of myself because you deserve nothing less. You deserve to feel loved without doubt. You deserve to be loved unconditionally. You deserve a love you can count on, a love that never fails.

You have become my home, my love. I am most comfortable with you. Having you scoop me from the edge of the bed back to your arms and into a cuddle is the best way to wake up and fall back to sleep. There are fewer things in this world better than the feeling of lying in bed, having my face pressed against your chest and your arms wrapped around me like you will never let me go.

Looking at your smiling face is like looking at the sun set or the moon rise. It feels like lying on a grassy field during a warm summer day. It’s like watching the clouds swirl around the blue sky. Looking at your smiling face makes me smile back to the world because it’s beautiful, and it makes me feel good to be alive.

My love, I will never cease pursuing you. I will always want to win you over and over and over again because I will always want to keep you. And I will do what I can to make you not want to leave. Just like how you make me fall in love with you every day, I will make you feel the love you deserve, the love you’ll want to have around forever, the love you wanna grow old with, the love that makes you feel alive. You deserve the love you make me feel.

We deserve this love, my love. We deserve the love that fills us.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Fall in love with someone who embraces your flaws!

You are lost. But then one day, in the most mundane of moments, for an unknown reason, you find someone you feel is different than anyone else.

Someone who understands you in the most intimate way without you having to whisper a word. Someone that holds you like you are the most delicate beauty in the entire universe. They don’t let you fall. And even if you do start to fall, they don’t hesitate holding you up before you even have a chance to hit the ground.

On the really hard days when you do find yourself in too many broken pieces, they help glue your brokenness back together. They don’t get impatient with you. They don’t raise their voice. They don’t make you feel like you are too much to love. One beautiful piece at a time, this soul helps carry you to a place where you feel whole again.

You may find yourself laying close to them, absolutely beaming in awe that you finally made it back to you again. Not because of them, but because they didn’t give up on you. We deserve people who love us through our healing. You did it together. You deserve someone who loves the rawest form of you. This is what you have always deserved.

You may find yourself in a mess on the bathroom floor, emotional in the most passionate way. Not because you’re sad, but because you can’t believe you’re worthy of this kind of love. You will feel them as an extension of yourself, like you have been split down the middle, and now this, this is your soul finding its other half. You never knew it was possible to love a heart you’ve never held, but now this soul is holding yours, and you can’t move from the disbelief, from the pure delight. They become your definition of your other half, missing pieces, and everything in between.

You deserve the most gentle soul who believes in you and never gives up on you. Who is there for you no matter what. Someone who helps rescue you from the painful places you didn’t know you could ever escape from.

When you find this soul, you know it. There is no other way to describe it. You. Just. Know. And when you do know, I hope you never let them go.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Coming out for real!

(Disclaimer : Just a person’s perspective, I am very much straight!)

I don’t know about you, but nothing about me ever fit into the cookie-cutter mold that society expects us all to be. I knew that I was different from other girls, but I spent years living in denial, hoping that my feelings would eventually change. I tried living the facade of a hetero-normative life. I went to great lengths to keep up appearances and hide my true identity from almost everyone I knew.

By hiding my true self, I avoided years of torment and harsh judgments from narrow-minded people who seem to think there’s only one real way to love. Unfortunately, I also missed out on years of sexual exploration and potential partners because I couldn’t stand the thought of even more rejection or abandonment from my family, my friends, and my community.Sorry, the video player failed to load.

I eventually embraced my sexuality whole-heartedly nearly three years ago, but I did so more quietly than you’d think. In fact, my “coming out story” was more like a whisper stuffed between several other juicy bits of information. Even after I “came out,” I still presenting myself to the world as a typical heterosexual white girl because I could.

Maybe I finally hit my quarter-life crisis, or maybe I’ve finally lost my mind once and for all. It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m finally ready to live my truth. So this is me coming out (for real this time).

I’m done hiding behind half-assed excuses or stumbling over my words when someone comments on my androgynous appearance or the “bi pride” badges on my bag. Instead of trying to change myself to fit others’ expectations, I want to use my voice to educate and correct misnomers that people outside the community often unintentionally spread.

I want people to know that my sexuality isn’t “just a phase” and that love is love regardless of the genitals between your legs. I don’t expect everyone to understand (or even to agree), but I need to come clean and live the way I was made to be.

I’m done closing myself in the closet and letting fear hold me back. I want to start making memories rather than continuing to live with countless regrets. It’s time to flirt with women and take them out on dates, even if I crash and burn before I learn to fly. After all, who dares wins.

I just want to feel comfortable in the skin I’m in instead of living with a deep, dark secret. I know that it won’t be nearly as easy, but at least when I’m “out in the open,” maybe I’ll finally feel free?

I’m done lying to everyone, but most of all I’m done tormenting myself. This is me coming out (for real this time), embracing that I love women and I love men. So if you’re still reading this, now you know — I’m bisexual and I’m no longer afraid to say it.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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When love is bigger than anything else!

I stood at the side of his bed, a man in his late sixties who had undergone brain surgery. I watched as his wife gently held up his back and helped him sit up straight. The surgery left him unable to do much on his own, and as he attempted to string a few words together to say to me, she stopped rearranging his tubes, bent low, and looking into his eyes, mouthed the words for him to follow and speak.

Later in the living room, I told her it broke me to see how beautifully she loved him. She turned to me, and with the same loving gaze I witnessed just moments ago, she whispered softly, “He’s all I have.”

When love is bigger than a feeling, it makes you cut through the surface of things and dive right into the reality of a human being. You’re no longer attached to an idea you once held. You learn to see things in all their fullness and you learn to accept and hold this human with all the tenderness you can muster.

When love is bigger than a feeling, you don’t sense a need to possess. You will do all you can to protect their heart because you know how precious what you have is. You learn to lean into security and safety, and you create a space for them to come as they are and be all that they want to. You don’t need them to conform to an image that you hold. You are free in your love and you want them to live the same freedom through your love.

When love is bigger than a feeling, you learn to navigate the unpleasant moments in unhurtful ways. Because you know that nothing, nothing is more important than this person. You know the love you share is bigger than any problem you will possibly encounter and you will battle it out together.

When love is bigger than a feeling, it looks a lot less like self-seeking and a lot more like serving. You know there is absolutely nothing inferior about giving yourself in big and little ways to a person who knows how to receive it in a healthy manner. Serving your person becomes second nature to you, and you start to find joy in the dailiness of things when done in love for someone.

When love is bigger than a feeling, it no longer looks starry-eyed or sounds dreamy or has butterflies doing rounds in our bellies, but it transitions into a quiet knowing between two hearts that this what we have here is gold.

There is a deep sense of peace that settles within you, and no matter what storm is spinning around you, it calms you to know that you are loved and held through it all.

There is something so rare and so beautiful about knowing that you are known. There is something precious about being able to see a person in all their aches and pains and laughter and gains and silently committing to stand beside them through all that’s yet to come. There is something so brave and vulnerable about letting yourself be seen in return and allowing yourself to be loved in all the ways that you love.

There is something wonderful about choosing a person and then choosing them yet again, especially on days when you feel so far from it. When all you want to do is run out the door and make different choices and live a different life. When you’re faced with hard things and walls that seem to only be closing in on you, and you choose, you still choose this person. Because when love is bigger than a feeling, it is a choice.

A choice to always do what’s best for the person you love and to keep choosing to do this when you could choose a dozen simpler things.

Because one day, when you’re gazing deep into the eyes of someone who is your all, your everything, you will want to have learned how to love like that. To love with deep knowing, with tender holding, and with relentless giving.

Because the real love that really lasts is always more than a feeling.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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I’m not your mood! (By Dhimahi Jani)

Heyy all!!
I’m pretty sure everyone has gone thought this phase where you think someone is treating you according to their mood and you never treat them according to your mood where you be nice to people even if you don’t has that great thing to pass on!
Can I know what you do when people treat you this way? Not just your friends but even at your home. Just ignore or clarify things? I’m sure you just ignore and not clarify. You just think it is you who is not talking or being proper but have you ever thought of that your moods and your mental state matter? Whatever the person is you don’t have to everytime stand for that person if he/she treats you with their mood!
You don’t treat them the same way because you feel its inappropriate to oppsite person! And what about your moods and your happiness sadness? Its a feeling that uou can’t ignore and everyone needs to understand that your happiness, sadness and moods matter.
I know whenever you try to express your moods and feelings the person say ‘I’m really tried of hearing this or I’m don’t want to talk on this topic’ whereas you listen to them everytime they take this topic up! Why? I know I’m too a person like this but you don’t have to always listen to someone’s repetitive story if someone is not listening to your states in your times!
You know your feelings which you always hold back plesse let them out because no one will come and ask you ‘whats wrong with you’, ‘what are you suffering from’, etc whereas they will come to you and stay stuff on face and you will keep quite and listen to them! Dude your selfrespect matters! Stop them, tell them I’m not your mood! Please talk to me nicely or I’ll treat you as my mood!
On a positive note You be happy for Yourself because no one will ever appreciate. Treat yourself like a KING & QUEEN! Stay happy!
By the way you can drop in your suggestions here I will surely answer them!
Thanks!

  • Dhimahi!

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Unsure?

You will never be enough for someone who doesn’t appreciate you. Someone who doesn’t recognize the value you can add into their lives or the kind of love you’re willing to give. You will never be enough for someone who doesn’t want to try, someone who doesn’t want to invest time and effort into your connection. You will never be enough for someone who doesn’t think you’re worth their time and attention because they’re so busy chasing other things.

You will never be enough for someone indecisive. Someone who is not sure about you. Someone who is still comparing or exploring or playing the field. Someone who is looking for a filler to get over someone else or somebody to hang out with when it’s convenient for them. You will never be enough for someone who is not serious about you, someone who doesn’t think of you as a person they can see a future with. You will never be enough for someone who can’t make up their mind about you.

You will never be enough for someone who stops at every bump in the road. Someone who only makes excuses for their absence or their lack of effort or their indifference. Someone who never makes you a priority because they keep putting everything else ahead of you. Someone who doesn’t understand your love language or the way you want to be treated. You will never be enough for someone who keeps forgetting what you want. You will never be enough for someone you have to remind of the little things and the big things. You will never be enough for someone who doesn’t know how to love you with honesty, with integrity, with passion and with utter conviction that you are worth every second and every minute of their day.

You will never be enough for someone who isn’t strong enough to claim you or mature enough to overcome challenges to be with you. You will never be enough for someone who is always hesitant about you. You deserve someone who knows for sure. Someone who wants to try. Someone who gives your connection a real and fair chance. Someone who wants to take care of you and be there for you. Someone who is committed to every promise they once promised you and someone who doesn’t make you question them or their intentions. Someone who doesn’t make you constantly doubt yourself. Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re too hard to love or too complicated to understand.

You will never be enough for someone who doesn’t want to love you. You deserve someone who can’t get enough of you.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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My type!

I believe in the concept of having someone who is your person.

Your person is someone who wants to be there to celebrate all your victories just as much as they want to help you pick up the pieces of your failures.

Your person knows all your annoying habits and only adores you more for them. Your person knows all the silly little things that make you excited and not think they are silly at all.

Your person never judges you and understands when you need space and when you need to be held. Your person knows exactly how you’re feeling within the first few seconds of seeing you. Your person encourages you to express yourself and never feel ashamed of your feelings.

Your person is always happy to hear your voice on the other end of the phone, even if they are too tired to keep their eyes open after a long day.

But most importantly, your person adds value to your life in ways you didn’t think were possible and inspires you to tap into all the potential welling up inside you. On the days you don’t think you’re worthy or you don’t have the strength to show up for the world, your person reminds you how strong you are and how much they and the rest of the world needs you. 

I never thought I’d meet my person during such a dark time in history. Living through a global pandemic has presented so many challenges for society and individuals alike. One of the greatest challenges has been losing human connection—not being able to see family and friends and hug them and look them in the eye while you tell them how much you love and appreciate them.

That’s why it’s ironic that my person and I created one of the deepest connections during a time when connection for most has been lost. Part of me feels guilty for this, but I also know that despite the losses the world is grieving, I am still allowed to find happiness and foster the rare connection souls like ours deserve.

I also think the world could use the hope that comes from realizing that nothing can stop true connection and that one can find their person even during the bleakest of times. One of the most inspiring authors of my generation, JK Rowling, wrote that “happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light.” My person always remembers to turn on the light so I’m forever grateful the universe let me find them.

I have to believe that everyone finds their person at some point in their life. Without this belief, loneliness would win and put out so many flames that shine light on all the goodness still present in the world.

If you feel like your light is shining a little dimmer than it used to know that there is someone out there who is waiting to share their light with you and encourage you to shine brighter than you ever have.

I found my person at the most unexpected and rather dark time. I think it was meant to happen that way so that I could learn that happiness can rise from the ashes of lost flames.

Our world has recently lost a lot of important flames that gave us direction, but together with our person by our side, we will restart the fires hidden within our hearts and experience the jubilance we deserve.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Trust issues!

People with trust issues didn’t choose to be this way. They didn’t really have a say when they were abandoned by one of their parents or when their best friend betrayed them or when the love of their life cheated on them. They didn’t choose these stories for themselves but they had to deal with it without any guidance, without any prior experience and without anyone to reassure them that it won’t happen again.

People with trust issues are hard to love because they always think that people will leave, that they will find themselves alone eventually, that everything they shared with someone will turn into a bunch of memories to look back on. They’re used to being alone. They’re used to keeping people at arm’s length because they don’t know how to let people all the way in. They don’t believe their words or their promises, they think it’s only a matter of time before they change their minds. People with trust issues have heard it all before and seen it all and they know that hearts change and people eventually let them go. 

People with trust issues are not closed off but they’re looking for a certain kind of security and reassurance that not many people are able to provide. They’re constantly testing people’s limits to see if they’re invested and in it for the long haul or if they’re just temporary visitors. Their minds are programmed not to believe people who come in and sweep them off their feet. They’re always looking beneath the surface for more answers and they’re always questioning people’s intentions because the last time they believed in that kind of fire, the flames burned them.

People with trust issues are hard to love because they don’t really know how to silence their skeptical minds, how to calm their anxious hearts or how to just live in the present moment. They’re always anticipating the downfall, the breakup, the lies or the day it all ends. They know it all too well. They’ve lived it time and time again. All they have from their past is evidence of why they shouldn’t trust people.

People with trust issues are hard to love but once they trust you, once you give them the security and reassurance they need, they will pour all their pent up love and emotions on you. They will be faithful, loyal, honest, generous, kind, caring and giving. They will fight for you like no other. They’ll always be by your side through thick and thin. They will never leave because they know what it’s like to be left and they know what it’s like to be lied to.

They will never make you question their intentions or their love because the truth is these people crave love more than anyone and they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make it work. That mask they put on, these walls they build are just their way of protecting themselves from another scam or another lie but deep down, they’re soft and their hearts melt once they feel safe. Their love is actually the loudest once they start hearing the roaring noise of their trust issues fade away.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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The power of A.I!

Two deliverymen appeared on my doorstep, transporting a package on a wheeled platform that mimicked a gurney. I looped Tanvi Lonkar onto three sheets of papers, initialed twice, and flashed my ID to prove my identity.

The corporation frowned upon customers requesting models of celebrities or neighborhood crushes to fulfill dirty fantasies. One could only order a replica of themselves. The products were restricted to suit the company name: Another You.

Six months earlier, I had stepped into a full body scanner in a glass domed building to have my proportions taken, my facial features mapped, and my vitals recorded. On the limousine ride home, I re-watched the first episode of A.I.Rising, wondering how realistic AI in the real world would appear.

With the product finally in front of me, I grabbed a pair of scissors from the junk drawer, then second-guessed jamming a blade into the box holding a Rs.5,00,000 replica. I peeled the packing tape off with my nails instead, denting my french tips, and unfolded the cardboard like a tiger crouched inside.

I expected a caricature. I received a mirror. The android looked like an exact reproduction — from the shade of skin to the freckles to the hair even my stylist struggled to color match. Every feature appeared identical to my own, down to the blackhead on my chin that sprouted earlier that morning. Six months ago, during the scan, my skin had been clear. Not a single blemish in sight.

I tried to visualize the terms and conditions I had skimmed through before completing my order. I had signed a nondisclosure agreement. A covenant not to sue. A stack of unending paperwork with wordy warnings and conditions and fees.

I recalled a section about the replica syncing up with me, about its body mimicking mine like women who lived together and experienced their period at the same time.

That turned out to be more than a simile. After activating the other me, her time of the month started the same week, the same day, the same moment as mine. She grew pesky hairs where I did. She fell sick with the flu when I did. Her immune system copied mine.

Before I realized any of that, the first time I saw her on delivery day, I used a command word to snap open her eyes. She ran through voice activation. No switches. No batteries. No hints of artificiality.

She tilted her pointed chin upward, appraising me. “Pleasure to meet you,” she said, same voice as me, same mannerisms, same inflections.

“You look nice,” I said. “Aside from the ensemble.”

She wore a red sweater dress with triangular cutouts on the hips, the same one I had been wearing during my body scan. A trend from two seasons back. It needed an upgrade.

“I know, I know. Cutouts are ancient. But if I’m wearing them, everyone will assume they’re back in.”

My lips curved into a smirk. In addition to her physique, she held the same personality as me due to a combination of FAQ questionnaires, ink blots, social media analyzation, and DNA testing. A perfect copy. A perfect crime.

Running underground, Another You helped the rich grow richer. I could sit on my ass while my replica draped an apron over her breasts and flopped meat over a stove. I could find a second sugar daddy and make my replica fuck him until he trusted her enough to hand over the credit card.

Throughout the following three years, I ordered her to complete my household chores — mopping and dusting and dish washing. I asked her to take my place during tedious charity events. I instructed her to amuse any guests. I even invited her into a threesome during a drunken hookup where I’d pretended to be a twin.

I got my money’s worth.

However, like anything, a puppy-love-relationship that seemed like it would never die or a breathtaking view of the mountains from a honeymoon suite, the luster wore off eventually. The replica became routine. Uninteresting. Dull.

Without groceries to order or guests to entertain, I grew restless. I wanted to attend the charity events again. I wanted a taste of the mundane because it felt better than sitting motionless in my loft.

Deciding to regain control of my life, I used a voice command to keep the replica’s eyes locked shut and stored her in a spare room, more akin to a closet. I propped her dead weight against the innermost wall like a mop, leaving her to gather dust.

By the time I remarried and my stomach bulged with a baby, I completely forgot she existed.

With a midwife by my side, I gave birth inside of my bathtub, supplementing narcotics with natural herbs. My husband gave me a turn coddling our little girl, nuzzled his bald head against her bald head, and then waved the midwife over to clean the leftover gunk from her body.

The second the pair scurried out from the room, I heard a baby shouting. Loud, screaming sobs.

“What is she doing to my child?” I said to my husband, then once again so the midwife could hear.

“It’s not your baby,” she called back.

What?

She reentered the room, cradling the silent child against her chest. “It’s not your baby that is screaming.”

Failed possibilities flipped through my mind. Sound from the television? No. We had a no-electronics rule on Sundays. Sound from the neighbors? No. They had several children, but our walls muffled their sex sounds along with everything else.

After a sweep of the house, my midwife discovered the source of the cries. Inside of a room, akin to a closet.

Beneath a swelling stomach, a baby squirmed against the carpet. It wailed even with its eyes shut tight, not fully activated, but created.

Just like the replica had gotten her period at the same time as me, she had gotten pregnant at the same time as me. Her system had copied mine. She had given birth to another (living?) thing. A thing caught somewhere between synthetic and flesh, between soulless machine and heartless human. 

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Someday!

Someday you won’t be sorry for opening up your heart and giving love a real shot. Someday you’ll be glad you kept your heart alive and hopeful. Someday your heart will thank you for not giving up on love after everything you’ve been through and everything you’ve seen and everyone who gave you a reason not to believe in love. Someday you’ll be glad that you still have it in you to share your world with someone because when that time comes, they won’t leave, they’ll want to be a part of every story and every memory and every occasion. 

Someday you’ll understand why some people had to leave and why you had to walk away, your heartbreak will make so much sense that it won’t even hurt anymore. It will give you clarity. It will make you understand why some people came into your life but weren’t meant to stay or why some people lied to you or why some people just didn’t want to fight to make things work. Someday you will understand that you won’t have to force anything that’s real and you won’t have to chase anyone who truly wants to stay.

Someday you won’t be sorry for bringing someone home and introducing them to your friends and family because they won’t let you down. They will show up for you so you never again have to see the disappointment in people’s eyes when they ask you about the two of you. Someday you won’t be scared of telling your mom about how much you love them because you’ll be sure that she will see how much you’re loved and cherished and she won’t worry about your future. 

Someday you’ll be proud of your vulnerability and you won’t have to shy away from being a hopeless romantic. Someday you won’t think twice about sending a text or saying I love you or expressing how you really feel. Someday everything you ever learned about love will be wiped out by someone who shows you what true love really is. Someday you’ll be thankful you kept your heart open because it will lead you to a very special person who has been waiting for someone like you to come into their life and turn it around. 

And someday you’re going to look back on the lonely nights and the painful breakups and the nasty fights but they won’t mean a thing because you’ll be with someone who is finally gentle with your heart and you’ll be so glad that you didn’t quit or let the wrong ones give you a false impression of love. Someday you will be so grateful that you never lost hope and that you believed against all odds. 

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Dreambaux

From MAKABO?
DO READ

WHY LIBRARY?

Many people,
May it be friends or family do ask this question to me.

That isn’t it wise to do a job or a get into family business rather than working on this library thing?

  • Growing up in Malad was fun until I got out of the school and stepped into my fascinating college life where we people from suburbs were also known by ‘MAKABO PEOPLE’

After 3 years of college. It got on my nerves. And I finally decided that I personally want to do something and change the situation atleast on my personal level.

The only complain you get to here over here is

‘Malad me to kuch hai hi nai yaar’

Thats true. But not for a long time.
We did not have Good Air Conditioned library for students here so starting with a Library,

I have taken a small step in my Area’s Development.

In these 5 years of Library.
We also started with a Turf,
Which also didn’t exist previously.

Right now

Providing Services of
Study Library,
Circulating Reading Library For Books,
Pen Friend (where we get assignments done for people)

Then Turf, A Beauty Parlour,
An Ad Agency, An Event Company and what not!

In future also coming up with
Cafe or Open Mic Clubs in our area.

I Genuinely want to change the face of the place I live in and want to live in all my life.

So yes. Thats why
Library!

We have received great response and touchwood success in these years and planning to run it for a lifetime and solve all study related issues for the students.

More than 1500 Students have registered till date!

Follow the founder Parth Shah at!

Follow Dreambaux Bookstory at!

Follow Dreambaux Library at!

More on Dreambaux in a couple of days time!

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Jeegar Stories!

A Boy who thinks emotions and memory are more effective when

shared with others.

So Hop On with me in my journey of YouTube and let me share my

journey with you through my videos.

Started my YouTube Journey on 4th February 2021. All I need is your support.

Subscribe to Jeegar Kawa’s Channel

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Being Judged (By Nishika Gala)

Why do we judge a person for everything he or she does? Why does he or she always have to think about others reaction on what they wish to do? why are there invisible boundaries of what the society thinks? Why do we judge people on their skin tone or physical appearance and not on the way they treat us? Why is a person not accepted for what he or she is?
Since childhood I have always asked these questions to myself. But I can’t answer them even today. I was always the one who was not included in a group of people since childhood because of my physical appearance. May it be school or locality I have always found difficulty to be a part of some group. In the beginning it bothered me a lot. Whenever I used to get down to play, I was avoided most of the times. And then I used to go back home and cry. Then as the years passed by, I started to work on myself. I changed my mind set to not worry about what others think about me instead I started to challenge myself to become a better version of myself. You must be thinking everyone says that they are working on themselves and they don’t but let me tell you just don’t care about what others are doing just think about what you are doing. Are you satisfied with the life you are living? Are you satisfied with the knowledge you have? Today is the day you question yourself and work on it in a positive direction. It is never too late to start doing something for yourself.

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What hurts more?

I believe in the concept of having someone who is your person.

Your person is someone who wants to be there to celebrate all your victories just as much as they want to help you pick up the pieces of your failures.

Your person knows all your annoying habits and only adores you more for them. Your person knows all the silly little things that make you excited and not think they are silly at all.

Your person never judges you and understands when you need space and when you need to be held. Your person knows exactly how you’re feeling within the first few seconds of seeing you. Your person encourages you to express yourself and never feel ashamed of your feelings.

Your person is always happy to hear your voice on the other end of the phone, even if they are too tired to keep their eyes open after a long day.

But most importantly, your person adds value to your life in ways you didn’t think were possible and inspires you to tap into all the potential welling up inside you. On the days you don’t think you’re worthy or you don’t have the strength to show up for the world, your person reminds you how strong you are and how much they and the rest of the world needs you. 

I never thought I’d meet my person during such a dark time in history. Living through a global pandemic has presented so many challenges for society and individuals alike. One of the greatest challenges has been losing human connection—not being able to see family and friends and hug them and look them in the eye while you tell them how much you love and appreciate them.

That’s why it’s ironic that my person and I created one of the deepest connections during a time when connection for most has been lost. Part of me feels guilty for this, but I also know that despite the losses the world is grieving, I am still allowed to find happiness and foster the rare connection souls like ours deserve.

I also think the world could use the hope that comes from realizing that nothing can stop true connection and that one can find their person even during the bleakest of times. One of the most inspiring authors of my generation, JK Rowling, wrote that “happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light.” My person always remembers to turn on the light so I’m forever grateful the universe let me find them.

I have to believe that everyone finds their person at some point in their life. Without this belief, loneliness would win and put out so many flames that shine light on all the goodness still present in the world.

If you feel like your light is shining a little dimmer than it used to know that there is someone out there who is waiting to share their light with you and encourage you to shine brighter than you ever have.

I found my person at the most unexpected and rather dark time. I think it was meant to happen that way so that I could learn that happiness can rise from the ashes of lost flames.

Our world has recently lost a lot of important flames that gave us direction, but together with our person by our side, we will restart the fires hidden within our hearts and experience the jubilance we deserve.

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You matter…! (By Dhimahi Jani)

Heyy people!!
You matter for everything. This pandemic has taught us many things. But one thing is always clear that you respect nature and nature will respect you.
It’s so easy for nature to make us their friends and save us from every thing like they know us since so long. Every thing isalways linked with each other but we humans search friendship in texts and messages. Isn’t it funny that you break a friendship just because the opposite person didn’t text you for 3-4 days?
If nature doesn’t differentiate between whom to serve and how to maintain friendship then why do humans do? I don’t want to blame you but just think of that one person with whom you broke your friendship just because of texts I think they will think twice before making a friend if he says sorry bye you didn’t text me.
You know everytime I look at sky and say thank you for being my mom and thank you for being my dad and thank you for teaching me the importance of saving you and making a strong relation friendship with others not just texts.
I hope you understand my message!
Thank you!

  • Dhimahi!

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Because…!

Because I love you, I’ll sit with you in silence. We won’t have to talk. We won’t need to cause we’ve created a space between us that doesn’t need to be filled with words because we already know them. We can feel them wrapped around us both.

Because I love you, I will tell you how I feel. I won’t make you guess. I won’t pretend that the feelings aren’t there. I won’t shove feelings down inside my heart, I won’t sweep them aside, or lock them away. I’ll tell you. I hope you’ll tell me, too.

Because I love you, I will not lie to you. Even when I know you’re not going to like the answer to the question that you asked. I love you. And love is rooted in honesty – it has to be, or else it unravels. It has to be, or else words get lost. It has to be, otherwise, too many things go unsaid. And I will tell you everything.

Because I love you, I laugh more than I ever have. I think you laugh more, too. I realize now that love and laughter are twin sisters, forever linked. One should happen with the other.

Because I love you, I fight with you sometimes. It’s not out of malice. It’s not because I’m looking for a fight. It’s not because I want to hurt your feelings. It’s because we’re two people, and sometimes, we miscommunicate. Sometimes, we have a bad day and we get snippy. Sometimes, we lash out. It happens. But it’s ok because it’s not rooted in harm. Because I love you, I always work to be better – because of love, I know you do, too.

Because I love you, I know what home means. It’s within me, and it’s also within you, and it’s within the little family we’ve built together. Our love is all of that. Love is all of that, too.

Because I love you, I see love everywhere.

Because I love you, I give love to everyone.

I do all of this because, I love you.

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The Future looked positive but turned out negative! (By Palak Agarwal)

This blog is also available here.

This is the future- the way we live today. Many years ago, people expected that 2020 will be a year of growth and success. So we were all living comfortably as we awaited this future. Greta Thunberg’s School Strike for Climate captured the world’s attention, we were making memes on how to fix things with instant ramen, etc., until the time an unheard virus shattered everything we used to perceive as normal. The lethal virus, COVID-19, has become a household name now. COVID has been the most often used expression in history. 

We, humans, have a proclivity to manipulate life to make things work on our terms so that we can chart our own path towards achieving our goals. But life, on the other hand, has other intentions and does not always go as planned. For example, who would have expected that a pandemic would occur, stranding us all inside our homes?

The yearlong lockdown compelled mankind to reconsider its decisions made over the last few decades. Things we took for granted were quickly ripped away from us, such as the way we used to head off to college, the way we used to dress up for celebrations, the quick drive we used to take to the nearest grocery store, or the way we waited in theatres to see movies. Our lifestyles have changed dramatically as a result of digitalization, from socializing with peers to “let’s do a zoom call.”

2020 had been a one-of-a-kind experience for everybody. It had forced people to change their working patterns from the workplace to the home, forcing them to devote more time to care for their loved ones. Others found it frustrating due to the large amount of free time, where they were curled up at home with little to do but watch Netflix, scroll Instagram, and live in frustration. Although some enjoyed this isolation, others were experiencing difficulties. In those times, daily wage workers and unorganized sectors were struggling to survive and earn a living.

The “New Normal”

The way we lived in 2020 is now a part of our everyday lives. However, boredom has led people to pursue their passions, which they once had little time for. Many people have shown their culinary abilities, while some have admitted their enjoyment of reading books, while even others have used this time to take new courses online.

Last year, the malls, restaurants, movie theatres, saloons, shops, schools, colleges, and religious places, were shut. The world had come to a standstill. But that made us realize that we can still lead our lives, we do not need to go out for vacation, or order food from outside, or necessarily sit in the office for long hours. This period has made us realize our existence, the importance of family relations, and spending quality time. 

Now slowly and steadily, things are opening up, and the countries are trying to get back to being “normal”, or whatever the hell it is. Since we are now operating from home, businesses have reduced office rooms, expenses, and travel budgets for themselves and their workers. Furthermore, for a large city like Mumbai, the traffic was atrocious. People now save a lot of time by not getting caught in traffic. This time is better spent on other things. It seems that this trend of WFH is here to stay at least for the foreseeable future.

What’s in store ahead?

People all over the world are profoundly shaken and affected. This pandemic has wreaked havoc on many facets of the world’s economy, finances, families, jobs, and physical and mental health. Nonetheless, we humans remain hopeful that the planet will return to pre-pandemic times. We want to feel secure in our lives and be in command of them. But this has drained us emotionally, and we are stuck in a never-ending cycle of “what if it never happens?” This has caused us to conjure up hypothetical possibilities about what will happen next, but no one knows for certain. We’re all in the same boat. 

Everyone is clueless right now. We cannot predict what disease will come next, where will be the next bush fires, or will life change for the better? Will we ever shake hands and hug our friends like before?

What will the ‘post-coronavirus civilization’ bring for us?

Over the early years, there was a pervasive belief that the world would eventually improve. However, in the name of progress, man has destroyed nature, resulting in the annihilation of mankind. For example, humans caused a lot of emissions by using cars, ships, and establishing new industries. Much of this has, in the long term, affected our lives. They’ve got Asthma, Diphtheria, and other illnesses. Nature, however, is recovering as a result of the pandemic. The Ganges Water, which was formerly polluted, is now completely clean. 

Before Covid-19, we lived as if we were the ultimate identity on this planet, taking advantage of the man-made facilities to the next level. We didn’t realize that there is a high risk of the emergence of life-threatening illnesses capable of eradicating our simple mortal being. Following the Covid-19 episode, we now must be careful that more lethal diseases could occur in the future. The fact that Covid-19 leaves no stone unturned to persuade us that further events are possible, humans do not seem to have been impressed. Are we waiting for a more lethal version to jolt us out of our stupor?

The year 2020 will live on in the minds of people for the rest of their lives. It will be remembered as the incident that threw our lives into disarray. It resulted in tumultuous changes. It was an excruciatingly difficult year for some, while for others it was a year with a complete lull in their calendar.

Despite the abundance of year-end declarations telling us to put 2020 behind and never look back, the comfortable T-shirts and Pyjamas, quarantine TikToks, and countless Zoom-themed memes all brought a little levity to what had become a rather challenging year. I recall that the year 2021 began with fresh dreams, resolutions, and prayers. People were hoping for life to return to normal.

But are we making some realistic decisions for 2021 based on last years’ experience? Or are we simply waiting for the vaccine to allow us to resume doing whatever we were doing before the virus paralyzed us?

Since the future is unknown, it is up to us to make decisions that will pave the way for new opportunities. Some paths may lead us to harmony and peace, similar to how the sun rises every day in the hope of igniting a new desire and hope. Our happenings from the past and the present can affect our future.

Personally, I believe that the covid vaccine will become readily available in the market soon, most people will wear masks even a year from now, and that lifts will have self-cleaning buttons. We may or may not have virtual yoga lessons or squats with a bag full of books, but we will certainly meet the demands of pandemic era exercise.

Although there’s one thing that we have discovered now- we learn the best when we are affected as individuals, when our freedom and our satisfaction are at stake.

To all the people out there, stay home, stay safe, save lives. Remember, you are not stuck at home, you are safe at home! Please use double masks, sanitize yourself, and get your vaccine as soon as possible! We will fight this together!

Comment down below and tell me what do you think is the future now?

Written by Palak Agarwal

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Everyone deserves love!

You have had your heart broken in the past. People you once trusted have walked away from you without a word. They have made you doubt whether anyone is going to stay in your life instead of getting bored and saying goodbye.

But you deserve someone who would never dream of leaving you. Not after having a fight. Not after hearing your secrets. Not after seeing you cry. Someone who will stay. No matter what.

You deserve someone who doesn’t make you fear abandonment. Someone who you can bring up your deepest thoughts with without having to worry about whether your honesty is going to chase them away. Someone you can fight with without worrying about whether they are going to throw up their hands and say that the relationship has become too much work.

You deserve someone who will work through problems with you instead of letting them simmer until you slowly grow apart — or someone who will leave at the first sign of trouble. You deserve someone who will stay by your side, even when you’re crying your eyes out or screaming your lungs out. Someone who will fight to keep your relationship strong, because they understand that even two soulmates will have their ups and downs.

You deserve someone who will make sure that you get home safe after a drunken night, even if you pissed them off that day. Someone who will still kiss you goodnight, even if they’re going to bed angry. Someone who will love you with all their heart, even when you are being annoying.

You deserve someone who won’t threaten to leave you when they get frustrated with you. Someone who means it when they promise you forever. Someone who isn’t going anywhere.

Date someone you can talk to about anything, because nothing you say could ever change the way they feel about you. Someone you can realistically picture a future alongside. Someone you can imagine in your life not just five years from now, but fifty years from now.

You deserve someone who would never dream of breaking up with you. Someone who knows the rough patches you’ve been through are just a hiccup along the road to your happily ever after.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you have permission to treat them like crap, because you are confident that they will always stick around. It means you have even more incentive to treat them the way they deserve. You have even more reason to give them every little piece of your heart.

You deserve someone who would never dream of leaving you because they know you are the perfect fit for them. Because even though there are problems with your relationship, you are strong enough to overcome them together. Because you give them so much to smile about, so much to be thankful for, so much to look forward to in the future.

You deserve someone who would never dream of leaving you because you are truly committed. Not just for now. Forever. 

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Someday Maybe! (By Prerana Kamat)

A bus just arrived at the bus stop,

Seems like it didn’t have any plans to move forward.

It started doubting it’s abilities as every second dropped, it lost control.

Slowly, the wheels began to tear apart, the headlights were no longer as bright, they gazed at every passing vehicle filled with fright.

Whether or not it will ever move again.

Whether or not the thought of giving up will ever cross it’s mind.

The parts were hugging the engine tight, so that it doesn’t let go.

The places it wanted to tour, the smiles it didn’t want to forget, it’s seats that held thousands of memories…all of it, gone, in a flash.

The noise of the window cracking intensified like it was begging for hope, a reason to hold on.

Someday, it will find the joy of it’s tiers carshing the road again, it will find a better place to be, someday maybe.

-Prerana Kamat

BACK STORY-:

                 I remember so vividly, the weather was gloomy and getting up that day felt forceful. I have always heard people saying that we have good days and bad days..well, that was definitely a bad morning. My heart just felt heavy, to be honest there was no particular reason that I can pinpoint. As I was doing my daily Instagram scrolling, that uneasy feeling just kept hitting and I wanted to get rid of it. So, I began to think about solutions to feel better. I used to maintain a personal diary in which I would articulate all my angst and happy moments, I realized that writing is something that I enjoy doing for myself. There was a page and a pen right in front of my eyes, without thinking twice I kept my phone aside and started introspecting. Personally, if you ask me how did I come up with this write up, I don’t know how to put in exact words. I just know that I felt emotional and most importantly relieved. Somehow, after expressing my thoughts into a piece of paper the little sense of achievement I felt made my day a lot easier than I had expected.

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I mean it when I say it!

When I say that I love you, I mean that I see you for who you are, even when you don’t see yourself. That I want to hold space for you to explore and go to the edges of your being, of your identity; to run free and create yourself anew every day, only to love you all the more when you come home and recount for me your new treasures and discoveries.

When I say that I love you, I mean that I never want you to feel caged in. I never want you to feel pressured to stay when you want to leave, and I never want you to feel that leaving means you lose my love. When I say that I love you, I want you to know that it isn’t conditional on whether you love me back.×Volume 0% 

When I say that I love you, I mean that I love the way you formulate words, the way they rest on your heart and travel to your lips and into my ears. I love the way your hands trace my body like they trace your guitar, turning me into a song that only you know how to play. I love the way your face becomes so animated when you tell a story, like one of your characters. I love the way you hold my hand when we watch movies in bed and our fingers dance together like they have all their lives.

When I say that I love you, I mean that I would never hurt you or make you feel unworthy. I would never try to put you down or make you believe you are anything less than the miracle you are. You are human, and you are everything messy and complicated and imperfect that comes along with it, and I would never fault you or make you feel guilty for that. To me, that is what makes you beautiful.

When I say that I love you, I mean that I will still get angry and upset with you, and you will get angry and upset with me. I want to have difficult conversations that make us cry— not because they break us apart but because they break us open and bring us closer.

When I say that I love you, I mean that I want to champion your dreams and hold your pain in my arms when you feel that you can’t carry it on your own anymore. I want to be there at 2 a.m when you can’t sleep and remind you that you can— that you don’t need me or anyone else to do in this world what you came here to do, but I will be here for every step forward and every step backward along the way, even if those steps lead you away from me.

When I say that I love you, I mean that I know we are on different timelines, but what I feel for you is timeless. Our story is but one endless run-on sentence.

When I say that I love you, I don’t mean anybody else’s definition of love. I don’t mean to label you or me or us. I don’t mean I want with you what society or our families tell us love should look like. I want what we create together, by no other definition than what it means in our hearts— a love we get to redefine at every moment.

When I say that I love you, I mean that you don’t owe me anything. What I feel for you is now a part of me, of who I am and who I am becoming, and I will integrate that into my being forever. I will love you, even if I never see you again. Even if I never hear your voice whisper in my ear or feel your arms around me once more.

When I say that I love you, I mean that my love doesn’t have an expiration date. I will not be here suffering in the waiting for you, but I will be here— no matter where you are— wanting nothing but the very best for you. Praying that whoever you choose to share your life with never takes a single second of it for granted and is capable of giving you everything you didn’t know you wanted.

When I say that I love you, I mean it.

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Time!

It’s midnight again, and you are the only thing on my mind.

I’m sitting here wondering how it could already be three years since we last saw each other. It is almost my birthday, and I can’t help but hope that maybe you will reach out to me. Maybe you will call and serenade me with that stupid birthday song you swore you would sing to me on my next birthday all of those years ago.

I always knew deep down though that you wouldn’t. I knew that our time together was fleeting. I knew that no matter how badly I wanted you to stay in my life that ultimately, you were going to leave. I knew that you were going to go home to Mumbai, while I stayed here in Canada. I knew that we would go back to being strangers, even after all of the time we spent getting so close to each other. You would move on with your life, while I tried to do the same. I wonder if you have done a better job of that than I have.

I like to think that I cross your mind as frequently as you do mine, but most of the time, I just feel delusional for ever thinking that. You cut me out of your life for a reason. And even though I may never know that reason, I will always know that it was what you wanted.

You didn’t want to see what I was doing with my life once you left. And you didn’t want me to see what you were doing with yours. There would be no more celebrating each other’s milestones. No more funny memes and bad jokes. We would go back to being meaningless to each other. I would become just another face from a place where you used to live, and you would never have to think of me again.

Is this really what you wanted?

It has all been so difficult for me to understand. One day you tell me that I will always have a home where you are, and then just a few days later, you cut me out of your life for good. I always thought that we were closer than that. I know that we didn’t know each other for that long, but the connection we had was stronger than anything I had ever had with anyone else. I never expected a drunken stranger on the train to become one of the most important love stories of my life.

How many people can say that someone ran off of a train at a stop that wasn’t theirs just to ask them out? It still feels like it was a scene out of a movie. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like anything between us was even real. How many of these emotions have I just made up in my own head?

Did you ever feel the same way that I did?

I swear the day that you went and got me breakfast before you went to class and I went to work was one of the best days of my entire life. It might sound silly to someone who is used to that sort of thing, but to me, it meant everything. Every moment with you meant more to me than these words could ever do justice to. I never expected someone I was never in an actual relationship with to treat me so well, but you were always so full of surprises.

The night we first met, I knew that you were someone special. I knew that you were different from anyone else I had ever met before. I will never forget that date. September 24, 2019. Regardless of if we ever speak again, I will always remember that date as the day I was reminded that love is still out there. There are a lot of shitty people out there, but then, there are also people like you. People who care so deeply and love so passionately, even when they know that time is not on their side. People who can make the most mundane moments amazing. People who will show you that it is okay to love again after you’ve been hurt.

I swear that I have thought of you every day since we first met, and I don’t think I will ever stop. You showed me more love in just a year of knowing each other than I ever felt in my multiple-year relationship with the person who supposedly wanted to marry me. I don’t think I will ever be able to thank you enough for the way that you treated me. Even when things got messy, you didn’t lash out at me. You stayed calm, just like you always did.

I just hope that you know how sorry I am for everything that happened between us. I am so sorry that I didn’t speak up sooner and tell you what my actual feelings about our situation were. I am sorry that I wrote the harsh, anger-fueled words that I did and had them published for the entire world to see. I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like I hated you or regretted my time with you.

If I had the choice to do it all over again, even if I knew we would never be able to be together long-term, I would still choose you. I would still choose you for whatever time you would give me because that is how much you meant to me.

Thank you for seeing me in ways that no one else has ever been able to. Thank you for showing me what true love and affection are actually like. Thank you for spending the little time that you had left in this city with me.

Our time together meant everything to me.
And so did you.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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She’s on the loose!

if she reads the poems, if she asks, tell her you’re sorry. tell her you love her. tell her you love her gentle and warm. tell her you love her because it’s the truth.

but don’t forget you loved me, too.

tell her you love her, but tell her you loved me black and blue. tell her i loved you ragged. tell her you couldn’t make love to me without leaving a bruise.

how you still had the leather belt in one hand when you took my face in the other the first time you whispered “i love you.”

tell her how our mouths waltzed among the comets, how we kissed and built a sanctuary among the stars. tell her my name still glows bright and sticks to your tongue.

tell her you cannot help but still think of me.

tell her you compared her ferocity to mine. tell her about the storm behind my eyes, how they pleaded with yours when you spoke of her. how you held me in your arms when you told me she hates putting her hand in yours. tell her how for you i would have given it all.

tell her you love her, but tell her you told me i felt like home.

tell her you weren’t brave enough to love this hard.

tell her she was the easier choice.

tell her how you’re whisked away from her by the autumn breeze, under the full moon, and in the middle of that song.

tell her you’ll always remember me. how could you not?

tell her i loved you as much as i could ever love anybody without you ever giving me anything.

tell her she can keep the best of you, i’ve loved the worst parts of you.

tell her how much you hurt me over the years, and how all i ever felt was love. tell her about how this is my beauty, not yours.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Even though they’ve gone, you’ve won!

Even if they lied. You were honest. You were real and that’s what matters. You meant what you said. Your words were soft and your actions were genuine. You didn’t take them or their emotions lightly. You weren’t scared of the truth but most importantly, you were true to yourself. 

Even if they took you for granted. You were kind. You were giving. You were caring. They’ll always remember you as the one with the big heart. The one with overflowing love and kindness that very few people can drink up.

Even if they picked someone else. You did what you had to when you like someone. You chose them. You invested in them. You did what you would want someone to do to you. You practiced what you preached. You didn’t just expect a kind of love you weren’t able to give. You gave it all and more and that kind of karma will return to you in magical ways.

Even if they thought you were temporary. You know deep in your heart that you’re not. You know that you didn’t play games or manipulated anyone into loving someone you’re not. You were honest. You showed them your vulnerability, your feelings and what they meant to you. You showed them that they mattered. You showed them your scars without trying to conceal them. You were an entire galaxy for someone who couldn’t even see the stars.

Even if they made you feel like you weren’t good enough. You gave your all. You did your best. You did everything you could to be someone worth loving and if that’s not enough for someone, it’s not your job to change them. It’s your job to stay exactly the way you are because you will always be more than enough for someone who is looking for depth, for quality and for strength. Maybe you were too strong for the weak ones or too deep for the shallow ones or maybe you were a home when they were looking for a vacation.

Even if they leave, you win. Because they’re showing you who they are. They’re showing you what they’re made of. They’re showing you what kind of person you don’t want to be with. You don’t want the kind of person who walks away because they can’t handle who you are. You don’t want someone who acts and lies just so they can manipulate you into loving them. You don’t want someone who is only looking for attention. You don’t want someone who sees you as a placeholder. You don’t want someone who makes you feel like you’ll never be good enough.

You don’t want someone who doesn’t know how to stay.

So trust me when I say that even if they leave, you win. You win every time someone who wasn’t afraid of losing you, leaves. You win every time God takes away someone from your life because that means he’s making room for someone so much better.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Warriors / Mothers?

I realized I love you so much that my heart could burst. It was the night after my stepfather left us—we were gathering our clothes from the yard before the rain came, and I looked at you under the moonlight, working so hard to keep everything in order even as your world was crumbling down.

Let’s rewind. 

My mom had me at the age of 19. There were a lot of things that she had to abdicate when she chose to keep her pregnancy, even when all the odds were against her. Our path hasn’t always been easy—we’ve been through awful lots, we’ve been cheated on, we’ve been lied to, we cried alone in our rooms, we learned to lean on the pain as a way to build ourselves from scratch over and over again. We thought it was finally time to breathe in safety, to let our hearts rest in the hands of someone else, to expand our family. It turns out that again, we were wrong, Mom. But at least from that, we won our precious little boy to protect as well.

Momma, I know it’s hard as hell, and I know it hurts when life keeps knocking you down. But then again, every time it happens, there’s a permanent thing. Us. Together. No matter what has happened, no matter who comes between our little family of three, we’ll always have each other.

I know we most likely always disagree on everything. We fight. We get annoyed.

But it only takes looking at you and seeing in your eyes how much you love us.

Right now, I see you putting my baby brother to sleep (as I’m now occupying the space of the man we thought would be here forever for us). You’re singing a pretty lullaby and his little eyelids are closing so peacefully, that it makes me envious of how pure he still is. Right now, Mom, no difference between us matters. I know we’ll give everything we have to keep his world from being shattered too.

I know that right now it’s hard to see through the pain and that the agony that you’re feeling feels endless. But I promise you, all that really matters is that you’re not alone. You’ll never be.

If you’re reading this and you have a warrior disguised as your mother, a mother who is also father, a mother who tries again everyday, a mother who is no longer here (but still looking over you nonetheless), a mother that’s a best friend, a mother who fights just to see you smile, or if you have any loving mother at all, don’t forget to show or send her some love.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Even girls are allowed to let loose!

I often find myself having conversations with my female friends about whether or not they watch porn. I’d say about half of my friends dabble in the x-rated genre, while the other half pretend not to. Porn is just way too interesting to pass up on. You’d think we could all be honest with one another, but it’s just one of those taboo topics people hate discussing. Why?

Embarrassment
Shame
Too offensive toward women
Unrealistic

Guess what ladies, feeling like this is completely normal. In fact, a recent study reports state that 59% of women are “very concerned about how the industry treats women and/or feel it perpetuates stereotypes”, 56% are turned on “but are concerned about how the industry treats women and/or feel it perpetuates negative stereotypes”, and 41% keep it as “something secretive they don’t want anyone to know about”.


So, what’s the consensus? Women watch porn and they enjoy it. Can the porn industry change its tactics? Hell yes! But will they? Probably not. Most porn sites perpetuate aggressive male behavior toward the opposite sex, which in turn teaches young men how to behave. With hostile (and quite frankly disgusting) categories like bukkake, gangbang and rough sex (yes, I did my research), are we really surprised with how young men act? Porn is in no way wholly responsible, but it certainly plays a role in the issue.

To all the ladies, if you’re still worried about how you may be perceived for watching porn or how in general females are treated, I’ve curated a list of female-friendly porn sites, literature, tumblr pages, etc. for you to check out. You can thank me later.
Lady Cheeky – This Tumblr site focuses on sensuality through a series of images and GIFs. Great site for first-time porn users.
Literotica – Consists of poems and stories ranging from first-time experiences to funny fucks. If literature is your thing, check out this site.
We Love Good Sex – A female-centric sexual blog focusing on our “dark sides” and what they mean. Perfect if you’re interested in exploring the depths of your own sexuality.
Bellesa – Erotica with an emphasis on female pleasure. If you’re a long-time porn user, this site will keep you very busy.

That should be a good starting point. Let me know if this has been helpful to you and your kitty or partner. And if you still don’t want to watch porn…Big mistake. Big. Huge.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Heart’s demise

She said it ended –

Prematurely – finally – thankfully –

It ended.

It was one of a kind. Surely, it was extraordinarily different.

It was two-sided, sometimes three, but mostly lopsided.

It was unsteady, see-saw-like, reckless, but it fulfilled her

Needs. She needed it more than he did.

He knew that; she knew he knew that, too.

But who cares about wet eyes and a snotty nose after the world’s

Sweetest caresses?

Who cares about the loveless stares and the commoner’s touch?

Who sees when the color fades from the picture and the fire in his eyes vanishes?

After all these years, his love became like water – essential yet deadly. She mastered the skill of carrying water in a basket – a notable feat!

She was doused in his love but managed to uncover parts of herself that were blotted out, like a messy piece of art

With her tools, she began to clean up the mess

Taking light from the Sun, she enhanced the beauty in the lines

She removed nothing from the old, just chipped away at the dry, crooked walls

She spent weeks anointing every space of her newly restored parts, pouring love and adoration into every orifice,

Singing homecoming songs and dancing happily and out of tune,

She was chasing away the waterfalls,

Chasing every storm cloud and every crashing thunder to the furthest skies

She needed to be safe from drowning, she needed a period of drought to find a natural spring.

When the work was done, she smiled; she was the woman she dreamt she would be.

So she vanished like the fire from his eyes, never to return.

She learned that, sometimes, the Heart becomes the trickster, leaving the Brain flooded with fluffy details.

Eventually, the fluff clears, and the Brain will witness the Heart’s demise and end it –

Prematurely – finally – and thankfully.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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We’re untouchable!

I’m restless. I turn over, look at the clock. Sunday night, 2:07am. I turn back around, staring into the darkness, thinking. This time last week. We were in a leather booth in a dark bar downtown, the lights dimmed on the chandelier above. Music played in the background, but in my drunken mind, I could only hear your voice. Nothing else in the world mattered, except for you sitting next to me.

Two beers on the table; we see who can drink theirs faster, but of course it’s you. The anticipating look in your eyes dare me to take another sip. At first we’re not touching, but the vibes in this place are electric, and I can feel your presence drawing me closer as our eyes meet. Our legs finally touch; you ask me to take off my jacket. I do.

The alcohol hits us at the same time, and suddenly our hands are intertwined, and your face is next to mine, our lips almost touching. It’s everything we craved, but were too afraid to do sober. You knew you couldn’t stop thinking about it after that night at the party, us walking together afterward hand in hand with burgers in the other. All too innocent, yet all too unattainable.

Like in my late night fantasies, you pin me to the booth – just how I like it – whisper something in my ear I can’t remember, but all I know is that it lights me on fire. You let me go from your grasp, and gently pull me back into your arms, your eyes searching my body for answers, your fingers lingering on my skin. You pull me closer and I feel your lips on my neck, and I find myself doing the same as I hear you let out a sigh of contentment. You trace my lips with your fingers, igniting a feeling so strong in me.

For those late-night moments at 2:07 in the morning, I wanted your touch, your presence, your desire, and you couldn’t deny it. I couldn’t either. Your magnetic pull drew me in. I knew you were forbidden, but something about the way you move made me want you more.

Maybe it’s the concept of not being able to fully have it. Maybe it was knowing that this was here and now, that these moments may never come again. Fleeting, just like the possibility of us.

You were mine for the night, and I was yours. Your irresistible touch created sparks that could light a fire. We were untouchable, even if just for a little while.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Friendship (By Nishika Gala)

“There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.”
The above quote makes so much sense. Whenever you meet a new person, you start knowing each other and eventually you become good friends and the journey starts. The journey from sharing each other’s food to sharing our whole day with one another, from meeting each other’s family to become one. Let me tell you about my best friend. It all started with staring each other in the class and judging each other like “Oh! She seems like she is a scholar”, “ew! Teacher ki chamchi” and it goes on.
But have you ever thought that not all friends stay for life time? Whenever we have a fight with any of our close friend’s we most of the times end up not talking to them. But have we ever given it thought of going and clearing the misunderstandings? Something like that happened with me last week. I and one of my best friends from school had a fight which led to not talking to each other for days. We used to talk daily and meet once in a week. We actually had a place in each other’s family. When I told my mom about our fight she suggested me to go and talk to her and clear the things out. But I did not do so. Then later on after a few days again she asked about her and I told her that we aren’t talking. She again told me to clear things with her. Then for once I had a talk with my friend and we cleared all the misunderstanding. Later that day I thanked my mom for forcing me to talk to her. She then told me that “whenever your friend’s families are aware of the bond that you share with your friend, the bond will last forever” and I felt it.

Follow Nishika Gala at!

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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One night stand!

For starters, I hate that term, “one-night-stand”. Not only is there rarely ever standing involved (if you know what I mean), but also these moments in our lives aren’t just one night. They’re learning experiences that stick with us for months, even years, to come. They are small, yet significant, flashes in time that help us grow and learn through this really tough world. They also can be hella fun.

1. Natural Antidepressants

An evening with someone you have great chemistry with is empowering. It can be exactly the thing to help lift someone out of a period of sadness or a heavy situation. The act of flirting with anyone is a natural aphrodisiac. It shows confidence and self-esteem, while also being a beautiful opportunity to meet someone or learn something new. Getting over a break-up? Is your heart hurting and you’re feeling alone? Buy a new dress and go talk to someone cute. Having someone stare at you with raw curiosity, intrigue, and infatuation is enough to pick up anyone’s spirits. If things go well and the stereotype is completed in the bedroom, then good for you girl (or boy!). You were cherished, respected and worshipped by another human being and that—no matter the duration of time—is something magical. Let it fuel your soul and shine on.

2. Because We Fucking Can

Society is not your mother and cannot dictate when and whether or not you embrace your sexuality. Society is also not your best friend and unfortunately won’t Facetime you while you are in the hotel bed Sunday morning. Society is too much of a prude to shout ‘Yassss girl, get it’ out a car window during your long parade home (walk of pride, not shame, by the way). As long as you’re smart, respectful, and safe, then there is not a single reason you should not say yes to that beautiful stranger. There will always be people who do not agree with your choices in life. Don’t let that stop you. Most of the time, they are just envious of your free-spirited, zero-fucks attitude. Get swept away and lose yourself in a single moment. Do whatever makes your heart sing and ride out that song however long you damn-well please. You strut your beautiful self any place you want, at any time, and do what YOU want. I support you.

Feel free to be free. Without judgment.

3. True Human Connection

Something beautiful happens when two human beings connect in any way: spiritual, emotional, physical, etc. We were put on this Earth in the plural form for a reason. We need real connection to survive. Now, I don’t mean “we’re all in this together” preach-talk about the collective whole, but rather our internal need for connection. Intimate moments between living souls, whether physical or psychological, is a fundamental part of being human. Why shouldn’t we seek these experiences out at any point possible? If you feel any sort of connection with someone, it is your right to pursue that feeling and hold onto it for as long as you care to. One night or 50 years, it doesn’t matter how long. Hold on to that feeling of closeness for an hour or a lifetime, but never hesitate to feel it. Take in all the moments, anytime you can.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Why’d you leave?

You liked me. I liked you. It seemed like our relationship was leading somewhere — even if it was only to the bedroom.

I’ve had girls sleep with me, even though they weren’t ready for a relationship. I’ve had girls sleep with me and decide they wanted nothing to do with me the next day.

Worst case, I thought you would be another one of those girls. Best case, I thought we would end up dating.

You surprised me when you walked away because neither of those things happened. I could never wrap my head around what you wanted from me, and now that you’re gone, I’m more confused than ever. There are a million questions buzzing around my mind.

I’m not sure why you spent so much time flirting with me. I’m not sure why you called me cute, why you pressed your lips against mine, why you made me believe you had some kind of feelings for me when you never made another move. I’m not sure what your end game was if you apparently didn’t want to date me or sleep with me. I’m not sure what you got out of flirting with me.

We never slept together and that should be a relief. I should thank you for being one of the girls who walked away before dragging my heart through the mud, before making me get too attached to you. As much as I appreciate your decency, it doesn’t make me any less confused by you.

The girls who slept with me and walked away the next day hurt me, but they made sense to me. They only wanted to be with my body. They only wanted me for a night. When they got what they wanted, they decided to move onto the next person. They screwed with my heart but they showed me their true colors when they stumbled out of the sheets. They made it completely and utterly clear why they led me on.

But you’re still a mystery. I’m still trying to figure out why you acted interested in me in the first place. I’m not sure if another guy ended up coming around and stealing you out from underneath me. Or if you got to know me better and started to like me less because you saw my crazy. I’m not sure whether you were too shy to make a move or whether you didn’t think I was worth the effort of moving from friend to boyfriend. I’m not sure about a lot of things.

We never slept together, which isn’t a problem. I’m not complaining about that part. I’m glad you didn’t lead me on anymore than you already had. I’m glad you left without using me first.

I just wish you were clearer about how you felt about me. I wish I wasn’t left with all of these questions. I wish I had some sort of idea about what you wanted from me and why you eventually changed your mind about me.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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She’s the one I crave!

I hear she tells her friends how loving I am to her. How she wants to take me on dates though I don’t say yes often. But she’ll keep asking till I give in.

I hear she tells her friends how she holds her breath just a little bit when she sees my name on her screen. She then goes on to writing and rewriting what seems to be her ‘almost perfect’ responses to me. Hoping to make me laugh, and that I’ll continue to reply to her.

I hear she tells her friends, how much she yearns to be close to me. Close enough that the scent of my floral perfume still lingers on her shirt after I leave.

I hear she tells her friends, that she sees me in her dreams. Lazing in bed together on a Sunday morning – underneath the sheets with her arms around me with my lips on her cheeks.

I hear she tells her friends, she wonders when I will see, that she’s standing right in front of me waiting and wishing for me.

But if only she knew, that we were never meant to be. I was just trying to be friendly, I do not wish to come across mean.

So many eyes on me but mine are set on her. Not the one who thinks I’m loving and not the one who yearns to be close to me. Neither is she the one who sees me in her dreams.

But SHE.

She’s the one who leaves me, wishing that they were him. The one who lights up my entire day when her name is on my screen. The one who holds me close on a Sunday as my fingers trace her skin. But most of all, she’s the one I crave for but she’s never craved for me.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Moving on is difficult but not impossible!

This phrase has been relayed over years to countless innocent babes looking to get out of the woods after a breakup, but does it really work?

As millennials, by default, we want everything at lightning speed. Faster wireless internet, faster job promotions, faster weight loss, faster ways to orgasm, faster methods to meet partners (0.6 seconds per swipe on average) and of course faster breakups.

So perhaps after a breakup, we could eradicate our exes from our minds and hearts by getting over and sleeping with somebody new.

Potentially each notch on the bedpost could chip away at the love we have for our ex, the touch of another can make heartbreak a less bitter pill to swallow. A distraction as powerful as sex can surely take your mind off what you’re really missing.

Or maybe that’s solely what it is, a distraction, trading one infatuation for another, temporarily sexing the mind into submission to forget.

Indeed a slice of naughty pie tastes good on the lips but that one fix won’t eradicate your sugar cravings forever. If anything you might crave sugar even more. ‘Sugar’ being your ex-boyfriend, fling or ex-buddy.

On the contrary, pleasure can pull off a very sweet job of masking pain, we often encounter people using pleasure to cope with pain in the modern world.

I’m sure there are guys and girls that sleep around after a breakup and wind up finding the one. These kinds of stories often take place.

Though, for the most part, I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that sleeping around acts the same way as a band-aid.

Band-aids, of course, provide promising benefits, they assist in healing and quickly stop the bleeding but eventually, you remove them and let the wound heal naturally, they aren’t forever.

The basic truth is that no one person can make you feel exactly the same way as you felt with your ex because no two people and no two loves are ever the same.

Therefore sleeping around may fill a hole for a short time (and by that I mean in your heart) though it’s not a reliable approach to wholly get you over your ex.

Time may be the most trustworthy and dependable healer.

Brokenhearted people often break hearts because they’re not invested in the new relationship, other than stocks in orgasms and short-lived highs. It’s a risky game when feelings are on the table, especially not just your own.

It may be cliche but I believe it’s accurate that the best way to get over someone is to get on with your life and let time blessedly do its job.

Sex is most definitely amazing and can occupy you until your love for your ex inevitably becomes faded, yet have a care in others if you use this method to propel you forward to where you were always meant to be heading.

Everything happens for a reason.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Bird’s eye view! (By Purna Parmar)

Have you ever observed how everything in nature does its job effortlessly? The flowers don’t push themselves to bloom, the birds don’t force themselves to fly, and the sun doesn’t try hard to shine. They effortlessly and naturally do so. We are a part of nature too, and this thus applies to us as well. So why do we resist? Why are we not effortless? Why don’t we act out of and embrace effortless being which happens to be our natural state of being?

There is something on our minds, unfailingly, always. If not that, something on the back of our minds, sitting latent or wending its way in spirals. We scarcely ever question why it is so, the way it is, and eventually get accustomed to living in this manner.

Every “adverse” situation that we experience in the present or something that took place in the past which plays on repeat mode in our minds, or anxious anticipation of something that hasn’t even occurred yet, seems to us as the most prodigious calamity ever in the life of any human on earth. It is only when we take a bird’s eye view, we cancel out the obliviousness we hold about the triviality of the issue. With this attitude (altitude, haha!) all seem fine and perfect the way it is. The way it was. The way it will turn out to be.

On the grass-root level, what gets us to this bubbly, effervescent, anxious state of mind, which swirls with fear and uncertainty, are simply our expectations, judgements and the need to control what and how it all must be. How it must look like, how it would have been if I had done something differently or said something different, how will it be in the future? What if it turns out right in the manner I most fear?… But my dear, the way it all turned out, all that you did, all that you said and everything that happened in the past, happened exactly in the way that brought you here, right where you are now. Is there a chance of a mistake?

The bird’s eye view here enlightens us by letting us know that there is absolutely no need to dwell in the past, nor the need to worry about the future. All that is, is this present moment. And this moment is perfect.

Bird’s eye view teaches us to ‘be’. Just ‘be’, effortlessly, wherever we are, with whatever we have. In this place, we find the peace and contentment we seek.

Here we find bliss.

Imagine a place where the bird’s eye view is your constant state of mind. Won’t that be peaceful? Won’t that feel light and happy and simply, beautiful?
This is what I strive for, a constant state of being _. No, not being something. Not being happy. Not being contented. Not being ambitious. Just being. Effortlessly, without forcing myself to be happy, contented or ambitious. In the state of just ‘being’, whatever comes to me is what I feel in that very moment. And this state of no control brings absolute freedom.

This is what I strive for.

Just being.

This blog is also available here.

Written by Purna Parmar.
You can have a look at some of her work here.
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Why should boys have all the fun?

I often hear from women that, “men can compartmentalize” better than women. So, women should be wary of going into a friends with benefits relationship because they will likely “fall for him” and “get attached”. Women advise each other, make sure you “protect your heart”.

The implication about men is that they just don’t have feelings for certain women even if they have sex with them; or that they choose not to have those feelings. The implication about women is that they can’t control what feelings they have and they will fall in love with most men they have sex with and then that will hurt them so much it’s not worth the sex.

All of this is absolutely false.

The fact that people believe these things makes me really sad because both women and men are missing out on the possibility of some really fun and sexy times. They are missing out on an opportunity to connect with another human — missing out on learning how another person experiences the world; missing out on the chance (well actually the responsibility) to practice empathy and respect and honesty. And missing out on all those lovely chemical cascades that come with sex and affection; that revitalize our bodies and make us laugh and shiver and sigh and sleep so sweetly.

Neither men nor women are processing feelings healthily and are both missing out.

Men, in the scenario described, are blocking their emotions. The emotions are there, they are just stuck. And women, in this scenario, are allowing their emotions to dominate them.

We can learn something from each other. Fancy that! I find that the best way to learn from others is honest, intimate, nonjudgmental conversation. And I can think of one great place to do that…..

Sex is not just sex, women are right. Sex does bring up feelings, that’s the point of it! It gives us physical feelings and emotional feelings.

We just have to become adept at processing these feelings in a way that enhances our spiritual growth and happiness. It’s just as unhealthy to squash the emotions down as it is to let them spray all over the place. It’s unhealthy for us and its unfair to the other.

Sex is not a promise of any future behavior, men are right. Sex happens in the moment, not the past or the future.

We have to become adept at expanding the present moment and are really, truly present for our sexual partner, sex gets better and more satisfying. Suddenly, we find that afterward, we are not yearning for something more — more affection, more love, more attention. If we are truly present, all of that is exactly what we get. 

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Mother’s Day Special!

(Written from a mom’s perspective)

Mother’s Day is the most commercial of all commercial holidays, and it triggers people in various ways. Mother’s Day is dope if you have a mom who is motherly, and who rallied for you in the ways that made you feel loved and validated. However, some of us do not have a positive nor healthy relationship with the woman who birthed us, the day is overwhelming and dreadful. I used to enjoy and look forward to Mother’s Day as a kid because I would put all my effort into making my mom a card, and writing her a cute poem. I became a teenager and our relationship became strained and tedious. We weren’t close, we were on opposing teams, she didn’t like me, I was scared of her, but I didn’t respect her because of how she treated me.

Mothers are people who are just trying to get through their lives. Some do their best, others do what they can, and others don’t give a shit. There’s a whole spectrum of all kinds of mothers. Yet, my reality is that my child doesn’t owe me anything. I chose to bring her into this world, it’s my duty to love her, nurture her, pour love and energy into her EVEN when I don’t want to, feel like it or can’t. I have to find a way to give her my energy, and the very best of me because she did not ask to be here. Without her, I wouldn’t even have a day to celebrate.

My first Mother’s Day as a mom was excruciating. I’d just separated from my daughter’s dad, I had a 5-month-old who was so cute but also really tough emotional work, and I cried every single day. I was in the deepest depression of my life, and I did nothing but think about all the reasons why I needed to die. I thought about who I would leave my daughter with, and I was thinking of ways to kill myself. I was sad. Everyone was asking me about Mother’s Day, but no one was asking about ME, the person, the human being.

If we aren’t going to be checking on the mental health of the people we are celebrating, then what good is Mother’s Day? Perhaps someone should have checked in on my mom. The way she was with me was unacceptable. The things she said and the way she treated me was not something I deserved. I suspect that she was probably really sad. She was probably dealing with her own heartbreak, loneliness, perhaps contemplating her own suicide, and suffered in silence. Maybe she had many dreams and hopes that I fucked up. Maybe I was a constant reminder of a sacrifice she didn’t want to make and she never let me forget it. Instead of celebrating the commercial aspect of Mother’s Day her people should have checked on her mental health. My dad should have been checking on her and helping her. She should have had more support. I feel that deeply.

I can enjoy motherhood because I have an exceptional group of women with whom I can share all of my parenting woes. We have all shared stories of trauma and drama, and no one is judging. My friends will not let me die, they will not let me suffer, and they will be there with me when I want to cry and vent. Our babies are loved and they are being raised in a village where we are not perfect, we are not ideal, but we are present, raw, unfiltered and committed to being great mothers. It’s hard being a woman, it’s harder being a mother and it’s even harder dealing with all of that if you’re alone. The world can be a nasty place, but I think we have to find our tribe and look for people whose souls vibe with yours. It is not enough for us to just say, “Happy Mother’s Day.” Check on my mental health, check on my heart, check on my emotions and make sure that I am okay.

Me, the woman, the human being and not JUST a mother.

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Let’s face it, modern love sucks!

Modern lovers suffer from a lack of intimacy, a result of a lack of privacy.

We learn too much about each other too soon. This must be destructive for new love because it kills the mystery of passion. There’s almost no space between people anymore. Sure, we can opt out of the madness you say. But when you like someone, you want to know what they’re up to. And instead of reaching out to them and unveiling your vulnerability, all you have to do is click on their profile. Boom. In 30 seconds you can find out everything they did that day, why bother ask?

For some of us, these platforms are what we use to promote our work. And at some point, the lines between the personal and the public blur until it’s not clear what to share or what to keep to yourself.

No one wants to get married anymore. I mean some people still do, but that number is shrinking rapidly. The age of marriage has also increased, as more people go through more relationships than ever seen before. Everything feels so…temporary and elusive.

Thing is, if you were unhappy with your marriage a decade ago, there was only so much you could do about it. You could sign on to a chat room, or text your secretary, but both options ran a high risk of getting caught. You could also make an effort to fix what you had.

Nowadays though, you have all the temptation you could ask for in the palm of your hand–in the supermarket aisle and on the toilet seat. That little demonizing ‘buzz’ ready to steal your conscious attention enough times that you are intentionally seeking it out. An addiction? Perhaps. But to what? To attention? Validation? Acceptance?

All the things that one lover used to satisfy, can now be fulfilled by two, three, even two thousand other people. And it makes you wonder, is that why some of us opt out of love altogether?

Women hustle just as hard as men, so financially speaking, most of us don’t need to get married. Everything else we once enjoyed from love–sex, undivided attention, and support, is also easily accessible elsewhere. So the burning question remains: how do you settle on one person when there are so many other options?

The whole process of falling in love has shifted. Do we fall in love with a person, or a persona we see projected on our screens?

Have mind games multiplied since everything about online behavior is a fucking algorithm? Click on someone’s profile enough times and social platforms place them at the top of every list. Even if you wanted to tone down their importance, you’re reminded of them constantly.

I’m not complaining. But I am fascinated and terrified at the state of things. I feel perfectly split in the middle–half of me believes we are free to choose how we interact with each other. That flakes are flakes with or without the tools we have at our disposal. But the other half of me feels like this technology has added a dynamic to relationships that we don’t even know how to think about, let alone handle yet. This extra layer gives us a chance to express ourselves to more people in five seconds than we once could in five years. It allows us to numb our pain by constantly running away from it. It allows us to close a chapter of our lives as fast as we can open another one. We can follow and learn each other’s patterns, personality ticks, and on some level, it takes out a chunk of the guesswork.

And yet, even though so much is exposed, secrecy has never been used so cunningly. A finger tap to erase your verbal indulgences forever.

Is modern love as obsolete as an Instagram story? This is what I want to know. If I refuse to swipe right, will I get left behind or risk being naive in the modern dating world?

How many old souls are still waiting around for the old school romance we once heard about?

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Happy Birthday Chintu!

Tum pe likhna shuru kaha se karu,
‘PADA’ se karu ya ‘Chintu’ se karu,
tumhari dosti itni khubsoorat hai,
pata nahi tarif dawa se karu yaa dua se karu.

Hum ladte 👊hai, jhagadte 😜 hai,
koi baat nahi ae Dost,
Dost to sachhe hone chahiye achhe to kutte 🐶bhi hai😂😂

Duriyo se koi fark nahi padta,
Dosti to kuch aap jeiso se hoti hai,
warna mulakat to jane kitno se hoti hai!!

kuch rishte RAB banate hai
kuch rishte LOG banate hai ki
par kuch log bina kisi rishte ke rishte nibhate hai
Shayad wohi dost kehlate hai..

kabhi pasand na aaye meri dosti
toh saaf saaf keh dena Dost
Kasam se, Hans kar nikal jayenge teri zindagi se teri khushi ke khatir☺️☺️

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Not your type of a girl?

I’ll openly admit, I am the “no strings attached” type of guy’s worst nightmare. I’m clingy, I’m needy, I’m not the type of person who can just have a hook-up without expecting something. Normally the expectation is friendship because as we all know, relationships take a lot of work. Relationships can be too difficult to follow through with, and it’s easier just to have a friendship most of the time.

When someone says “no strings attached” I can’t help but assume that means they don’t want friendship, they don’t want anything past hooking up. That’s not the type of person I am. I’m the kind of person who wants to know someone before there’s any kind of involvement. I need to know the person I’m with cares, to at least some extent, anyway. 

We live in a hook-up culture. I get that. Not all people are looking for only hookups. There are definitely people that are looking for friendship, relationships and everything that comes with them. That’s great! For those people anyway.

Another thing I’ve picked up on from people saying “no strings attached” is that they may be looking for a long term hookup partner. A “fuck buddy” in most terms. They just ignore the “buddy” part of the title. It’s a “booty call.” Gwen Stefani says it in the best of terms, “I ain’t no hollaback girl.”

Think about it in realistic terms. If someone wants everything to be “no strings attached,” there are always going to be strings of some sort. If something happens in which you need the person to step up and act like a real human, they’re not going to be there. The person isn’t going to be there to care about you if you actually have an issue. If someone wants everything to be without strings, they’re not going to treat you like a human, either.

Personally, I don’t see the point in having something that’s no strings attached. Friendship isn’t too much to ask for. Friendship can take maintenance, but it also builds trust, it gives you knowledge of the person, you know what you’re getting into.

I’m not here to shame people that believe in a no strings attached type of situation. Everyone of appropriate age can make their own decisions, and they should be able to make their own choices. The point is, that type of life isn’t for me. Based on social media posts I’ve seen, people looking for a no strings attached situation have a reason for it. They’ve been hurt, they’ve been fucked over a few too many times, and they’ve given up on anything else, at least for the time being.

I’ve had some friends enter a no strings attached situation in hopes of changing the person. That’s not likely to happen. Every once in a great while, it can happen. They can convince the person they’re worth being more than a no strings attached situation. It doesn’t happen often, I’ve seen it happen once or twice, but more often than not, at least one side gets hurt.

There aren’t always reasons they’re looking for it, there may not be a deeper meaning behind what they’re looking for. Sometimes, they just want to have genuine no strings attached situation and that’s that. There’s no shame in that, people should not be made to feel ashamed for their sexual decisions unless they’re causing legitimate harm to another person.

I’m just saying that it’s not the life for me. I want a friendship, I want to trust someone, and genuinely care about them, and I want them to have the same kind of comfort with me. From what I’ve learned, no strings attached rarely works out. One of the parties is going to sprout some strings, and it can become a much more complicated situation than it was ever meant to be.

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What’s really worth 12 million dollars?

Chintan told me about you.

I need you for the night of November Fourth.

Unlike many of your clients, I want very little from you. I’m conducting an experiment about the afterlife. You will not be harmed. You may even be bored.

I need you to make my heart skip a beat. I’m sure you’re familiar with that.

If you’re interested, respond with a location.

Signed,
Nidhi Bhanushali

I get this email on a Thursday while scanning Google reviews of expensive restaurants, so of course, I say yes.

“There isn’t that much of a difference between getting paid for sex and getting paid to kill me,” Nidhi says, her fingers twirling the stem of her enormous wine glass. “Both are illegal. One’s just more illegal than the other.”

I press my thumbprint into the warm bread the waiter just brought to our table. She couldn’t wait for appetizers before bringing this up.

In part, it’s my fault. If a woman who looks like Katrina Kaif hires you for the night, it’s probably too good to be true.

“The technology is there, and I have the equipment,” she says, sipping the red. It stains her lips, which are oddly relaxed as if she’s rehearsed this speech before. “I’d be dead for no more than a minute—two minutes, tops.”

She emailed me a link to what she’d purchased “through a third party” and said she’d successfully tried it on her cat. That statement made me want to kill her a little bit, but not enough to be convicted of murder.

“I don’t get why you’re even doing this,” I say. “Can’t you just take peoples’ word for it that the afterlife is real?”

“No,” she says resolutely. “You can’t believe what someone says for publicity.”

And here I am, supposed to believe what this woman says about returning from the dead. “If the machine defaults, then what? I get put in prison for murder.”

“I’ve made up paperwork, and my lawyer is aware of the situation. I wouldn’t just leave you out to hang for this.”

I don’t know her well enough to believe that. “You have an answer for everything.”

“I’m a woman making eight figures a year,” she bites back. “I didn’t get here without being prepared.”

“And you don’t have someone to do this for you.”

The remark deflects off her like candlelight to the diamonds in her ears. “Not anymore,” she says. “Cancer’s a cunt.”

I stifle the urge to take pity on her; I don’t want to be sucked into this. “Is that why you want to die?”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll see anyone,” she said. “Not to sound insensitive, but this is about boredom. I’ve afforded everything that’s supposed to be interesting. And it fell flat.”

She is a psychopath. “You’re insane,” I say before I can catch myself.

“You were raised by two parents, went to a decent school, and you’re screwing for money so if I’m insane you’re in the same boat as me,” she shoots back. “Have you ever wondered why you’re alive?”

I roll my eyes. “I guess.”

“What did you come up with?”

Tearing off a hunk of bread, I chew before I answer her. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think anyone knows,” she says. “Until they’ve died.”

I watch her eyes to see if they pop out, tracking any possible twitch. There’s nothing. If I hadn’t heard her words I would’ve imagined she just told me about a new business plan. There is nothing but logic in her gaze.

“Can’t you just do this in Japan?” I ask. “Is this normal there? I feel like they’re always doing crazy shit.”

“This isn’t normal anywhere,” she responds. “Hence the interest.”

“But it’s been done before? Successfully?”

“I told you I’ve done it myself.”

“On a cat. Which is really fucked up, by the way,” I say, gauging a reaction. She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t act so high and mighty. People kill animals all the time.”

I take a few sips from my wine, which tastes good for wine but not hard enough for this conversation. I want to ask for bourbon, but wonder why I’m still here. As I sit here with four hundred dollars of a reservation fee I can get up and leave with the story of a woman who wanted me to kill her. It would be enough material for several parties, and enough money for a few fancy dinners on my own.

“There’s something in this for you,” Nidhi says, crossing her legs elegantly under the table. There will never be a day when I can do that without bumping my knee. “I’m willing to pay a lot. I’m ready to suggest you to others who will do the same.”

“How much?” I ask, casually interested.

“How much would it take?”

I think for a moment, of a life where I can do anything. I think of an obscene number. “Ten million dollars.”

“Make it twelve,” she says, and the noise leaves the room. My heart is in my head and I feel the wine in my throat. “Twelve million dollars. For less than an hour of your time.”

On the way to Nidhi’s apartment, I ask to see the legal papers and she provides me with a copy. The only legal document I’ve ever taken part in was a restraining order against a client. This one is ten times thicker; it looks as if someone has written a manuscript of the Bible. It’s dense and she knows I won’t be reading the whole thing.

Maybe it’s her plan to bury me for this. Yet it seems a little far-fetched that she would die to incriminate a stranger. I have to stop making logic out of this. There is a check for twelve million dollars in my purse. Twelve million dollars. Tax-free.

I’m not even thinking of what to do with the money. That thought barely went through my mind after I found an excuse for doing this. If Nidhi comes back from the dead I may never be afraid of anything again. From what I’ve read of people coming back, there’s a lot of warmth and light. Overwhelming feelings of love and a renewed sense of compassion. It doesn’t sound so bad, really, but like her I have a small sense of doubt stem from not knowing the subjects. I want to know, not enough to kill myself, but enough to get paid for temporarily killing someone? Maybe.

“Do you believe in Hell?” I ask, almost off-handedly. As if Hell is such a stretch to two people who will murder or die to figure out what does exist.

“You think people who’ve never died can tell us what happens when you do?” she asks, then gives an absentminded small laugh. “I haven’t heard any witness say something about Hell. Are you worried?”

The more I think about it, I’m sure I’ll go there if it’s real. “A little.”

“Whatever is real, we’re going there anyway,” she says. “Seeing it doesn’t change anything.”

Nidhi shows me how to hook her up to an EKG, and jokes dryly how I could have been a nurse.

“I suppose it doesn’t pay well,” she says quietly after I don’t laugh.

“You could have gotten a nurse,” I respond.

She punches a few buttons and the screen glows, oddly familiar with the medical dramas I’ve watched. “No one used to obeying the law would do this.”

“For twelve million dollars?” I ask.

“Hmm,” she says, her mind not in the conversation. “Maybe I figured you’d be fine with what happens.”

“With what?” I ask, though her tone said nothing.

She brushes me off and pierces her own skin with a needle for the IV, or whatever it is that’s hooked up to her machine. I stare at it, averting my eyes from her fingers as she lays medical tape over her inner elbow. “When the machine hits 62 degrees, I want you to keep me under for ninety seconds.”

She gestures to the large digital timer on her bedside table. We’ve gone over this before but seeing her blood stream through tubes as she speaks the instructions gives me chills. She continues to talk for a few minutes before her speech starts to fade.

“Just…” she trails off, her eyes struggling for engagement in my direction. “Stay…”

Her mouth stops moving, though I hear a few humming noises as if she’s still trying to communicate. I realize under her lipstick that her lips have turned blue. The only color left in her cheeks is blush and bronzer, her lack of circulation illuminating disguise. In the contrast I can see a few scratch marks, that I imagine are a result of her pet experiment. Her eyes fade in and out, and her eyelids start to flutter closed. I watch them, something inside of me yelling to look away.

It has been seven minutes since she last spoke and her body temperature reads 88 degrees. Glancing back at her face I see her eyes open now, wider. I wonder if this is what fear looks like without facial expressions. For a few seconds, I have a strong urge to save her life.

As crazy as this is I want to know where she’s going if she’s going anywhere. I’m not a religious person, the only experience with religion I have being a brief stint in Sunday school when my parents needed free babysitting. I remember the ark was a big deal for me, but don’t know if they taught us about Hell. Maybe they figured we were too young to have to learn about it. Their talks were mostly packed full of angels and Jesus’s love for all of us, even the weird kids in the back that picked their noses and stuck what they found between the pages of the Bible.

I stopped believing when a Jewish girl in my second-grade class told me if I stuck up my middle finger God would send me to Hell, right then and there. That night I must have been curious because I did it underneath the covers, and the fires of the underworld didn’t open beneath my canopy bed. I’d thought they might. If God wasn’t watching me committing this heinous sin, I figured, He’s probably not out there.

Her body temperature is down to 81 degrees and her eyes are dead. Occasionally they shift. Her breathing is so shallow it’s almost nonexistent. She told me the machine will move oxygen for her, to just pretend that she’s meditating or in a deep sleep. Unfortunately that’s not so reassuring when you’re used to people who snore.

Something soft brushes my leg and I scream, feeling like I’ve just shed a layer of myself. I stare frozen down at the floor and see a cat, what must be her cat, staring up at me. It looks more cute than scary and I pick it up, letting it nestle into my lap as it watches its owner.

“Now you get revenge,” I say, and the cat purrs. I wish it could speak; maybe Nidhi would have believed what it saw.

Nidhi has passed hypothermia and I feel like her body has chilled the entire room. My skin has goosebumps and the cat’s fur feels cold and almost threatening. Softly it leaps from my lap to the bed, padding over to lie on Nidhi’s chest. As if her breathing wasn’t already shallow enough.

I watch the monitor– 73 degrees now. I wonder if Nidhi will be known as my strangest client. Of course, there are always odd ones, but a little research and I’ve learned to expect the guys who want to wear diapers or ask me to pee on them (one of the reasons I never eat asparagus anymore). The man who suggested me to her, Chintan Makwana, is a longtime client and a friend who often requests that I wear a full burka to see him. He works for the Pentagon.

I look around her room for a sweater or something to warm me up and for some reason my heart slows when I see her closet. It’s nothing to close a door but I’m on edge with this whole temporary murder thing and wonder what’s inside. I could get up and open it, look to see, but I shouldn’t leave the monitor. Ninety seconds, that’s all she can be dead for, the most precise timing I’ve ever had to deal with. I think I’ll probably flip the switch at eighty-five seconds just to be safe. That’s enough time to see the afterlife, I think.

Hopefully not too much time.

As her temperature hits seventy, cold sweats are running through my body. I feel nauseous. Even the cat seems nervous, and has risen to its paws from its place on Nidhi’s chest. It moves instead to her feet and stands there, occasionally glancing at me but mostly keeping its eyes on the dying woman in the room. I wonder if the cat is happy about this, the shoe being on the other foot now. Maybe it doesn’t want me to flip the switch.

68 degrees. I could flip it now, but don’t know if this is something a person can go through twice. She seems like someone who’d try it again, and if there’s anything at all out there I don’t think it’ll let her come back after tricking it. As it stands we’re fucking with some serious power here and I do not want anything bad to happen to me over this. Please don’t let this be the thing that opens up the underworld to suck me in. Because maybe flipping the bird just isn’t bad enough.

I don’t want to go to Hell. Just about everything in my life means that my only hope is it not existing in the first place.

Her temperature is 65 degrees and my stomach’s halfway up my throat as I watch it slowly drop to 62. The machine beeps and I almost faint.

In the end I left before Nidhi woke up, phoning 911 beforehand so she’d have someone with her when she regained consciousness. What I know from Chintan is that she’s happy, and she’s a yoga teacher now. He’s asked me if I wanted to know what she saw. He’s also asked me if I’d be willing to put him through it.

I have possibly permanent scars on my arms from what happened after she died. There are things in my head that I cannot un-see, though I’m not sure if I ever saw them. I know I felt them. Someone didn’t want her to come back. Nidhi, possibly, because she later sent me a package with a thousand-dollar cashmere sweater and a note saying:

Sorry for what I did when I was dead. Thanks for flipping the switch.

I want to ask her for her cat. I don’t know if I can wear the sweater. I can afford to buy one of my own now, but I haven’t really made a dent in the money she gave me. Instead, I’ve gone to church, not just church but temples and mosques, trying to hit up every religion to see if one matches with what I experienced (except for Scientology and Mormonism—I’m not crazy). And maybe a religion didn’t get it right. But who knows; there are literally thousands of them.

The only logical thing I can think of to do with the money is travel the world. Maybe I’ll go to India and study yoga and pretend to be Julia Roberts. Or I’ll take a road trip across the United States like Jack Kerouac. Everything that I can do is already a movie I’ve watched or a book I’ve read, but maybe I’ll find something different.

Because you can never take someone’s word for it, you know? You still have to figure it out for yourself.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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How to hit a home run?

Sensitive content alert

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The average clitoris is about 5 millimeters.

The average penis is about 130 millimeters.

That’s a size difference of over 25 times.

So in that spirit…

How to touch the clitoris:

When you’re touching a woman’s clitoris, imagine what feels good to your penis and shrink it down by a factor of 25. Take your basic penile stroke and divide by 25.

In other words, tiny movements. Not just the range of motion though. Also, use only about 1/25th the amount of pressure. Pressing into a clitoris to a depth of a couple sheets of paper is like squeezing into your hard penis by about the thickness of a pamphlet or a magazine. It’s a lot of pressure. There’s a ton of highly sensitive nerve endings crammed into that tiny space.

Maybe also try moving 25 times slower than you would do to yourself. Again, just as a starting place.

To give you a sense of what it feels like when you touch her without the 25x adjustment factor, imagine subjecting your dick to a jackhammer, or sandpaper. Too much.

So as a starting point, think of her clitoris as a tiny, ultra-sensitive penis and touch it accordingly. Then you are at least in the ballpark. Ask her what might make it better. Keep inviting her to give you honest feedback until she feels unabashedly at ease letting you know what she likes and what she wants.

How to touch the G-spot:

The G-spot isn’t like a hidden button that, if you find it and push it, lights her up like a video game, causing her to come instantly and be eternally devoted to you. You will not master the G-spot by reading Cosmo or men’s magazines. There isn’t a secret ninja technique involved.

But here’s an analogy that might help you find your way.

Let’s start with some anatomy.

Search for images of the clitoris and you will see something vaguely wishbone-shaped. At the top is the glans, the touchable little pencil eraser we’re all familiar with. The rest of it is inside her body. (And is more like 10cm altogether.) The clitoral shaft splits into two “legs” that run down either side of the vaginal canal. In principle, you could gently reach inside her, carefully press into the deeper soft tissue, and pleasurably stimulate those nerve bundles.

You can get a vague sense of what this might feel like, and how to go about exploring it. Because your penis is similar. It doesn’t just stop right at the base, it extends into your body. The shaft continues on behind your balls and runs just underneath the patch of skin between your legs, from your scrotum to your anus.

When you’re hard, you can feel the rigid shaft in there. And stimulating it feels… interesting. I’m not talking about the skin, which is nothing like the skin on your penis. But further in, the shaft itself, feels kind of similar down there as it does above. You can press into it. You can kind of reach around either side and almost grab it. Etc.

And playing with it can produce a range of sensations from very pleasant, to neutral, to not so great, depending on what’s being done. So let’s say your partner is sucking your cock. If she starts exploring this lower shaft area at the same time, it can add a lot. It can potentially feel fantastic. Not guaranteed though. The two of you would need to explore together what feels good. She may have mastered this with a previous lover, sending waves of ecstasy through his body doing this, but it doesn’t matter, it’s going to be different with you.

Get it? It’s very similar with her G-spot.

How to make her climax during intercourse:

When you’re inside of her it feels great. Kind of hard to imagine how it could possibly not feel as fantastic to her as it does for you. Aren’t you basically rubbing the same analogous parts against each other, her vaginal canal and your penis? They’re so perfectly matched for each other, aren’t they innie and outie equivalents?

Well as it turns out, no.

Let’s take a look at how our sex organs begin to form while we’re still in the womb. For awhile in the beginning, they’re neither male nor female. After the first couple months the hormones kick in, and the genitals start to differentiate into either male or female. There’s a tiny nub, a small patch of tissue, that will grow to become either a penis, or a clitoris.¹ And another area that develops into either the labia, or the scrotum. And so on. These are called homologous body parts.

The point is, your penis is not homologous to her vagina. The area that on her grows and becomes the uterus and vaginal canal, on you shrinks and more or less disappears.

So yes, having you inside of her feels good, and for some women it feels really really good, but not in quite the same way that it feels to you. Most of her sensitive parts are in and around the opening, not deeper inside of her.

Imagine having your scrotum gently fondled. Feels good. Might feel really good. Maybe there are even some guys who could climax from that alone. Generally speaking though, it’s not the primary get-off area for you.

Well, it’s like that with women and penetration. Her vaginal canal is just not anatomically where her primary get-off nerve endings are, though it might feel good or great in its own right.

If you want sex to feel as good to her as it does to you — and chances are you do — pay attention to the clitoris. That’s a good starting place.

Next blog will be out soon.
Please share this blog, like it and comment what you feel about it!

Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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The gypsy woman!

I will never forget that summer. It was August of 2011. My friend informed me that her aunt had a gift. I didn’t know it then, but that woman’s gift would end up changing my life.

You see, I’d never had my cards read before. I always believed in the paranormal, and I think it was that very belief that had kept me away from Tarot Cards for so long. However, this summer was different. I was desperate. I needed answers, and I didn’t really care who gave them to me or where they came from, so long as I could find an inkling of truth to help alleviate the nightmares that had been haunting me for far too long.

A year prior, I’d had a falling out with a friend. I missed her, and worried about her often. Her personality seemed to have shifted after a traumatic loss within her family, and I just needed to know if she was alright, because it wasn’t my place to ask her anymore. I had tried reaching out to her once at school after we had stopped talking, but she ignored my efforts. Consequently, I had been dreaming of her suicide for months. I just needed to be sure that the dreams were purely symbolic in nature, and not intuitive or foreshadowing an actual tragedy that might happen.

So, there I was. 17 years old, the summer before my senior year of high school, in my friend’s basement, sitting across from the woman who would change my life forever.

I never gave her any details about my situation or my concerns, and that was the way she liked it. She handed me her deck of cards, told me to shuffle them however I pleased, and then to break the deck in half and hand it back to her. That’s exactly what I did.

She laid out seven cards. The symbols and pictures on them meant nothing to me, but they told her everything that I didn’t.

“You’re missing someone? A girl?” She asked, placing a cigarette between her lips.

“Yes,” I sighed, “She wasn’t exactly my friend, but she may as well have been.”

“She misses you, too,” The woman said, flicking her lighter and holding the flame to the end of her cigarette, “But not for the same reasons you miss her.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I knew exactly what she meant.

“She was using you. But you already know that, don’t you?” The woman smiled sympathetically, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the space between us. “She misses all of the things she could take from you.” She pointed to a card on the table. “You were also her scapegoat. She could blame you for her own shortcomings and faults. That’s why her mother didn’t like you. That girl blamed her own mishaps and bad ideas on you.”

 “I know,” I said, looking at the floor, “but I really cared about her.”

“I can see that,” The woman said, pointing to another one of the cards, “You cared so much, that you’re suffering from nightmares about leaving her behind. Is that right?”

“Yes,” I admitted, “I keep dreaming that she is going to kill herself.”

The woman shook her head, “She won’t. That is just your subconscious trying to process the trauma of losing her and what you thought was a friendship. She removed herself from your life. And now, to you, it feels as though she is dead. It feels like she may as well have killed herself, because of the way she departed your life so suddenly. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“She will be fine.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. That was my main concern.”

“However,” She picked up the card closest to me, “Death is in your cards. I don’t think it means anything though, probably just a manifestation of your own anxieties about your friend and the nightmares you’ve been having.”

She examined the cards more closely. She picked a couple of them up and rearranged them.

“Hmm. I’m sorry Darlin’, I’m not really seeing much else here. There might be something here symbolizing a changing of the seasons, but that might just mean the transition going on in your heart, as you move on to the next phase in your life and let your friend go.”

I smiled politely, and reached out my hand to shake hers and thank her. When she took my hand, the expression on her face shifted, and the energy in the room intensified. She narrowed her eyes and stared at me through the cigarette smoke lingering between us.

 “I see needles,” She said, “Did you recently get a tattoo or a piercing done?”

“No.”

“Do you or someone close to you have Diabetes?”

“I mean, my grandma-”

“No,” She interrupted, then held her other hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Do you know someone who is into heavy drugs? Heroin, maybe?”

My eyes widened. “Y-yes, actually. One of my other friends, Tanvi. But she said-”

“She’s clean.” The woman finished my sentence for me, still holding my hand. “I’m sorry Darlin’, but that just isn’t the truth.”

“What do you mean?” I asked reluctantly.

“I don’t want to startle you. Nothing is set in stone, and my interpretation could be off, but I feel like something is going to happen to your friend Tanvi. With the shift of the seasons, when the leaves begin to change.”

“Okay…” I shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the woman’s stare, “Say this is true, what can I do to prevent it from happening?” I asked, trying to keep my composure.

“Tell her that you know she isn’t clean. Tell her that in the fall, September maybe, she is going to get a really good batch. It will be stronger and purer than anything she is used to. Tell her to take it slow, to divide it in to smaller portions than she normally would. Because she won’t see it coming.”

I shook my head and pulled my hand away. “I don’t know if she will believe me, or listen. If she actually is clean, I don’t want to discourage her progress by making false accusations of her relapsing.”

“I understand,” The woman took one last puff from her cigarette, and snuffed it out on the ashtray beside her. “All you can do is try.”

The next day, I told my sister about the reading I had received while at my friend’s house. I told her that Tanvi was lying to us about her recovery and that she might overdose in September. My sister decided to reach out to Tanvi in the most logical, sensitive way that she could. Of course, Tanvi completely dismissed her efforts.

“I totally believe in that stuff,” Tanvi wrote in Facebook Messenger, “But I think that lady was blowing smoke up your ass.”

“I would just rather be safe, sound crazy, and tell you now, instead of being sorry later.” My sister typed.

“I appreciate your concern, Love.” Tanvi sent multiple heart emojis, followed by,” But I am clean. I promise you that.”

At the time, that had been enough. Hearing from Tanvi had been the confirmation that we needed. She would be fine. She was clean and going back to school in a few weeks to finish her nursing degree. She was engaged, and her life was finally falling in to place. For the first time in a long time, she was happy and healthy. Nothing could get in her way.

Or so we thought.

I will never forget what happened after that. On September 8th, 2011, I had just finished my first week of my senior year of high school. I was walking home after class and catching leaves as they fell from the trees around me. I was so happy to see that the first of the leaves were beginning to fall, and the summer heatwaves would soon return to the depths of Hell where they had come from. I remember turning the corner on to my street and feeling my mood shift as I noticed my sister standing in our driveway, waiting for me.

When my sister noticed me, she started running down the street to meet me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, as she reached her arms out toward me. “Why are you hugging me? We only do this when-”

“When someone dies.” She finished my sentence for me.

“What? What happened?” I asked, pushing her away from me.

“Do you remember what you told me last month?” She wiped her eyes on her shirt.

“No? When?”

“Do you remember what that woman said? The one with the Tarot Cards?” Her voice broke.

I stared at her blankly, trying to recall what she might be talking about.

“It’s Tanvi,” my sister whispered. “She’s dead.”

I tried to speak, but suddenly, my mouth was dry and my tongue felt like it had grown three times its size. Finally, I managed to choke out one word.

“How?”

My sister took a deep breath and looked up at the sky before answering.

“Overdose.”

It has been 8 years since we lost our friend. The foretelling of her death may have been pure coincidence, but even with the warning, none of us saw it coming. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Tanvi, or wonder if she is still around us in some unseen way. I feel her presence all of the time, and I often hear her voice in the back of my mind, encouraging me to pick up a pen and write.

So, Tanvi, this one’s for you.

Next blog will be out soon.
Please share this blog, like it and comment what you feel about it!

Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Killer smart home!

I spent the last few days petsitting for my boss at his three-story mansion of a home. I actually got paid to spend time with the bounciest, fluffiest dog in the universe. Even better, I was encouraged to stay in their guest room, which was bigger than my entire apartment. Lucky me, right? I thought so too. I’ve been Instagramming the hell out of this place, bragging to all my friends about the talking fridge and the automated sinks and the shower that remembers your ideal water temperature.

But what’s that phrase people like to throw around? Social media shows off everyone’s greatest hits but not their behind-the-scenes? Well. My behind-the-scenes sucked. Like, they were starting to scare me they sucked so much. I don’t believe in ghosts, and I certainly don’t believe in robot uprisings or any of that sci-fi crap, but something weird went down in that house.

It started in the bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it had the works. A mirror that lights up when you apply your makeup. Speakers in the walls to play any music you ask Alexa. A heated toilet seat that keeps you cozy while you’re doing your business.

I was trying out that toilet seat for the first time, almost ready to wipe, when the thing got hot. Too hot. It went from warm to scolding in two seconds flat. I jumped onto my feet as fast as possible, but it was too late. When I checked their full-length mirror, I had burn marks spread across my thighs and cheeks. Fucking embarrassing. I was too chickenshit to tell the owners what had happened and ask them how to readjust the settings, so I borrowed some Aloe vera and called it a day. The next few times I had to pee, I hovered.

The next few hours were completely fine. Fantastic, even. My boss didn’t really need a petsitter when the dog bowl filled itself according to a timer and the backdoor opened whenever it sensed the dog standing in front of it. But they didn’t want him to get lonely, they wanted him to socialize. So I played fetch in their backyard. I tugged his rope toys and spread peanut butter on a bone.

Taking care of him was easy peasy. Things didn’t get weird again until I tried taking care of myself. All I wanted was some Mac and Cheese. I had an entire fridge of gourmet food but couldn’t hide my twenty-five-year-old, poor-kid cravings.

I put a pot underneath the sink and it filled automatically, stopping in exactly the right spot. Then I moved the pot onto the stove and it started cooking without me programming a thing. So I left it alone like an idiot. I flopped on the couch (on my stomach because my butt hurt like a motherfucker from the burns) and got distracted watching Disney+.

Maybe I was supposed to program the timer myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have relied on the smart home to handle everything on its own. Either way, it was too late for the what-ifs. The thing caught on fire. A small fire, not enough to set off alarms, but still a fire.

There weren’t any buttons or knobs on the stove, so I couldn’t figure out how to turn the damn thing off. I tore apart cabinets searching for an extinguisher — and that’s when the dog started barking. The house heard and spoke to him with a preprogrammed message. “Don’t worry,” my boss’ voice said. “We’re going to be home soon, bud. Here’s a treat.” And an extra bone dropped into his dish.

That put the obvious idea in my head. I should talk to the house. I started screaming random commands. EXTINGUISH. FIRE. STOVE. FUCK YOU. HELP. I don’t know which one worked but ceiling sprayers went off. Water sprinkled over the stove. The flames died.

The dog was perfectly happy, munching on his bone, while my stomach growled. I dumped my burnt dinner and settled on eating some leftover Halloween candy found in the cupboard. Who needed lunch anyway? I would wait a few hours and order Postmates for dinner.

In the meantime, I decided to shower. To relax. To forget about all my fuckups.

Before my boss and his family left on their vacation, his wife helped me preprogram my own personal settings. I chose my ideal water temperature and water pressure and playlist. All I had to do was say: “Alexa, start Cassandra’s shower,” and it should activate my ultimate shower experience. 

I stepped inside the cube. The shower was glass on all four sides. A modern look. Like something you would see in a magazine.

I said the magic words and the shower started spraying, the music started playing, I started to forget everything that had gone wrong that day.

But slowly, the water got a little hotter. And a little hotter. And a little hotter.

“Stop,” I said. “Cold water, please. Too hot. Stop. Lower the temperature. Colder.”

In another minute, it grew from uncomfortably warm to as scalding as the toilet seat. There would be burns across my entire body if I stayed in for much longer. I tried to push out the door, but it wouldn’t budge. It had sealed. Locked me inside.

“No no no,” I said. “Stop. Off. Turn off. Shower off.”

The music turned off instead. It was replaced by a female voice. My boss’s wife.

Her preprogrammed message consisted of seven words: “I know you’ve been fucking my husband.”

Then the door unlocked. The water sputtered to a stop. I scrambled out of the shower, dripping wet.

I stuffed myself into my clothes, booked it out of the house, called an Uber, and started writing this on my Notes app.

I’m not sure whether I should contact the police or quit my job and forget about the whole thing. After all, she’s right. I screwed with her family. I slept my way into her fancy house. Maybe I deserved all this bullshit. I don’t know… All I know is, I’m never fucking with a smart home again.

Next blog will be out soon.
Please share this blog, like it and comment what you feel about it!

Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Maybe she’s coming for you!

My Dearest Kyra,

I’m writing this because I feel it would be far too difficult to talk to you in person. I also need you to hear me out, without rolling your eyes or interrupting me. There are some things that have happened that your father and I never told you about. We tried to bury it and move on because as quickly as it all had come into our lives, it was gone. Sometimes, I wonder if the whole thing had just been a figment of our collective imaginations; Maybe we were all just stressed out at the time of my pregnancy with you, having just moved into a new house, and trying to prepare everything for your arrival. However, as your mother, knowing that you are currently carrying my unborn granddaughter in your belly, I feel it is my responsibility to tell you what happened to us when I was still pregnant with you.

When I saw you last weekend, you looked so tired. I know the dark circles under your eyes weren’t the shade of exhaustion that typically comes with the third trimester of pregnancy. They looked far too familiar, like the ones I had carried under my eyes during that spring of 2019. I’m going to go with my instincts and trust that they mark the presence of something far more sinister.

You see, Kyra, It all started that spring when you were still growing in my belly. Your father and I had rented this house on the west side of Delhi. With your big brother and grandma also living with us, we needed a house with more space to accommodate our growing family. We were running out of time and funds, so when we found that place, we eagerly took it and never looked back.

In the beginning, we were so happy. The house was everything we needed. Your brother, almost three years old at that time, finally got his own bedroom. We were so excited to make a home for ourselves and prepare to welcome you, because we knew you were coming that summer. We were so relieved to have a place to call our own again. It was nice to not have to answer to anybody.

The first two months of living there are kind of a blur now. Strangely enough, nothing really happened during that time. All of the activity started that April.

The first strange occurrence that I can remember, happened when I was trying to take a nap upstairs. Our bedroom was finally completely unpacked, and I was exhausted. I had been having difficulty sleeping lately. With my pregnant belly, finding a comfortable position to sleep in had become a challenge. When I was finally about to drift off to sleep, I heard a creaking coming from the floorboards in our room. Initially, I had thought that it was your father, coming home early from work. It wasn’t until I opened my eyes that I realized not only was the creaking actually coming from behind the headboard of our bed but that the sounds were coming from inside of our bedroom wall.

When your father got home later that day to find me sleeping on the couch, I told him what I had heard, and he validated that he had been hearing strange noises coming from inside the walls for a few days. He said that he would hear scratching from inside of the walls sometimes late at night when I was asleep, but he didn’t want to wake me up or scare me. Your father even said that he tried to investigate what the source of the noises were on his own, but found that the door to the cubby that lead to the inside of the walls had been drilled shut by either the landlord or a previous tenant of the home.

After we both confirmed to each other what we had been hearing, it got worse. Kyra, I swear, there were nights where the scratching in the walls turned in to thumping. Only then, it wasn’t just coming from inside of the walls, It sounded like it would move up the walls, and in to the ceiling. However, that was impossible, because there wasn’t enough space between the roof and our ceiling for any animal to wedge itself up there, let alone move around. But I swear to you, that is what we heard. Except it sounded more human than animal; Boney knees and elbows scurrying clumsily across our bedroom ceiling.

I hated sleeping in that room without your father. On days when I couldn’t take it anymore and desperately needed to take a nap while your father was at work, I would lay down in the living room, on the couch. However, it wasn’t long before strange things started happening in there, too.

One night after work, your father was in the living room playing video games while sitting on the couch. He had this headset on that allowed him to hear what was going on in the game, and interact with other people who were playing the game in different locations. At the time, he was really focused on what was happening on the TV screen in front of him. Then, out of nowhere, he felt someone physically tap on his headset, on the piece that had been covering his ear. His automatic assumption had been that your brother, Bhuvan, had snuck out of his room and on to the couch while your father was distracted. When he looked around and discovered that he was all alone in the room, he quickly got up and checked in on Bhuvan, only to find him sound asleep. As well as everyone else in the house.

Later that week, I was sitting in the living room and folding laundry when I heard your grandma call me from her bedroom. I tossed the clothes aside, carefully got up, and waddled my pregnant self in to her bedroom to see what she wanted. When I got there, she looked at me in confusion.

“Well, what do you want?” I asked, impatient with the way she was just staring at me.

“What? Nothing.” She said.

“Then why the hell did you just call me and make me come all the way in here?”

“Megan,” she said, sitting up from her bed, “I never called you. I was laying in here looking at my phone.”

I wasn’t the only one hearing voices. It might have been that same day when your father was sitting in the living room, and Grandma came in and said, “What?”

Your father looked at her and said “I didn’t say anything.”

“Boney, I just heard you call my name. What’s up?”

He looked at her and laughed nervously, “Tammy, I didn’t call you. I swear.”

Then, they both heard me call “Hey you guys, come here for a second!” from the kitchen.

Your father and grandmother both looked at each other suspiciously, then walked in to the kitchen, only to find it empty. They both started yelling my name, thinking I might have gone down stairs.

“What’s up?” I asked, walking into the kitchen behind them, “Why are you yelling? I just got Bhuvan to lay down for a nap.”

They both turned around and stared at me in horror.

“You were in Bhuvan’s room this whole time?” Grandma asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Then who the hell just called us in to the kitchen?” Your father asked, locking the door to the basement.

“Who called me in to the living room right before that?” Grandma asked, terrified.

I looked back and forth between their faces, just to make sure they weren’t trying to pull one over on me. When I decided that they were both genuinely confused and frightened, I said, “Was it like earlier when you called me in to your bedroom, but it wasn’t you?” I asked Grandma, goosebumps consuming every inch of my body.

A few nights later, I was awoken by my phone at 4 in the morning. It was your grandmother, calling me from her room downstairs. When I answered, she was sobbing.

“Megan can you come down here please?”

“Mom, what’s wrong? What time is it?”

“Please hurry,” She whispered, terrified, “And don’t hang up until you get here.”

“Mom, I gotta pee-”

“No!” She started sobbing again, “Come down here right now!”

So, I waddled as quickly as my swollen ankles would allow, and rushed in to her room. I turned the light on, and found her hiding under her blankets in bed.

“Mom, what the hell?”

I turned the light on and hurried over to her bed.

She pulled the covers off of her and looked at me in complete fear.

“There was someone, or something here,” She choked, “I felt it sit on the edge of my bed! I thought it was Bhuvan crawling into bed with me, but it didn’t move. I just felt the weight on my mattress and blankets, and then it was just still and silent and wouldn’t move. I couldn’t pull the blankets out from under its weight or anything! If it was Bhuvan, he would have moved. He would have struggled to climb into bed with me. It wasn’t him!”

“Mom, hold on,” I handed her the box of tissues off of her night stand. “Are you sure it wasn’t-”

“It wasn’t a dream, Megan! I felt it sitting here with me! I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and hid under what blankets I could and called you. It was still sitting there as I was on the phone with you! When I heard your footsteps coming down the stairs, I felt it move. It got up, but I don’t think it left. It’s still in here, I can feel it-”

“Mom, it’s okay. I believe you. weird stuff has been happening around here lately.”

She blew her nose and nodded in agreement.

“I know you’re scared, but I’m gonna go check on Bhuvan real quick. I gotta make sure he’s okay.”

“Yes, go!”

Thankfully, when I checked on your brother that night, he was fine. He was sound asleep in his bed. However, the phone that we kept in his room that doubled as a nightlight as well as a source of soothing music to help him sleep, had been turned off and was on the floor on the other side of the room. We always kept it on the dresser, where he couldn’t reach it. judging from where we usually kept it and where I found it, there is no way it just fell off of the dresser. It was like something had to have grabbed it and flung it to the other side of his bedroom. This realization scared the hell out of me, because now, whatever had been happening in our house was getting physical. What else could it do?

All of these occurrences had happened inside of the first two weeks of April. On April 15th, 2019, I had one of the scariest nightmares of my life.

I had dreamed that your cousins, the ones I used to babysit as children, were staying at our house. They were little again, and they had been sleeping on our bedroom floor. In my dream, one of them had awoken and was crying. She pointed down the hallway toward the stairs and said, “There’s something there!”

I tried to soothe her, but she wouldn’t calm down.

“Something is over there!” she insisted.

Just then, in the dream, I heard a noise coming from the hallway. It was a rapid thudding, accompanied by quick, raspy breathing. The only way to describe it is that it sounded like something was crawling quickly toward us.

“Okay you two, get up here!” I yelled, frantically grabbing at the children, trying to yank them in to my bed with me, “Get in this bed right now! I don’t know what that is but I want you to get behind me right now-”

And then I saw it.

A grotesque hand reached around the corner of my dream and grabbed the edge of the wall. The fingers were long and inhuman, the knuckles gnarled as if they had been riddled with decades of arthritis. In that moment, I prayed as hard as I could not to have to see who– or what— was attached to that hand.

Before I could scream, I saw a face peek around the corner and glare at me. It was the most disgusting, horrific face that I have ever seen. It makes me feel physically ill to even write about it now. It was the face of what can only be described as a hag. As soon as we made eye contact, the thing unhinged its jaw and let out the shrillest, most nauseating scream I have ever heard in my life. Then it turned away, shape shifting in to a dark shadow, and flew into the bathroom.

Running on pure rage and adrenaline, I jumped off of the bed and chased after it. I entered the bathroom just in time to watch the dark mass fly down the drain of the bathroom sink and disappear.

I awoke from that dream in a cold sweat. I got up, ran to the bathroom, and threw up.

The second half of that April was pretty stagnant, as far as any paranormal activity goes. I mean, your father and I continued hearing the scratching and thumping in the walls and ceiling. As a result, we were exhausted and irritable all of the time, but there were no more nightmares or physical evidence of anything strange happening.

Then, on April 30th, 2019, everything came to a head. It was my 25th birthday, and we were all sleep-deprived, including your grandmother who had been terrified to sleep in her own room, absolutely insistent that there was a presence in there. On that day, your father and I had wanted to go out and run some errands, and we asked your grandma to watch your brother, so we wouldn’t have to get him dressed and worry about him coming with us. We wanted to get things done quickly, and it would just be easier to leave your brother home. Of course, we were all tired and snapping at each other on this day. Grandma was giving me a hard time about having to babysit, so I finally got fed up and told her we would just take Bhuvan with us. At the last minute, Grandma changed her mind and agreed to watch him for us. I still thank God that she did.

I had grabbed your brother’s coat and a blanket, because I had thought we were going to have to take him with us. When grandma finally said she would watch him, I was so exhausted and frustrated and desperate to get the hell out of the house, that I took his coat and blanket with me without realizing it. When I got in the car, I sat with them on my belly, then put my seat belt on.

Kyra, I don’t even remember where we were headed on that day. All I know is, one minute your father was driving and everything was fine, and then the next, I heard a high-pitched, eerily shrill scream that was familiar in the most awful way. Then, our car lurched forward, then sideways. There was an explosion of glass all around us. The little shards of glass flew in front of my face in slow motion, collecting the sunlight and shimmering with the promise of tomorrow and the potential death of that day. In that moment, all I could think of was you as my head whipped involuntarily this way and that. When the car finally fell silent again, the only heartbeat I was desperate to hear was your own.

As it turns out, some asshole had run a red light. The scream that I had heard, the same exact one from my nightmare, had been his tires skidding across the pavement. Somehow, he had managed to hit the back of our vehicle, spin out, then come back and hit us from the side.

When the initial shock passed, and we realized we were both okay, your father and I both turned and looked at the back seat. We both gasped in horror as we saw your brother’s car seat mangled in the wreckage, among the shattered glass and the dented frame of the back car door.

Returning home later that day, after assessing our injuries and discussing the damages and everything that had happened, we realized how truly lucky we were. All at once, everything began to add up in a way that, to this day, I cannot believe was a coincidence.

You see, Kyra, if all of these strange things hadn’t been happening in our home for the last month, we all wouldn’t have been so exhausted. If we weren’t so exhausted that morning, we would have taken your brother with us. Bhuvan would have been in that car seat during the collision of that other vehicle. Bhuvan would not have come home with us. He would not have survived.

If Bhuvan had come with us, he also would have been wearing his winter coat and that blanket I brought for him. If he had been wearing his winter coat and using that blanket, I never would have absentmindedly placed them on my pregnant belly before putting on my seat belt that day. If I didn’t have Bhuvan’s coat and blanket with me to cushion the impact of my belly against that seat belt, I might have ended up with far worse injuries than whiplash that day. What I’m saying, Kyra, is that you might not be here, reading this letter.

As terrifying as that month had been for us, looking back now, I can’t help but wonder if maybe that horrifying woman, who we all believe was also the source of all of the paranormal activity that had been occurring around our house, had possibly been an omen. Maybe the purpose of her presence in our lives had been to prepare and warn us of what was yet to come. Maybe, in some way, she had been protecting us, from the sinister intentions of something else.

All I know is, after that car accident, everything stopped. We never heard voices that we had mistaken for each other calling our names from different rooms in the house. Grandma began to sleep normally again, because she felt as though the presence had finally left. Nothing ever visited her bedside again. Nothing moved in Bhuvan’s room without explanation after that. Even the scratching and thumping in our bedroom walls and ceiling stopped after that car crash.

I have spent days upon days researching and looking for a plausible explanation for what happened to us that spring. At the time, we had thought that she simply came with the house. We thought maybe, she was a spirit residing within the walls who we had awoken after moving in. However, that never made sense, because the activity didn’t start until two months after we had already been there. There was something about that April, like it had been cursed. The only thing I have come up with– the only thing that kind of fits our experience– is this creature, known as The Banshee. Irish Lore has it that The Banshee is an ancient female spirit whose screams forewarn of an impending death within a household. In our situation, her scream sounded exactly like the screeching tires of the vehicle who ran the red light and almost took everything from us on that fateful day, all of those years ago.

As I mentioned earlier, I am writing this letter to you because I have noticed how you have been plagued with exhaustion lately. I have also noticed how you and your husband have been snapping at each other in a way that I have never seen before. I know something is happening.

Tell me, have you been having nightmares? Are you hearing voices calling to you from another room, only to find that nobody is there? Has there been scratching or any other noises coming from within your bedroom walls?

Kyra, I felt a presence sit on my bed last night. I believe it is her. I think this woman, this Banshee, has returned to warn us once again. Only this time, I believe she has come for you.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Peek a boo!

The other day, I made the mistake of watching Shane Dawson’s newest conspiracy theory video. He talked about how there were a growing amount of apartment buildings and Airbnbs with hidden cameras — and how easy it was to disguise them. He showed cameras installed in tissue boxes. Smoke detectors. Clocks. Pens. Water bottles. Picture frames. Outlets. Screws. Phone chargers. They were nearly impossible to detect, even when you were actively looking for them. It scared the crap out of me.

The problem is, I rent my apartment. My landlord has keys to my place in case I lock myself out or there’s an emergency where he needs to barge inside. I never really worried about it before, even though the apartments on either side of me were empty, undergoing renovations, leaving me pretty much isolated. My landlord might have been a weirdo, but I felt confident he would never sneak inside while I was in my bathrobe.

But what if he snuck inside when I wasn’t home? What if he installed some of those baby cameras and watched me in my bathrobe from his room on the other side of the complex?

The thought freaked me out. I tossed on a sweatshirt to cover myself and slipped into big, fuzzy socks in case he had some kind of foot fetish. Then I swept the room with a blacklight, on the hunt for miniature cameras smaller than a thumbnail.

The fact that I found nothing should’ve calmed me down, but the longer I looked, the more memories came flooding back to me. The time he asked me whether I enjoyed The Circle finale, even though I’d never mentioned being a fan. Or when he volunteered to come in and fix my sink before I even told him it was broken. There were a million little moments where he knew too much. Moments I overlooked, brushed right off.

He couldn’t have known any of that information unless he was watching me. He had to be watching me. I was sure of it.

I continued searching for cameras, tearing the place apart in the process. I ripped my shower curtain to shreds. Disconnected my smoke detectors. Smashed a clock open. Disassembled outlets, almost electrocuting myself.

I was about to crack apart my television when my almost boyfriend texted me. He got off from work early. He wanted to see me.

I looked around the room, seeing the place with his eyes. He would think I was crazy if he stopped over. Maybe I was crazy. Maybe my landlord was a friendly old man who heard me playing The Circle a little too loud and found something wrong with the pipes leading to my sink.

There was no way I would have time to clean up the mess I’d made in my apartment, so me and my almost made plans to meet at a restaurant.

I was about to leave for our date, dressed in a tight blue dress, when I noticed something on my bedroom wall. I thought it was chipped paint or a leftover screw, but the dark splotch was something else.

Not a camera. A hole.

It turned out I was wrong about him watching me on secret cameras. He was watching me from inside the next apartment.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Sweet Dreams!

Suhani had vivid dreams ever since she was a child. No sooner would she close her eyes than a movie would start playing, or at least that’s what she called them when she was too young to understand what they were. ​Mama, I watched a movie when I slept last night. Rishi was in it, she was alive, ​she would tell her mom in the morning over breakfast. She often dreamt of different family members, or characters in books that she read, or people from a movie she watched before bed. A few times she tried thinking about certain people right before she fell asleep to see if she could control who she dreamt about, but she couldn’t.

For weeks on end, she would have nightmares. She’d dream about death, about cats with long nails clawing her eyes out, she’d dream about drowning or about being stuck in the house while it blazed on fire. On those nights she’d wake up screaming or in a cold sweat. She’d slide off of her twin bed and walk quietly over to her sister’s. Slowly and very carefully Suhani would fill whatever space was left on the bed. Breathing in tandem with her sister until she fell back asleep. 

The dreams and nightmares followed her well into her teens and adulthood. Boyfriends would break up with her because they couldn’t sleep with her. When she was twenty-one she went to Mumbai with her then-boyfriend and dreamt every night there. One night she dreamt of a monkey in a red suit and hat, slapping symbols together. He was sitting in a bucket seat on some kind of contraption sliding up and down the hotel room wall; the monkey’s head slamming the ceiling, getting louder with every bump.

Suhani woke up laughing hysterically. When she tried to explain the dream to her boyfriend, he rolled his eyes and said, ​Even when you dream, you’re a lot to handle.

Suhani was used to hearing this, or versions of it. She had an overactive imagination, she lied a lot, she told and wrote stories for hours on end. She was dramatic and even the lightest push or shove from her sister turned into ​Mom, Meera keeps hitting me! I’m bruising everywhere! ​In elementary school, Suhani lied about headaches and stomach aches nearly every week. She’d stay home from school or get her mom to come pick her up before lunch because she “felt so sick.”

Eventually, her parents stopped believing her. Stopped giving in to her every cry for help. Her stomach aches and her headaches were ignored. They refused to pick her up or let her stay home. Suhani would have to spend recesses indoors, hiding from the children who made fun of her for her glasses, her mortadella sandwiches, or the way her dad was always dirty from his construction job. She would hear their taunting in her dreams.

In high school it was a lot easier to blend in, to become invisible. She had to wear a uniform, sat at the back of every class, and refused to bring a packed lunch. It was in grade eleven that Suhani decided to take control of the high school dynamic. turned every confrontation into a scandal. She wrote anonymous stories for the school newspaper and spread rumors like wildfire. She loved the drama, loved to create scenarios that could match the excitement and fear of her dreams.

She wrote these rumors in the form of poems or short stories and was careful to mix fact and fiction as subtly as possible. After weeks of being made fun of in gym class by Khushi and Sufiyana, the prettiest and thinnest girls in grade 11, she took matters into her own hands. She crafted a poem that she is still proud of. One involving a cheating boyfriend and a sex scene reminiscent of Jack and Rose in the back of the car. The boyfriend looked insanely similar to Sufiyana’s and the girl he was having sex with looked a little too much like Khushi.

A few days after the poem was published Sufiyana ran into the cafeteria, screaming at Khushi for being a HUGE WHOREY SLUT. Sufiyana defended herself while the boyfriend backed away slowly. The screaming turning into a girl-on-girl brawl and the school was never the same.

Now, at the age of thirty-five, after giving birth to her own set of twins, Suhani still dreams. She doesn’t lie like she used to, she doesn’t crave the creation of drama. She’s had enough of both. She spends her energy trying to understand her dreams. She dissects them, mulls them over in her mind, asks her husband about them, keeps a notebook by her bed and documents every dream she has. Her bookshelf is full of books about dreams and she spends a lot of time researching their meaning. She finds comfort in seeing the books on the shelf even if she didn’t always like what they were trying to tell her.

Now, it’s rare for Suhani to have the same dream twice unless she’s really bothered by something. Since giving birth to her daughters thirty-three days ago, she’s had the same dream almost every night. When she wakes it feels like she’s been stuck in a memory rather than a dream. On the thirty-fourth morning of having the same dream, she calls her sister.

​I’ve been having the same dream for over a month. I was standing by a large window in a white, grey and yellow kitchen. It looked like a test kitchen; the kind of kitchen you see on The Cooking Channel or in a magazine. It looked like I was on a T.V. set but it felt and smelled like it was lived in. If you looked closely enough at the walls you could see scuff marks and coffee stains. You could see the paint chipping on the window sill. It was oddly warm inside; I felt sweat droplets on my temples. I stood next to a man who was, and wasn’t, Sanjeev Kapoor. I felt too at peace for it to be him. It looked like him, it spoke like him, but it just couldn’t BE him. Even the me in my dream knew that I would never be standing beside him, ever again. Not after what he did.”

“Okay, so what happened?” Meera asked,

“I’m a child in this dream, I can tell by the way he towers over me. There’s a huge stainless steel bowl on the counter in front of us filled with a yellow doughy substance. The mixture is so tart that when I lean in and take a whiff, I can feel my cheeks pinch back and my mouth begin to water. I know that there’s lemon in the concoction but we don’t discuss this, Non-Sanjeev Kapoor and me. We pretend like it’s supposed to be there.

Supposed to be taking over our senses. I reach for the icing sugar and pour a mountain of it into the bowl. I grab the hand-mixer and turn the power on HIGH before I even get it into the bowl. The whole kitchen fills with a cloud of sugar. A thick, wet, fluffy sickly sweet and sour snowstorm pours down on us.

Non-Sanjeev begins to laugh. A volcanic, guttural laugh is about to erupt from my mouth, where a SORRY should be coming. I can hear a ‘sorry’ but it’s coming from the lips of Non-Sanjeev, in between bouts of laughter. The dream ends with my laughter echoing so loud in the big, bright, beautiful kitchen that I wake up with a smile on my face. I didn’t think he would ever be able to make me laugh again.”

Her sister is silent. Breathing into the phone, letting her thoughts marinate.

“What do you think it means? I haven’t thought about him in years,” Suhani asks.

“Suhani, it’s been exactly five years since he drove his car into oncoming traffic. It’s probably that” she replies matter-of-factly.

“Do you still believe it was suicide? The police said he hit a sheet of black ice and went flying.”

“Oh, I know what the police said but I think his guilt was festering all those years and killed him from the inside.”

After his divorce, Sanjeev Kapoor moved in with their family when they were ten-years-old. Suhani and Meera were excited, he was the fun uncle who doted on both of them. Took them out for ice cream and let them stay up late when he babysat. Meera would fall asleep on the couch and Suhani would be wide awake, not being able to fall asleep until the movie was over.

Meera lets out a big sigh, “Suhani, a real Uncle, doesn’t do what he did to you. A real uncle doesn’t lie or use you. He doesn’t ask you to keep secrets when you’re too young to understand what’s going on. Just because he’s blood doesn’t make him family.”

“Not according to Mom – she still doesn’t believe me,” Suhani walked to her refrigerator and opened the door absentmindedly.

“He’s her little brother and you were such a goodman liar as a kid. No one wants to believe the worst in people,” Meera said, “Listen, we both love mom but I’ll never forgive either of them for this. Can you fucking imagine if this happened to your girls?”

Suhani reached for the jug of water filled with thick lemon wedges and pulled it out of the fridge. She slowly grabbed a vintage blue tumbler from the cupboard and poured herself some water. A lemon wedge fell into her glass, making the water jump, splashing her wrist.

“I think you just wanted him to say sorry, to apologize for what he did to you. That’s what this dream is really about. It’s okay to be happy he’s gone – I fucking am. Suhani, your past is not you. Don’t let him hurt you when he’s not even here.”

Suhani silently wiped her tears while thinking about what to say next. She wanted to put into words how guilty she felt, how angry she still was, how every time she looked at their mother and she saw bits of her uncle it made her sick. She wanted to tell her sister that she wished she could tell her mother exactly what happened all those years ago, all over again. She wanted to admit how mad she was that their mother didn’t believe what was going on. How could she?

As the scent of lemon hit the back of her nose, she replied, ​You’re right.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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My take on relationships (Vidhi Mehta)

When we say a word Relationship the very first thing comes to our mind is LOVE.
Relationship is not only about love …it is about understanding, a strong bond, lots of trust, some matured conversations, little bit possessiveness, insecurities, jealousy,etc…
We are always ready to do every possible or impossible things for our partner, by this we don’t even realize that we are losing our own originality sometimes…

To make our relationship strong we are always ready to go out of the way and sometimes somewhere at the end we realize …..why am i doing this ,only to make him /her happy.
At this point we get to know that relationships is more about sacrifices.
Yes we should definitely go ahead for the sacrifices but without losing our own identity, our originality..
Be who you are, don’t change yourself for anyone or only to build or make your relationship strong….

Written by Vidhi Mehta.

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Nutella & Love (Ushma Ashar)

Love.
When anyone asks me about love, the first thing that comes to my mind is Nutella!
Amused or Amazed?

According to Google, Nutella is a hazelnut cocoa spread and Love is a feeling.
As a cocoa lover, Nutella is best when applied between 2 soft slices of bread.
It keeps them together, adds a yummy oomph to them.
Same goes to Love.
The slices of bread can be any 2 individuals, mother & daughter, father & son, husband & wife, 2 friends, or girlfriend & boyfriend.
And Nutella can be the sticky love between them which adds an oomph to their relationship.
Love isn’t always sweet and happening, it can be nuttier and complicated, that doesn’t lessen its value in a relationship.
When evenly spread Nutella tastes delicious, just like Love.
Next time when you think about Love, try associating it with your favourite ingredient of Life!

Written by Ushma Ashar

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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Teach me how to do, what you do!

Please teach me how you do what you do. How you can kiss me like you mean it and make me feel so at ease with you. The way you resonate so well with my values and tease me out of the blue. Your arms wrapped around me, under the sheets till noon. Holding me tightly ignoring the snooze.

But baby, most of all please teach me how you, not let one bit of emotion consume you. How to enjoy company without feeling the blues, when time comes for us to part and to bid adieu.

Perhaps maybe it is a part of you. But I’m learning to be stronger each day, if only you knew. I’m tough up front and a softie with you. But I refuse to play games or be used.

I know we’ve got our own dreams to chase, and we’ll be going our separate ways. But why do you do what you do? Perhaps this is something I could learn too?

Then I’ll be stronger and can move on to say, “so maybe I like him but gotta go my way”. Just another stranger, just another stop. Life is too short so why not?

I just find it hard to comprehend. How well you can play pretend. I thought you were different but I guess not. Probably just like the rest of the lot.

They call me naïve, they call me nice. But I think I’ve given a lot of my time, to boys with no manners and with egos so high. I think I’m done and so sick of your kind.

But baby teach me how you do what you do. So, I know better than to fall for someone like you. I’ll enjoy your company and kisses a lot. But maybe it is finally time for us to stop.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Modern dating!

I thought I was looking for a boyfriend when I set up my online dating profile.

I’d never had much luck with dating. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested — I’d always loved men. Dating them was fun, the balance between a man’s personality and my own feminine one was electric, it kept things interesting. But for whatever reason it never lasted very long. I’d do things like leave town for days without telling him or bringing my phone, or stay in bed with a book all day and forget to answer his texts.

It just wasn’t second nature for me to be tied down and predictable.

When I met Ronak online I expected the same cycle to occur. We met up at the corner dive bar where I prefer to meet all my first dates. He complimented my lip color — it’s always a great sign when a man isn’t intimidated by lipstick. He asked me about my writing and he told me about messing around with a popular edgy publication when he went to college with the founder but now he had to keep his distance because he’s a lawyer and the legal world is super conservative.

I told him that was too bad, the idea of a guy being associated with something somewhat dangerous was exciting. He smiled mischievously and said, “You have no idea.”

Girls don’t need tricks to get guys to come home with them at the end of dates but I happen to have an excellent one anyway: I live in a condo along the river in my city. A walk along the river is the perfect nightcap to any date and the guy will always walk me up afterwards, “to make sure I get home safe .”

So Ronak was sitting on my bed while I made some drinks and thought about whether I wanted to have sex with him that night. I was attracted to him, sure, he was broad shouldered and tall with dark hair and dark eyes I couldn’t stop staring into. There was no strong reason not to, I figured, but we may as we’ll wait another date in case he was one of those guys that’s weird about first date sex.

That changed fairly quickly.

I handed him his drink and he announced, “I’m going to enjoy this drink while you suck my cock.”

“Excuse me?!?” I couldn’t have possibly heard him correctly.

“This looks like a great drink, and it’s going to be even better while you’re blowing me.” He stopped to take in my negative expression and lifted my head with a single finger under my chin. “A girl like you can make a man really happy. You want that, it’s what makes you special.”

I couldn’t deny that he had some sort of power over me at this point. The way he was controlling the situation turned me on and his hand caressing my face stirred up a familiar feeling in my abdomen.

What did I have to lose?

So I obliged him. I set my drink down and kneeled before him, unzipping his pants.

I wasn’t surprised to find his cock was larger than average, it’s this way with most confident men, like a chicken and egg thing. I flicked my tongue over the head of his penis a few times before I began to take him in my mouth. He watched me cooly, taking a swig of his drink.

Inside somewhere, a deep need to impress him rose. I went to town. I kissed and licked and deep throated. I massaged the sweet spot at the tippy top of his shaft on the underside. I took his balls in my mouth and swirled my tongue around. I gave him my A-game and looked up, searching for approval written on his face. It was there, but not as fully as I’d hoped for.

“To completion,” he reminded me.

I slid my hands down his forearms and the grasped his hands, depositing them on the back of my head. This wasn’t one of my “moves”, I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. I was on autopilot now.

 

He had two fistfuls of my hair, one on each side of my head. He was gentle, but firm as he held me in place, thrusting his hips and pouring himself into my mouth. It was uncomfortable at first, I worried about gagging. But I heard him gasp as he slipped into my throat and I knew this was special for him — he was enjoying himself, losing control, losing himself to me.

I may have been the one kneeling on the floor, but he was at my mercy, he was in ecstasy, and he needed me to feel this way.

I held up my hands, showing him I wasn’t going to resist and he groaned loudly in excitement. He thrust faster into my mouth, careful to make his movement fluid. This time I felt his grip tighten on my hair as he didn’t allow his dick to slide back out of my mouth. He held me there. I could feel him tensing up so I made an extra effort to hold this position, and I was rewarded with his loudest groan yet and a mouthful of salty cum.

I swallowed and licked my lips. I felt satisfied somehow.

He grinned and stared down at me. “I told you you would like it.”

He laid down on my bed and I instantly curled up next to him. I felt happy and comfortable. With my head on his chest I reached up and began massaging his scalp, my sudden need to please this man had not been satiated.

“What do you want?” I asked him.

“I want to come over two or three times a week and stand over you and fuck your throat. I don’t want to jerk off anymore.”

I gulped. This was definitely not what I was looking for. It was sleazy. “What if I want more than that?”

“But you don’t want more. You just think you’re supposed to want more. Did you hear yourself earlier? You told me you don’t like being tied down. And look at you, look at how your body responded to being my sex slave.”

He quickly reached down and knocked my thighs apart. Before I could register what he was doing his fingers were inside me and my back was arched. Holy shit, I gasped as he masterfully, rhythmically rubbed my gspot with the tips of his fingers.

I looked down at him to see that he was hard again, and grinned.

He got up and kneeled between my legs and pulled me up, so my butt was resting on his thighs, legs wrapped around his waist.

“I am going to fuck you and then we’ll sleep here together and you’ll see. This is better than dating — to give ourselves to each other completely.”

I nodded. This was exciting, and what else was I going to do tonight?

He grabbed his drink off the nightstand and poured a bit into my mouth before kissing me and sucking the taste of whiskey off my tongue. He trailed the dewey glass down my neck to my collarbone and I shivered. He took the remaining ice cube and deposited it in his mouth before leaning down and kissing my nipple. It was the most divine sensation, heat and ice.

I felt his hips move under mine and the his cock sliding around my wet pussy, but not entering. I always loved it when guys did this, the anticipation was unbearable, in an addictive way. It made time stand still.

“You’re such a good girl, Alia,” he mumbled as he kissed my neck, clearly enjoying himself. I lifted my hips to meet his and he drove his cock deep inside me. That moment — the first time it goes in — is always the best. It always reminds me why we do such crazy stuff for sex, it really is that good.

I’d consider his offer later. He didn’t need an answer now. He just needed me to be here, writhing with pleasure as he had his way with me.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Ordinarily extra ordinary things!

My goal in life is to continually increase my awareness, to every day make the tiniest step to understanding myself and the world just a little bit more.

Of course I read, write, think, meet new people, listen to opposing view points, meditate, go on long walks, and drive my car nowhere particular, listening and thinking.

But I wanted to do something out of the ordinary, so I decided to do something only I can, “Only Dhaval things!”

Once a month, I’m looking to find misunderstood people such as prostitutes, the godmen, LGBTQs, homeless people, just people that we have an overall consensus of. We think we know what a ‘prostitute’ is because we know his/her profession, but just as you wouldn’t think you know a doctor because of his/her practice, the same rule applies. What they do is just a tiny fraction of who they are.

Part One: Meet a Prostitute with an Open-Mind

I visited the best place to find anything illicit: Anma.

Within 5 minutes, I found tons of ads for prostitution in very clear terms, contacting one and explaining my situation, who I was, and that I would pay for their time.

We agreed to meet at her home 4 hours later, I felt a little bit nervous. I wasn’t sure if this would be awkward or if she would take offense at my interest in her, even though I explained my goal of going into the meeting with a blank slate and just looking to learn about her, what she was interested in, her family etc.

I arrived and knocked on the door, and as she opened the door I wanted to retreat, but I stayed and she politely said hello.

I sat down at her kitchen table, and she offered me some warm chicken noodle soup she was making on the stove, which I immediately found amusing because she’s already broken the stereotype within 5 minutes of my arrival.

As we sat down to eat, the conversation was very casual, she was asking me about my life, what I do, etc. and then I started the questions.

Q: How did she get into prostitution?

I was a masseuse for a while, but couldn’t pay my bills, so slowly I started offering ‘happy endings’ to guys and girls at the end, in very subtle ways as not to get in trouble. Rationalizing it in my head, I didn’t find it to be prostitution, but just something a little bit in the gray area. I happened to be a little too forward with a man who then reported me to my boss and I was immediately fired and blacklisted from all the local spas. But luckily, or not so luckily, I had my clients’ numbers and they visited me at home.

Q: How did it escalate into full-scale prostitution?

One man said he didn’t care for the massages anymore and would pay triple just for sex; it took half the time, so I offered the same to other clients and suddenly I was making 6x the amount as I was before (3x the money, in half the time).

It was fueled by money.

Q: What would you do if you weren’t in prostitution?

I always wanted to be a mail-woman. I have no idea why it’s so cool to me, but I lived in a townhouse growing up so they didn’t drive, but parked their car at the top of the street then walked door to door. When I was younger, I thought they travelled on some terrific voyage with these very important letters, fighting off bad people, and making it to our house just in time. For some odd reason, they were my superheroes. So that’s what I would be.

Q: When your son grows up & inevitably finds out, will you be upset?

Yes. It haunts me before bed every night. I take NyQuil every single night of my life; I am haunted by the demons of shame. I don’t care what the neighbors think or my mom, or sister, or enemies. I care what he thinks, and I shake with anxiety when it comes into my mind. It’s why drugs are so pervasive in prostitution.

Q: Do you take drugs regularly?

Only NyQuil to sleep. Without it, I cannot.

Q: What’s the most misunderstood stereotype about prostitutes?

That we’re brash women that are addicted to sex or don’t have any emotions. They think we’re like ‘men’ because we have so much sex, when in reality I don’t view this as sex. This is a business deal.

Q: What’s your age?

I am 23 years old.

Q: Since when are you into Prostitution?

4 years.

You have to understand having ‘sex’ with a prostitute or in any case where there is an obvious arrangement, like buying a younger woman expensive things, will never be the same thing as a true sexual experience where two people are with each other for the sake of being with each other. There’s no ulterior motive in their hearts.

I don’t enjoy this business deal ‘sex’ it’s like work; when I have real sex it is different, I separate the two completely.

Q: Who are the ‘type’ of guys that come to you? Sleazy?

Some, yes. The diversity hits the entire spectrum from local businessmen, local politicians, janitors, bus drivers, a lot of schoolteachers (7-8 of them) etc. The ‘type’ of person is insecure though; it’s never about what job they hold, but their personality.

People come to me because they have huge insecurities so they pay me and feel like they’re in control, or they’re in a safe place because I derive my income from them. When you’re paying someone, you feel a sense of security and power, whereas their wives or girlfriends could leave anytime. They know I won’t because they pay me well.

It’s sad to see, it’s sad because even though my psyche tries to block this out, it can’t, I’m very good at seeing the truth of society because I’m behind the curtain. I don’t live in a world where people keep up fake appearances. I’m in the darkness, the real-real life. It’s scary, sad, & dark, but it’s real.

Q: Without meaning to offend in anyway as I know I’m no better, no worse than you are, but coming from an honest place when/if I have a daughter, I wouldn’t want her to be a prostitute. What would be the advice you’d give to anyone out there?

Small steps lead to giant changes. You can take that positively or negatively, but I took a small little step when I would jerk-off a guy in a massage, or so I thought. I was a prostitute then, but we’re so good at rationalizing the not-so-great parts of ourselves that it’s so hard to see the truth. Our ego holds us back, whether that’s lying to a friend, stealing a piece of gum, it all starts small, but takes something away from us and it compounds over time into a completely different life.

Q: What are some hobbies of yours?

I love colouring books. They bring me solace in the dark times, and lighten my mornings. With my boyfriend or by myself, I’ll colour for hours. It feels like 2 minutes goes by, but it’s been an hour or two. I love go-karts; those little indoor tracks you can go and race real go-karts are so fun to me. I’ve gotten at least 7 friends hooked on them too. I would also say I love music, I don’t play any particular instruments ‘officially’ but I love the guitar and piano. Such weird instruments I know, but there’s something entrancing about them, sometimes I’ll play them both at the same time, or my boyfriend will play with me.

Q: What’s something positive that prostitution has brought out in you or done for you?

Besides income, the biggest thing I would say it has done for me has developed empathy. When you’re scowled at by people who know what you do, family disowns you, clients yell obscenities and degrade you with every form of hate when they’re upset with you, you develop a huge sense of empathy for others who are in pain.

Whether they are sad about a person leaving them, depressed, anxious, homeless, whatever it may be, I know how they feel. I’ve felt it many times and in my life, and you can’t have empathy for someone until you’ve “walked a mile in their shoes.”

I’ve spent a night homeless and therefore when I see a homeless person, I empathize with them and connect on a deeper level whereas a man or woman who hasn’t just looks the other way and can think in their heads nasty things about the person because they’ve become the ‘other.’ Volunteering is great, but if you want empathy for any person or group of people in life, simply live with them for a week.

I wish I could tell you something shocking or outlandish happened, but I went into a prostitute’s home with an open-mind and had chicken noodle soup in her kitchen as we proceeded to talk for hours about all kinds of topics—family, philosophy, education—but the main purpose was to ask a few poignant questions on my bias towards a specific group of people.

It went as expected, in a sense, that I knew she would be just a normal person, with a little bit of an abnormal life. But I didn’t realize how much we would have in common, how we viewed the world and faced challenges in our life. She also opened my mind instead of just interviewing a person for the night, I felt like I spent time walking in her shoes.

Next blog will be out soon.
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Desai Thoughts MEdia.

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Never forget to check your mails!

If I’m being perfectly honest, I don’t care much for the whole e-mail process anymore. I know this is going to sound terribly hipster or whatever, but I think it’s already outdated as a means of communication. It just feels clunky and slow, kind of like the way real mail started feeling as soon as the internet was first becoming a thing.

So that is my peremptory excuse for what I am about to tell you. I just feel like I needed to get that explanation out of the way. Because, as a friend, I really fucked up. Big time.

It must’ve been several months prior to yesterday that I had checked my inbox, so a lot of stuff had happened in that interval. My sister married a guy as super religious as she is and became pregnant with a baby. And one of my cats died, so that pretty much ruined my life for an entire month. Cats are a pretty big deal.

Also, one of my best lifelong friends, Veer, wound up committing suicide. I guess I shouldn’t say “best,” or “lifelong,” because we were those kinds of friends who bounced in and out of communication with each other over the years. But every time we would start talking again, it was like no time at all had passed, and nothing had changed. Even after several years of silence, we could pick back up on inside jokes that were going on several years running.

I barely even recognized his mother’s voice when she called. She sounded hoarse, like she was losing her voice. And I’m not sure why, but she kept calling me “son.” I was hesitant at first, but I somehow brought myself to ask her the question that had been nagging me the whole time.

“How did he do it?” I asked.

The line fell silent for what felt like hours, punctuated only by her raspy breathing.

“Why do you want to know something like that, son?” she asked. “Did the cops tell you to ask me that?”

“What?” if she was any less hoarse, I would have thought she was joking.

“Did that detective Burman put you up to getting information out of me?”

“Why would they need information out of you?” I asked. “You said he took his own life, right?”

“My… baby…” she groaned, and fell to sobbing so loud I was almost tempted to hang up the phone.

There was another eternity of her just wailing into the receiver like that. Suddenly the whole thing was starting to make me feel a little sick. I was sad at first, and almost even felt like crying myself. But the more she just wailed into the phone, and the more I thought about the police thing, the more disturbed I felt.

So I just hung up. I apologized to her and ended the phone call before she could say anything else. I don’t even know if she heard me or not. As the day went on I started getting calls from some of the other guys in the group. Word was spreading, and as it reached me, I started realizing that the nature of Veer’s death was in question. It looked like a suicide, but there was reason to suspect something else.

Still, the question was nagging at me. How did he kill himself? No one knew how. Apparently it was information that the authorities were keeping confidential.

So I made up my mind to take some vacation time from work and get a plane ticket back to Agra. I felt like it was my duty or something to be there and help in any way I could. But I was still unsure of how to approach Veer’s mother after what happened on the phone.

Luckily, I never made it that far. I had to sign up for a new account on a ticket website, because I’ve never done much flying. So it was right then that I needed to check my e-mail, for the first time in months in order to get the confirmation link. And when I opened up my Inbox (with 2,030 new messages, mostly spam) I saw Veer’s name three rows down, from a week ago. The subject line read:

 “Lokesh, please read.”

I felt a chill crawl down my spine. My best friend, who had just committed suicide, had sent me an urgent e-mail only days before his death. I was almost too scared to open it. I had this guilt burning in me, like I had betrayed him or something. Even before I opened it, I convinced myself that I could have helped him if I had just fucking checked my e-mail a little sooner.

After staring vacantly at the computer screen for an eternity, I opened the e-mail.

Hey man,

I’m not really too sure how to start this thing. We haven’t spoken to each other for a while now. But I couldn’t just go talking to Ali about something like this. He would just laugh it off like he always does.

I’ve been having these memories, Lokesh. Like when I wake up in the morning I remember things about the past that never even happened. I know what you’re thinking… I’m sure they aren’t just dreams. Fuck you for thinking cynically like you always do. I know the difference between a dream and a memory. And these feel like memories.

I know that because it’s disturbing to me, the way I feel about them when they come. It’s sick. The shit that I am remembering, it’s so sick and I know it never happened, but when I see the images in my head I get this rush in my stomach. It’s like a shot of adrenalin and it hits me like I was really there when the things were happening. But they’re not real. I know they’re not.

This morning, when a new memory came to me, I saw Adi. He looked exactly like he did that last day of school before he went missing. Except that this clothes were torn. And I… He was looking at me like he was ter