Dear Abbu

A letter from Zainab: the brave little girl to her father.

Dear Abbu,
After a long time I’ve gotten some time, so I thought I’ll put flowers on the graves ofy thoughts.

Dear Abbu,

I have many questions to ask you, who’s answer my heart desparately cries out to know.

Dear Abbu,

Is our body any different than that of men?They look similar tho, the colour looks similar too.

Then why are acid’s stain present only on a female’s body?

Then why do those brutal scars leave their marks only on our body?

When they inserted something into my that part of the body, then it pains a lot Abbu.

Not only does a fountain of blood ooze out; In the midst of pain not just a scream comes out, Even prayers and compassion doesn’t seem to work.

It feel as if someone has dipped it into the sun and placed it into my that part of the body. It feels as if someone has infinite coal on an open wound.

It feels as if my fingers have been scratched by a sharp rock; But, he doesn’t feel that way.

He is still drowning in the obsession of his childhood that he believes even if he takes my soul away, twists my neck, carress his fingers on my body; throws me away by crushing me under his palm.

Then tomorrow you will you will present him with a new doll to play with, but I am not a doll made in markets for small children.

In an envelope made of stars,

In a bag made of the winds.

I send this letter into the sky for you.

Dear Abbu,

Do reply.

– Gaurang Nanda


My body remembers

My body remembers all my cherishing moments;

My body remembers all my failures that needed improvements.

It remembers the brutalizing painful blood;

The blood that flew through my veins.

Paralysing each part my body as it flew away.

Paralysing my body;

Paralysing my emotions;

Paralysing my every memory that hurdled in its way.

My body remembers the innocent acts as a child;

It remembers how the world merely was a small place back then.

My body remembers the warmth of a Mom’s hug;

My body remembers the satisfaction in Dad’s shrug.

But then my soul left my body;

Innocence left my body.

Curiosity left my body.


That child left my body..

The Stormy Sea

After toiling hard through a stormy patch of sea. He nonchalantly sat there in his cabin at peace; with his cup of tea and a ciggerate dangling down his fingers.

In the meanwhile, someone knocked the door of his cabin. Swiftly keeping his tea on the table besides and his ciggerate in the ash tray.

He stood went on ahead to open the door.And he saw a dark shadow ogling him right in his eyes.

Yes. There he was again. “The messenger of misery” again right at his door. All he did then was welcomed him in his cabin(life) with a firm handshake and a smile.

And by repetitively doing this he happily lived ever after.



There he stood with all his pride,

Thinking about the day he first cried.

But the scars made him vulnerable.

Pain from the messenger of misery became intolerable

He decided on give up his life unbearable.

The louder he moaned,

The more it used to hurt.
He wore the drape of depression,

After nothing left, some motivation.

He wrote some last words for his loved one,

Laughing over about how life finally won!

Standing at the end of the year,

Winds silently howling his ear.

Trying to remember all the good memories;

But the cries of his heart didn’t let the good memories win.
Those brutalising thoughts kept on stabbing him through his chest,

Every stab made him Clare why he was right to take this step.

The voices in his head,

The mournings from his bed.

Made him think that the world wouldn’t be affected just by him.
And for his last cry.

He sobbed so hard that his eyeballs popped out.

His proud jaws ruptured.

He sobbed so hard that his ribs fractured,

Puncturing his lungs
He saw himself from above,

Pale, depressed and all dead.

It was a state of dillemma.

There was music and too much whites.
In an hour he came back to his conscience.

And later he realised that he had been to heaven.

And he thrived to life this time.

Making the life to cry.

And he lived happily ever after.

– Gaurang Nanda