A Winding Stairway

Away from the maddening crowd where the human noise ends

Lies a winding stairway that no one ever descends

Visible to all, yet hard to spot

It leads to a place that demons sought

Deep into the woods, away from sight

There lives a woman who dances in the night

And on the moonlit nights, she dances with a ghost

Her shamanism entices spirits from the coast

No one knows her origin and the cause

Neither she's a witch nor she's an ogre

And listening to her soulful melodies

Countless men have given in to the felonies

Every single man who comes in her sight

Turning into a vicious sod, he either kills or he dies

- Anirudh Bhardwaj

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Just Once In My Life - Part - III

When I woke, the morning light was streaming in through a gap in the curtains. It was 9:45. I reached out instinctively, but the space beside me was empty, the bedsheet cold. “Jhanvi?” I called out softly, scanning the room. No answer. Her bag was gone. The scarf she’d been wearing the night before — gone. Even the faint scent of her perfume seemed to have disappeared into the air. A tightness grew in my chest as I checked the terrace, the bathroom, the corridors outside. She was nowhere. It felt as if the night before had been a dream — one of those vivid ones that leave you unsettled when you wake. A knock broke the silence. When I opened the door, a housekeeping guy stood there holding a tray. “Miss Jhanvi asked me to give you this breakfast,” he said with a polite nod. On the tray was a simple but comforting spread: hot aloo parathas with a square of butter melting slowly on top, a small bowl of curd, tangy mango pickle, and a steel kettle of masala chai. He walked in, set the tray...

Just Once In My Life - Part - II

The night air in Jodhpur had that peculiar weight to it - cool, yet laced with the faint warmth of the day that lingered in the sandstone walls. We were sitting on the terrace of RAAS, the kind of place where the Mehrangarh Fort doesn’t just dominate the skyline — it breathes over you. Lit up in gold, it looked like an ancient guardian watching over the blue city. Jhanvi sat opposite me, elbows resting on the low parapet, a cigarette between her fingers. Except tonight, it wasn’t a cigarette. She took a slow drag, eyes half-closed, then exhaled in lazy swirls that curled and disappeared into the darkness. Without a word, she offered me the joint. “You should try it,” she said, a playful defiance in her tone. I hesitated. I’d never touched the stuff before. But something about her — her restlessness, her untamed energy — made refusal impossible. I took it, awkwardly mimicking her grip, and inhaled far too quickly. The taste was sharp, unfamiliar, the smoke heavier than I expected. I cou...

The Ghost of Dona Paula

She was standing there at the Jetty. Looking at a distant ship, she hoped to be on one. So she could just run away from all the trouble this life had been giving her lately. She was looking for an escape. And that's probably the reason why she had come thousands of miles away from her hometown, hoping to leave her worries behind. But that didn’t seem to help either. In a city full of strangers, she felt vulnerable. And why not? She had never been anywhere alone after all. And this unplanned trip to Goa was never on her bucket list. Of course, she wanted to come here, but not like this. Not as a loner who was looking for a peace of mind. But the turn of events that took place lately changed everything. And after all that happened, she wanted to get as far away from that place as possible and landed up here in Goa. Yashasvi had just completed her post graduation and in the weeks that followed, she found herself surrounded by sorrow and trepidation. At the age of 26, Yashasvi ha...

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