Sravya Reddy

  You thought everything will be fine when you embraced the Boogeyman with an air of finality. You thought you finally got the power you wished for.   The power to have everything in your premises under control. The ability to plan out a prosperous environment in and around you.   But in the midst of all, you ignored, no.. you feigned ignorance to the ugly gropings of the Boogeyman. You decided to turn a blind eye to all of it    so that you could harmlessly get past it. Get past him. But did he let you? He was there all along, right beside you when you decided to start your journey   in the newly acquired kingdom. You still remember the cold shiver that ran down your spine when you realised that he was there, controlling you under   the disguise of guiding you. It was then that you decided to play the game by his rules.       You decided not to beat yourself up for every knot you couldn't untangle. You...

                                                        Endless thoughts on my mind. Just like the zenith.  It's been so long since I've written something that gave me the chills and made the hair at the nape of my neck stand.              How do I capture the story lines that have sprouted while I was exploring different dimensions of life?              Oh what do you know about the intricate process a writer goes through to accurately pen down the struggle of a single             parent, or the thoughts of a teen swimming in the pool of hormones, to reiterate the shades of depression like that of a                     victim's journal or the magic of unravelling the secret of...

   It's not easy to wake up on dot before the ding of the bell. That could either be milk or the maid.               Sleepily walking towards my new day  I stepped on her unfinished lego of Optimus Prime. Damn those things hurt more than a paper cut.               My every morning workout is to press her uniform and straighten the creases of that monster of a pleated skirt. I became so used to it that I'm               sure I can do a mix of salsa and ballet with utmost suave. While I'm busy juggling between the rice cooker, boiling milk, and the sandwich with a              hand towel on my shoulder, my Queen Victoria enters the kitchen harshly rubbing her eyes. "No! Don't do that. It hurts your eyes". But I won't voice              out this immediately because her day ...

 "Do chai!" a man in a crumpled business suit ordered. His dishevelled hair clumsily stuck to his forehead and his eyes discreetly observed the surroundings. He noticed a frail young boy carrying 4 teacups with his fingers dipped in them for support. He was passing the labyrinth of tables deliberately trying not to spill the contents. The irani chai's exquisite aroma wafted across the cafe and tingled the man's nostrils. The cafe was filled with different people fighting their own battles of life just like the man and consciously waiting for their miracles to happen that will magically wash away all their miseries.      He noticed a young couple seated opposite to a stout looking man, who he learnt, is a marriage counsellor trying his magic to stop them from filing for a divorce. Their adjacent table seemed to be tensed as a father is deliberately trying to explain the arduousness of life to his 21 year old son. There was a lonely old man in a corner tabl...

      "You can leave now." A simple make-or-break statement. While it seems as a boon to a patient who succeeded in his treatment sessions, it comes as a bane  to a parent who was asked to surrender their laptop to the Human Resources. While one leaves with a bewitching smile, the other stumbles with a heavy heart  thinking about a promised motorbike to their 21 year old son.         While in one dimension people are harshly falling prey to the recession, in the other there is a 65 year old man who can't open his novelties shop due to a  pandemic. While in one people are madly running around to stock their houses with bread, in the other they're waiting for someone to save them in all ways a  person can be saved.         While in one ICU, a mother is having her last video call with her children, in the other there is a grandmother receiving a bouquet of white daisies for her  ...

How amusing it is that a petite body and mind of her can encase a prodigious amount of emotions voluntarily or not and still manage to carry a facade of normality.  Her thoughts managed to stay in her soul until she carefully yet freely let them cascade over her drooping shoulders and onto the paper. The minute she held the pen, she simply let all her delicacies out, carefully engraved with the beauty of words.  She in every sense is a fighter. A fighter with her bespoke weapon; a pen. She fights the societal taboo, the misogyny, the chauvinistic stereotypes, fights for her love, for her life; fights all these alongside battling her own inner labyrinth of thoughts. Her every battle begins with the unwavering flow of ink just like how the world begins with her vaginal flow.  She is as soft as cotton, as fierce as a thousand flames, as calm as the sea before storm, as clear as a stream and as twisted as a pretzel.  Who is she you ...

 Oh look at her; she carelessly let another day pass by. Another oppurtunity had slipped past her fingers. And what did she do?        She simply sat back and took to a spree of self shaming. The concept of self confidence was foriegn to her. What is self esteem she asked.        Is it in pushing herself off the bed every morning? Is it in responding to the video call with a video call and not a text? Or is it in helping her father        with the household chores and relieve her mother's muscle knots after a long day at work?        She only has questions left with her. Will they do any good to her? Maybe or maybe not. All she knew and kept telling herself was the mantra to be the        unknown. " Let no one notice you" she chants to her soul. "Keep your head hung low and slouch as deep as possible in your seat to not be noticed by          ...

I am in a state of complete cognitive lockdown. In layman's terms it's called something along the phrases of  'a writer's block'. I've been racking my brains for solutions and motivation but in vain. It's like my mind's trapped and is held hostage in a blank space, forcibly being prevented from giving any ideas or thoughts. "Hmm wierd!" I thought. Not even one month ago I was complaining about how I can never process and prioritize my thoughts and how I always give in to them. And now here I am complaining about why my mind is void of any ideas. It's been so long since I wrote something that gave me inner peace and utmost satisfaction. Now it's all just free-writing. I'm pushing myself to write something even though it lacks life and emotion, hoping that maybe someday these dead passages may come alive and completely consume me, enabling me to produce magic out of them. Journal writing is also helping me but it's mo...

I've never had anything that I can bring myself to call it 'treasured.' That was until I found an empty notebook in my shelf. Being in the phase of fighting teenage shenanigans I surprisingly found my solace in scribbling emotions onto those pages. I've discovered a hidden spark of mine while I unabashedly tried to fight the prejudices. Standing on the threshold of adulthood, I've always thought about what life has in store for me and writing happened to help me connect the dots and figure out my capabilities. Only that empty notebook which is almost full now, knows what kind of release it gave me from my own mind trap. Those pages reached out and yelled at me to keep going and never hesitate to do something that makes me happy. The words that flew out of me made me reconsider my opinion on many things and taught me to open my mind to many taboos. I've always been a shy girl who seeks comfort in her own space. I only found myself to be accurately...