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Unwritten Letters

Unwritten Letters

7 mins 225 7 mins 225

A letter that could have been written on a Summer afternoon:

Dear S…,

I have written many letters. I believe in the old custom that handwritten letters have a magical fragrance. They spread the aura of the senders.

Once I took seven fallen leaves and wrote memories on each. I wanted to post them but the cold wind blew away my desire. They are hidden in a black box in my attic.

Do you still write letters to everyone? You really do not have to answer me. I hate questions myself. Now I know how to make popcorns. You will be spared if we all ever meet again.

I have to tell you this, listen, finally, I have created a series of canvasses. I named them 'broken soul' and sent them to Paris for an exhibition. They are patterns with colours and strokes. I was invited to receive an honour but I declined. Could I possibly go and declare that I wished to kill the artist in me, but instead each time I create!

How I wish that I go into the sea and drown my existence! It's painful to live two lives.

I have to go now. I know you haven't heard from me in years and this would be a shock to you. But I know, although the oasis is an illusion yet the desert treasures it.

Take care.


Another letter that could have been written on an Autumn evening:

Dear A...​,

In our lives the stars play tricks. The vast dark sky sparkles with them yet they want more. And enter our lives.

Sometimes we act without reasons, causing deep cuts in skins. Do you really believe that I did not come to your annual program? I was there. Sitting amidst those silhouettes who claimed to be your fans. You might feel my absence but that cannot erase my essence.

I have my own reasons girl. You can hate me.

Eagles give birth. They nurture, love, protect and grow the birdies. And one morning they teach the little ones to fly. They depart but love.

Your tears have no values. Sit straight and be determined. The world is waiting for the crystals that you would grow. My eyes shall always follow you, whether you realise it or not.

You may revolt. You have the right. But I cannot.

Be sweet. Be brave.



This letter needed to be written on a bright morning:

Dearest Sister,

I have visited the orphanage last Sunday since I remember your last words to me. I was not happy when you said I needed to know the essence of charity.

Once I had coloured one of my canvasses black with dots of white. Specks of hope. You had laughed. I was silent.

A river flows amidst lands unknown in hope of reaching the sea but in the process it gives fertile soil. But when it floods, it is cursed. Such is the nature of life.

However I have adopted a child.

Love & Hate


Sometimes love cannot be written:

Dear D…,

I received a rainbow from you today. You reminded me of our days together. I miss all of us in those happy times. I miss you. I miss us.

A...​​ is such a darling that no matter how many times we wanted popcorn packets in a single show, he got for us. 

Friendship is a dream D.... Touch of a magic wand. Yet the demonic darkness lurks nearby. 

I read in newspaper today how a part of our world is attacked again. Can we never find complete peace? You know I went to the beach last Friday and the golden rays of sun fell on my forehead. My thoughts faded.

I grabbed warm sands in my two palms and let them fall back again. The cool water came and touched my feet. It reminded me of Ko Samed of Thailand. We were such free birds then. Shall we celebrate again?

I have to go now. Responsibilities have grown.

Love You


Love letters that are never found in diaries:

My Dearest,

Lost is a beautiful word. In fact a magical one. It's beautiful that you lose so many things. Did you ever lose yourself?

I was six years old when my mother took me to watch the Little Mermaid and I was lost in that dark world in the water. It was magical yet tragic. I never wished for a prince charming anymore. Instead I loved chasing those white and yellow butterflies that came to our garden. The garden remained lost most of the days amidst birds, butterflies, trees, flowers and fragrances. But do you think the colour was always rosy?

I cannot tell you whether I write. But I smell life. I touch emotions. I kick my nightmares. And I let my dreams go, each time they bloom. Never tell me whatever you saw Love. I cannot welcome new demons. Since they would take years to adjust with the existing ones in my house. Did I tell you that I have an attic now? Oh, well I have to go now. I am learning how to ride a bike. A childhood desire.



A letter that still haunts the sub-conscious:

Dear M…,

Three nights back I saw a dream. Thousands of rose petals falling from nowhere. A long spiral staircase with only one opening on the far ceiling. Light could not reach the abyss.

I was wearing a black netted dress, like the one you had wore on your nineteenth birthday photograph. A gothic house. A wait. A moment of infinite emotions. But before I could meet your knight I was already floating in the river of death. My hairs flowing. My face peaceful. But was it me?

I cannot meet your mother anymore. We departed long back. I gave her three maple leaves, which I had bought once from a place. I will remember you in my prayers. I know you will survive and evolve. You are the northern star like your mother used to say.

I will write to you again someday.

Take care.


Anguish in unwritten words:


I have not received your letters. I came back home after two years. For a while I roamed with myself then came back to settle. You know the language of heart, what else you need? Tell me something are you still single?

I have to tell you this. Well, I have adopted a daughter. A pretty little butterfly I must say. I am sending her photograph. She stays in a residential school. I visit her sometimes.

You know we all need to give up ourselves at times to realise our own values. Like the snow melts to become water and runs like a river through lands. Now I am in touch with most of you through these colourful handmade papers. I make these myself. I feel so connected when I make them for each one of you.

Blue for you.

Green for A...

Pink for Sister...

Orange for D...

And yes violet for M....

S..., I went to see A...'s annual program again this year. I had not informed her; but later wrote to her. I don't expect an answer anymore. But I hope she is blooming each day.

Oh, I have no idea why I feel like I have to tell you all. I go on bike races nowadays. Not too much speed though. A group of growing women. I felt the need to encourage them. Listen, I too cannot afford to give away honours. A human heart craves for recognition. But not for a dual life !

I have to go now. The bell is ringing. Someone has returned home.

Take good care.


The last words are invisible at times:

My Dearest,

Infant wishes enter mind's playhouse to explore possibilities

They nurture all shapes and colours to build objects that come in their dreams

They even imitate images seen between their deaths and rebirths

You say the sky's the limit and there is nothing more you can do since you have witnessed a lot

Shall I abide by your words and mourn with you?

Or shall I whip your words to show them the light?

But whatever I do will be my own perspectives stamping on you. I used to tell you a lot of things but not anymore. Now you have the keys which you found in that river you told me once. You jumped without plan. You were almost drowning. Struggling for air. Perhaps a pseudo death.

But you survived. Why...?

I will leave you with this episode alone. I have to go. I need to focus on a dream I am seeing each night since a fortnight.


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