Little sister of @amulyafreelancerr on mirakee :) A 13 year old. Manners. Maketh. Man.

Grid View
List View
  • _aradhya 2h

    E m a c i t y

    /It's been 255 days since we last talked, and it pains me to think that only 10 days are left, and it'll be a year/

    Emacity. This word used to sound so strange to me. But now, it's so familiar that it scares me, because I don't want to go numb. Yet, I think I am, slowly and steadily going numb.

    I have got used to saying I'm fine. At first, it acted as a remedy. But then, it was no longer a medicine for my wounds. After all, people said wounds heal. And scars don't.

    I mistook my scar for a wound.

    Though, I have also heard them saying that scars don't pain that much when compared to wounds. But my scars do. And it pains me even more when that scar is no one but you.

    Our memories, to be specific.

    I still visit the graveyard. I see your gravestone, and how each letter of your name is perfectly carved out on the grey stone. It's strange, that at this hour, this carving is what leaves me in awe. Only for a few seconds, but still.

    But I snap back into reality as I smell this petrichor. And it reminds me of you. Well, everything reminds me of you, nowadays. And by nowadays, I mean the last 255 days.

    I must tell you, you have mastered the art of xenization. You know, the act of existing as a memory. You are brilliant in it.

    And quite surprisingly, I have mastered the art of emacity. I told you how this word scares me. And it's because it has become familiar.

    I buried my feelings, the day your casket got buried. I buried everything inside. But yet again, your memories haunt me every day, as I go to sleep. And it's the kind of haunt I long for but at the same time, I want to repent it.

    It's sorrowful pandemonium inside my mind.

    Quite strange, I have mastered the art of emacity.

    - Aradhya

    Ooh, finally. After 2 months or more, finally something on Mirakee. I had my exams, and I haf to focus on them. But now, I am back. And Believe me, ooh, man, it feels so good.

    I promise to read all the posts.

    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod

    Pc- Pinterest

    Read More


  • _aradhya 11w

    You can scroll along. Really, you can. @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

    Read More

    I was

    I was fifteen when someone had my heart.
    I was sixteen when that someone broke it.
    I was seventeen when I started fixing it.
    I was eighteen when I fixed it.
    I was nineteen when it broke again.
    I was twenty when I realized it was me this time who broke it.
    I was twenty-one when I first tried the taste of drunkenness.
    I was twenty-two when bottles of vodka and whiskey became a usual thing for me.
    I was twenty-three when I came under "peer" pressure and tried cocaine.
    I was twenty-four when drugs became my haven.
    I was twenty-five when my mum found out about this.
    I was twenty-six when I stopped calling her, and lost all touch from her.
    I was twenty-seven when my sister found me on the street.
    I was twenty-eight when I tried killing my own self, because drugs were taken away for me.
    I was twenty-nine when I stole money, ran away from home, and got drugs.
    I was thirty when I got a call from my sister telling me that mum had died.
    I was thirty-one the next day, when I attended my mother's funeral.
    I was thirty-two when I stood in front of her grave, and cried it all out.
    I was thirty-three when the regret of not being there with mum took over me.
    I was thirty-four when my mind became numb completely.
    I was thirty-five when I went to the bathroom, took a knife, put it real close to my wrist, and slit it.

    I am seventy-five when I sit on my deathbed, and reminisce about these moments. About how my sister came right on time, and saved me. About me meeting the love of my life after a few months. About me going to rehabilitation centres and eventually, improving myself. About me marrying that love. About me having kids and seeing them grow, giving them love which I had once repelled. About me seeing them getting successful and not making us feel like strangers. About me taking trips.

    Above all, I reminisce about how my life changed drastically. The boy who was once broke, and addictive, is now a man who has lived in his life. Above all, I reminisce about me.

  • _aradhya 12w

    I was late for this, late for that, late for the love of my life,
    And when I die alone, die alone, die I'll be on time.
    - Cleopatra, The Lumineers

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

    Read More

    C l e o p a t r a

    //I remember that day, Cleopatra. I hope you do too//

    The day I kept my heart out in front of you. The day when I thought we would build something together. The day when the thought of us broke.

    I remember, you were wearing a black dress. Your father in a casket, ready to be buried, and you in the living room, with memories all around you. You sat on the carpet, and I was all drenched in mud. I sat down with you. And I held your hand. You instantly looked up at me. And you knew. I asked you if you would like to build our love into eternity.

    Hoping the answer would be yes, my heart was filled with hope. But you looked away, Cleopatra. Why did you look away? I knew it then.

    I left, leaving my footprints behind. And I didn't look back. I know, Cleopatra, you loved me. But did you love me so much that you let me walk away?

    I've heard tales of you and me. I've heard tales of us. They say you haven't erased my footprints. And now they are just fragments of our past, which could've been our present. But you looked away, Cleopatra.

    You're never too late for the love of your life. I heard you drive a taxi, and find a bit of me in every stranger that comes and sits in your backseat. Have you become so hopeful? Or have you become so desperate, Cleopatra?

    Cleopatra, I love you. I always will. But the only thing that I never understood, if you love me so much, why did you let me walk away? Why did you look away, Cleopatra?

    //I remember that day, Cleopatra. I hope you do too//

  • _aradhya 15w

    Like every other thing, forever has an end. And sometimes we're the forever. sometimes, the end.

    @aaditya your post inspired me. Lovely❤️

    500 followers post❤️

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

    Read More

    C l i c h e s

    I sit still as I stare in front of me. Ask me where? And I would reply, "Nowhere." Because recently, I encountered what people call forever.

    Holding hands, staring for long hours, too clichéd right? But you see, that's what my forever did. Built up clichés so beautifully that the clichés which were once my strengths, became my weaknesses.

    We entwined fingers, tightened our fingers and promised each other that our forever would be eternal. Everything was fine, until I met this unknown figure. People call him, questions. I call him, the end.

    The end to a promise, the end to an eternal bond, the end to love, the end to entwined fingers. Above all, the end to forever.

    Only to realize, that unknown figure resided inside me. It is my other half. And soon, while entwining fingers, I felt my fingers loosening the grip.

    He did too. Not because he faced the same thing. But because he knew I did.

    Everything changed after that. No long stares, no hand holding. Even the tears and the small fights stopped. Why? Because we simply didn't care. People asked us, "Why are you guys together when you know that both of you are falling out of love?"

    We never replied. But deep down, we knew the answer. The promise. And the clichés he built? Yeah, they were his strengths too. But, now they were his weakness. And amidst those clichés, one of them became forever, a promise that will break one day or the other.

    A promise we didn't want to break. A promise we wanted to hold on to forever.

    I sit still, holding his hand, but the grip is not so tight now. I rest my head on his shoulder. As I am breaking apart bit by bit inside.

    It all started with a forever. And ended with an The End.

  • _aradhya 15w

    *P A R T I E S* AND *F U N*

    I go to these parties, chase what people call fun, and try to amalgamate my emotions in this drunkenness that all of them talk about.
    They say fun is all about parties, music, people, mixing with them (sometimes a little bit too much), and taking shots of vodka as every breath escapes.
    So, I did the same.
    I went to all these "fun" parties they talk about, and I started on a quest (well, quest is a little bit of an exaggeration) or started finding (yeah, now that's perfect) fun.
    Who is this fun? Or shall the question be, what is this fun? Will it come to me in person or as an object?

    From one party to the other and I am still searching for fun.
    "Artificial fun, may I remind you," my inner voice said.

    "What do you mean?" I questioned back with a glare inside my voice.

    "Yeah, made up fun. You have made up fun on the basis of what other people say. Isn't that true?" She asks.

    I don't know why but I can imagine her smirking.

    "No," I say, knowing that it's a lie, but hey running away is better than escaping. Right?

    "Hm, okay. As you say."

    She emphasised on the word 'say'.

    I am still searching, and taking another shot of vodka, I am interrupted again.

    "Oh, so vodka is fun, darling?" My inner voice says, taunting me.

    "Why can't you just let me have fun?"

    "Is this fun for you, darling?"




    "Okay. Can you paint me the picture of the time when you were twenty and you used to go to that lake?"

    "Oh, that lake. It was beautiful. The subtle water, the gentle winds, the flowers, and the sunshines and sunsets, everything was beautiful."

    "Was? Why not now?"

    "I mean, is. Is beautiful. It's just that I don't go there now."

    "Why not?"

    I open my mouth to answer her question confidently. There are many things, you know. Like, my job. This city. The chaos, the crowd. And responsibilities.

    I was going to say this, but then I realized, none of them make up an excuse for not going. It's just that I have changed. This new city changed me. And I have enough time to search for fun, or fake fun, inside these parties but not for the fun that I once knew. Peace.

    "Exactly, my point, dear." My inner self says as she knows exactly what is going on in my mind.

    I keep the vodka down.

    Take my purse and my car keys. Guess where I'm heading to? The lake, the water, the flowers, the wind. Above all, I am heading for paradise.

    "Now this is fun." She says.

    A tear slides down my cheeks and rests on my hand.

    I say to her, "Yes. Fun."
    - Aradhya

    So, I don't know why but I kind of continued. 'A Conversation With My Inner Self' is something that I can't get out of my mind. It has been inside my head since the day I wrote the first part, you can say, of this album or collection. Now, I wrote the second.

    @writersnetwork A read? @mirakee #pod

    Read More

    A Conversation With My Inner Self

    *P A R T I E S* AND *F U N*

  • _aradhya 15w

    //Her lips are pale blue, and her face has no colour now. Completely pale. I knew it then. She left//

    She said she has two years. The day she called me up, I decided not to make her more sad. I took out the bucket list that day. And decided to tick all the boxes. Everything was worth it. From going to the most childish places to going to the most adult pubs, we did it all.
    And today is the day we are going to fulfil the last thing on our bucket list. Going to the Harbour Hill just a few miles away from Los Angeles. It's 23rd July 2014.

    The sunset over there, as I have heard from my mum, is the most beautiful sunset we could ever go to. The way my mother used to describe that place, I pictured a heaven. Anna also did. And today we'll go there.

    We take out the car keys, and ride there as we hear Charli XCX's Boom Clap. Her voice is just amazing.

    We reach there, and believe me when I say this, it's heaven. Much more than heaven, to be honest.

    We spend a lot of time over there, until the sun sets and a beautiful pink garnished with a little bit of purple covers the sky. It's beautiful. I look at my best friend who is sitting beside me, with her eyes closed. She's smiling to herself. I look back at the city in front of me, and smile to myself.

    The last thing on our bucket list is finally ticked.

    After spending a nice amount of time there, we decide to go home.

    The ride back was very peaceful, as some trap songs played. We didn't have the energy for EDM.

    We reach home, hug each other, and go to sleep. I was still so happy, and so satisfied. This is so much better. Healing her, I think I am healing myself as well.

    The next day I wake up, and go inside her room. It's pretty late, so I wake her up. Only to find out, she's completely cold. Her lips are pale blue, and her face has no colour now. Completely pale. I knew it then. She left.

    After ticking all the boxes, she has left.

    The time between calling the hospital, the doctors declaring that she was dead, till the time she was dressed and kept in a coffin, was emotional for me. All our memories were revolving around me.

    Her funeral is over. The ceremonies are over. And I look at her face one last time, as her coffin is being prepared to be cremated. I shed tears, but surprisingly I am quite happy inside that she is going away after fulfilling everything she wished to do.

    The coffin is cremated. And I walk back to the church to pray to Jesus for giving me such a wonderful best friend.

    I enter the church, only to find my emotions to be completely numb on seeing the face in front of me.

    My father says, "I know it's been a long time, Jess. I hope you can forgive me."
    - Aradhya

    Is it too long? Or too short? I don't know.
    Honestly, this part took so much time as coming up with how the second damage will be related to her best friend's death was a tricky part. Hard, to be honest. But then, I came up with one. Yay, me.

    So, Jess finds out at the end of her best friend's funeral, that her father has come after so many years and after a long time of sadness, happiness, a little bit of suspense. Above all, life.
    What would happen now? Will Jess be angry at him? Or would she control her anger, and try to fix things up? Will she have questions to unanswerable answers, or would she have answers to unquestionable questions?

    Keep reading to find out.

    Read the story under #damages.

    Thank you!

    @writersnetwork @mirakee

    Read More

    Damages (Part-4)

    //Her lips are pale blue, and her face has no colour now. Completely pale. I knew it then. She left//

  • _aradhya 16w

    It's so lame. You can literally scroll my rant about poetries.

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

    Read More

    P O E T R Y

    When I was ten,
    poetry for me was
    a simple definition of
    words penned down
    by people in a lyrical
    or a rhyming manner.
    Every poetry I read,
    I saw them as mere
    words penned down.

    When I became eleven,
    I had my diary beside
    me. And I wrote my
    first poetry, without
    even noticing. I lived
    on that definition of
    poetry that Wikipedia
    showed me, but writing
    one, I found out that
    I created my own
    definition of poetry.

    When I became twelve,
    poetry changed for me.
    Emotions set in, and
    I realized people were
    a shade of black
    and white, and I
    even saw that same
    white changing into grey.
    Soon, poetry wasn't
    about words anymore.
    It was about
    experiences, emotions, and people.

    Now, I am thirteen.
    And I wonder how
    this poetry will change
    for me. Would it
    turn into something
    ghastly that would have
    a deep scar on my
    heart, or would it
    become something I
    will cherish forever?
    Would I still come back
    to that definition Wikipedia
    showed me, or would I
    get stuck on the one
    I created when I
    wrote my first one.
    Or would poetry change
    for me as I grow older?

    Above all, would
    poetry change for me?
    Or stay the same?

  • _aradhya 17w

    What would happen
    If one day
    I decide to
    Just leave it
    Like that?
    So easily,
    So simply,
    So suddenly,
    Just leave?

    What would happen
    To you,
    When you get
    To know I
    Have left without
    A warning or
    Without a message
    Just like a
    Speck of dust
    In the air
    Lost somewhere in
    The hidden atmosphere?
    Love, will you
    Be mine?
    Or will you
    Break down?

    What would happen
    If you find
    Out that everything
    Even this concept
    You find so
    Magnificent, the
    One you call
    "Love", dies?
    Will you still
    Be the same
    Or will you
    Start acting strange?
    For the sake
    Of holding that
    Love, will you
    Never go?

    What would happen,
    If these
    Questions aren't in
    Front of your

    What would happen,
    If you find out,
    That you have
    Been blind?

    What would happen,
    If there comes
    A day when
    You find out
    We're falling out
    Of love

    - Aradhya

    A random thought, just wandering inside my mind, looking for a place to escape. Then I suddenly realized, I have my pen and my diary with me. So, I scribble it down.

    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod

    Read More

    What Would Happen?

    What would happen,
    If there comes
    A day when
    You find out
    We're falling out
    Of love

  • _aradhya 17w

    *F I R E W O R K S* AND *B L O O M*

    Another one. I see another firework in the sky, illuminating this sky. Even the moon steps back, and lets the fireworks take it's place today. Just one night, and after that maybe it'll come.
    The stars cover themselves in this veil of clouds, and the fireworks take their place. This night is the night I will see fireworks. It was always fascinating to me, you know. Every year, they used to light up the sky and would even fail a million stars in the sky.

    A voice within me asks, "What are you starting at?"

    I reply, without any hesitation, "These fireworks."

    "What about them?" asks the inner voice, more inquisitively.

    "Everything, actually. The colour, the light, the way they go up in the sky and bloom in a different way."

    "Don't flowers bloom?"

    "Yes, they do. Everything that opens itself up blooms."

    "Like you did? You opened yourself to that man, when you were 15. Just like that?"

    I stayed quiet for a moment.

    Then, I replied, "No, that was different."

    "How? The definition of bloom you just told me, isn't it what that man told you when you finally had the guts to question him back?"

    Yes, I thought.

    "No," I replied.

    "Oh, honey, you are lying to me? The only person who knows everything about you?"

    Yes, I again thought. But she already knows my thoughts. Why is she trying to make me say things?

    I started getting agitated. I asked her back, "If you know so many things, why are you asking?"

    "Well, you tell me? Did you accept? Did you tell anyone? Or did you do what that man said to you? Kept your mouth shut? It's your little secret with him, right? Did you break the 'secret'?"

    "You know what I did."

    My eyes started watering up.
    "What did you do?" She countered back. I knew too well what she was doing. My inner self knows just the right way to make me accept.

    "You know what I did," I repeated back, this time more loudly.

    "What did you do?" She said, her voice still the same.

    "You know what I did, why are you asking again and again?"

    "What did you do?"

    "I did NOTHING!" I shouted. The fireworks stopped.

    I broke down.

    She said, her voice still calm, "3 years. 3 goddamn years and you still haven't told anyone. From 3 years, he comes and lays his filthy hands on you, and you still haven't told anyone."

    "Is it a question?" I asked her.

    "No, honey. It's not. It was a question I kept asking in some way or the other but you just shrugged it off. Now that you have accepted, I'm telling you the truth."

    "What do I do?" I asked, feeling helpless.

    "Oh, darling, I am a part of you. If you are feeling helpless then I, too, will feel helpless. I am just here to make you realize the shit you have gone through. Not to give you solutions."

    "So, why are you even talking to me?"

    "Because everything in this world won't last. The day you die, I'll die too. That's painful. But you know what's more painful, if I die first. Then what will happen to you? Many guys might come to you and tell you another definition of 'bloom' and you'll start living with that definition. And it might be excruciating to listen to this, but I am breaking apart piece by piece. I am telling you to save me. Save me, and don't let me die."

    She stayed silent. She has gone now. The fireworks started again. It was as if they stopped because they wanted to give us some space.

    She gave me a message. I go downstairs. I hold my mum's hand.

    "I need to tell you something," I said to her, sitting beside her.

    "I love you. Go ahead," said my inner voice.

    "So," I started saying.

    As I narrated what had happened, my mum was in shock. A trustable man often cheats in a bad way. I broke down.

    And my inner voice, well she said, "Thank you. My wounds are healing."

    I hug her, and I finally smile.

    I say to my inner self and to my mother, "Thank you, and I love you."
    - Aradhya

    Quite big, huh? You can scroll along. Seriously, you can scroll along.
    #SpeakUp #SilenceIsPainful #InnerSelf #Rape

    @writersnetwork @mirakee #pod

    Read More

    A Conversation With My Inner Self

    *F I R E W O R K S* AND *B L O O M*

  • _aradhya 17w

    //Wounds can be healed. Scars can't.//

    "Hey. Come save me. I need you. I need to tell you something," I said to her.

    I put the call down. And I looked at the rope that was hanging from the fan. I felt broke. I felt stupid. All these years, I handled Jess. And in this handling, I forgot how to handle myself. I am one tough woman. But the doctor's report started tearing me apart.

    It was 20th September 2005. I came back home to find out that Jess's mother had died. She was like a mother to me, as well. After my parents died, she kind of helped me get through all the hardcore shit. And then, her death became a heartbreaking news for me. But it was more agonizing to Jess. You see, her mum was like a saviour for Jess in hard times. She was like a person who held Jess perfectly. Well, I was also there. But losing one of us, it started breaking her apart.

    And I thought, how can I show her my doctor's report? How can I possibly tell her that I, too, will die? It would be so torturing to her. So, I kept the news to myself. And held her when she was sitting on the floor covered with photographs. As soon as she saw me, she came and hugged me so badly. How? How can I tell this girl that I will die? That God has another fate for me which is already decided? How?

    I carried her. Throughout this journey. One day, I saw her father drinking. I saw smashed pieces of the mirror that Jess's mum had gifted him. It was so painful to watch. I thought telling Jess to talk to him would help both of them. But it tore her apart more and more. And there was this wound turning into a scar. I knew I had to stop from making it a scar.

    Wounds can be healed. Scars can't.

    There was this one time when I was vomitting in the washroom, and she saw me. She got all worried because she usually gets scared of health issues. She feels like that person will die. And seeing that fear in her eyes, I knew I couldn't do this. That day started breaking me. My heart sank when she ran away from me after seeing my terrible condition. So, I ran after her. She closed her bedroom door and I could hear her smashing things. I was horrified. I can't tell her. I can't. I won't.

    I made a joke from outside and said to her that I'm alright. The more I said I wasn't going anywhere, or the more I lied, the more I broke inside. She finally opened the door. And asked me, "You really aren't going to leave?"
    I hugged her. Assured her. "No, I'm not going to leave you," I said to her, and she smiled. I cried.

    That day, those hours, those minutes, those seconds, everything was painful. Painful doesn't even begin to sum it up.

    And today, I was going to kill myself. Because I couldn't see her break down when she would get the news. I just couldn't watch. But how can I possibly expect her to be a little better after knowing that I have died on my will? That I killed myself? No. And today she said to me, "I love you, and I'm always here for you."

    The words I needed to hear for such a long time. And I felt so bad. So, I called her up and decided that I would tell her everything.

    She came to my home. And hugged me tightly. I told her everything. I won't narrate the whole story. It would rupture me.

    When she heard this, she cried a lot. But then, after 20 minutes or so, she looked at me and told me that she loves me. And that we would do all the things that we wished to do when we were younger.

    I said to her, "The doctor said that I have two years."

    "Okay. Guess leukaemia gives you enough time to fulfill your bucket list. Let's do all the things now. Shall we?" She said, giving me the most affirmative smile. The most satisfying smile ever.

    We took out the bucket list we made. It was time to start ticking all the boxes.

    Back with the third part. Honestly, this part took some time as I had to completely immerse with Anna, who is Jess's best friend. Actually feel all the stuff she was going through. How she was breaking apart when she was gathering Jess. Everything. Some of the things came in my mind, but I just couldn't explain those feelings. Anna is a fictional character but still, she holds a place in my heart.
    So, the narration in this part if of Anna, to let all the readers know what she was going through. What would happen when she dies? And is the second damage related to that?

    Keep reading to find out.

    Read the story under #damages

    Thank you!

    @writersnetwork @mirakee

    Read More

    Damages (part-3)

    //Wounds can be healed. Scars can't.//