Taruna Ghera

There are certain days you wish would never end—like a birthday, for instance. Imagine if such a day could stretch to 72 hours, packed with endless joy, cherished memories, and all the things that make you feel truly alive. These are the moments that remind us of the essence of living—a sense of fulfillment, a discovery of something we didn’t even know we were seeking, a glimpse of life at its most vibrant. But here’s the thing: while I could write about these feelings endlessly—and trust me, I have, more times than I can count—I keep coming back to one question: how much is too much? Is there ever a limit to expressing something you love purely with all your heart and soul? Does talking about it, sharing it, and writing about it over and over somehow dilute its meaning? Maybe the answer lies not in how often we express it, but in how deeply it resonates each time. If the emotion is genuine, its meaning doesn’t fade—it evolves, adding new layers of understanding and connection. After ...

Today felt like any other day. I woke up, made myself  the-specifically-accurate-proportion-of-coffee-sugar-mix, logged  into my laptop and got ready to type. But just as I was about to press the first letter, something unusual struck me: I remembered something. Now, that's rare for me—remembering something, especially a  dream . Even more unusual was the fact that this dream involved my one constant friend, the person I turn to for everything from minor inconveniences to major dilemmas. The beauty of student life is that you don’t have to report to anyone at a fixed time. So, with that luxury in mind, I picked up my phone and called him. I narrated the dream, and soon, we were laughing hysterically. It was one of those laughs that stays with you, even after the conversation ends.  As we both returned to our routines, I noticed something lingering—a smile on my face. It wasn't intentional or conscious, but it was there, a testament to the joy of having someone who ...

One thing I have realized over the years, being impatiently impatient and wanting to get the results immediately after accomplishing a certain task, that no matter what you do, with how much dedication you put into it, you will see the results when they're meant to be seen. No other force in this world, nor you could take things under your control and make them happen. This realization didn’t come easy. I have, like most of us, found myself frustrated, questioning why my hard work didn’t yield instant outcomes. It felt as though the universe was ignoring my effort. But with time, I learned to see the bigger picture—that every action sets things in motion, but the outcomes align with a timeline greater than my own. It’s like planting a seed; no matter how much water or sunlight you provide, the seed will sprout only when it’s ready. Well, this wasn't a thought that struck me over night. Perhaps, one of the ideas that gave birth to this realization was the fact that I always end ...

"अगर सब कुछ मिल जाएगा ज़िन्दगी में तो तमन्ना किसकी करोगे , कुछ अधूरी ख़्वाहिशें ही तो ज़िन्दगी जीने का मज़ा देती हैं "             "  If you attain everything in life, what will you wish for, It is the unfulfilled desires that make life worth living " Human desires are as boundless as the stars in the night sky, ever-expanding and evolving with time. From the dawn of civilization, our ancestors sought fire to keep warm and food to satiate their hunger. Yet, as these basic needs were met, the horizon of our wishes widened—reaching for comfort, knowledge, power, love, and purpose. What makes human wants infinite is their deeply rooted connection to our emotions, ambitions, and ever-curious nature. Once we achieve something we once craved, the satisfaction is fleeting, and a new desire takes its place. A child dreams of toys, a student yearns for success, an adult strives for stability, and the elderly seek peace—but beneath these desires lies...

The thing about stories is that when you read them, you often find echoes of your own life within them. That's how a story truly comes alive—through the uncanny resemblances that compel you to picture it in your mind, like a film rolling before your eyes. The only difference being that it stars a version of you, shaped by your imagination, an essence of you. Does that mean you can reshape it as you wish? It does, doesn’t it? But here’s the catch—it’s written by someone else. It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it? Watching a film play out in your own imagination, only to remember that its script belongs to another. So, how does one create a film thought and written purely by their own? Well, the answer is still to be found. Maybe the answer lies in being brave enough to listen to your own thoughts. To take your experiences, feelings, and dreams and turn them into a story that feels truly yours. It sounds easy, doesn’t it? But it’s not. Writing your own story means looking inside yourse...

What do I write about?  I kept questioning myself and patiently waited for my mind to speak up.   I thought I should go take a stroll in the metro the other day, for I was struggling to shape my feelings and thoughts into coherent words that could capture the chaos within me. There was a discomfort—a gnawing uneasiness, like sensing a subtle shift in the air. It was uncomfortable, not being able to express myself was making me uncomfortable.   What do I write about, now that I have let you go from the only place I was able to think. Like when, while sending an email, if the subject field is blank, the system refuses to send the email, or it asks you 'if you still want to send the email anyway'. Well, i t’s pretty cold in here. I leaned over my laptop screen, still finding it difficult to enter the world of wonderment. I rubbed my hands to generate some heat in the palms as I realized my fingers started typing these words, this random gush of words that came through as soo...

People, places, and things I keep them so close, yet they feel so far .  Although everything is perishable and comes with a shelf life, we still have a special place for certain things. It’s almost paradoxical how something can exist within arm’s reach but feel worlds apart. Does this attachment make you materialistic? Or does it make you “too emotional”? What does it make you then? No one has a definite answer, because deep down, we all know it’s a paradox we live with every day. It’s not just about material things. It’s about what they represent—memories, emotions, connections. A worn-out book isn’t just paper and ink; it’s the comfort of late-night reading, the escape into another world. A favorite t-shirt isn’t just a piece of cloth; it’s the comfort of it being worn so many times by the person you somewhere hold so close to you and the moments you have spent with your loved ones. These things are more than their physical selves; they are symbols of moments, feelings, and piece...

  Here I am, writing about us, which once started with writing only about you. The poems, the random things I have written, though nothing was done “randomly”, it was all out of either overflowing emotions or just mere aggression or the urge to hold on my feelings for too long. I still remember the day I fell ill, a day spent in tears, yet paradoxically filled with inspiration. I wrote 7 poems that day, all born from the “random” gush of feelings that came and went soon after I penned them down.    As if, those feelings were desperate to jump out of me to release on the paper just to give a voice to  themselves. I thought it will be easier for me to write about you. But here I am, looking at the cursor while it flashes, thinking about the most appropriate word to start my next sentence with. Ah! The urge to sound sensible. I feel like I am at a stage of conflict between intention and execution. I thought writing about someone so dear would be easier, straightforwar...

She woke up at quarter to eight, yearning to fall back asleep as soon as her mother walked out of her room. There I was, hanging in the kitchen on the rack, thinking she was coming to pick me up. But instead, she chose her other favorite, the one she uses for her warm water. It's been a week since I am hanging here. It is t rue that I'm glad she isn't used to drinking coffee every day, but I'm also saddened about the fact that she didn't even come to say hello to me. or could have just come to wash away the dirt off of me, maybe!? Today, she finally chose me, poured in me some warm milk, mixed in 2 tablespoons of coffee, 1 tablespoon of sugar, and 5 tablespoons of water, which she considers the ideal proportions for her "perfect coffee" as she enjoys it frothy and foamy. You might be curious about how I know the specifics of her perfect coffee. Well, I overheard her sharing these details with her mother. She also mentioned that she prefers to sip it from...

  Urgh! It’s you again. So, I finally thought I had freed myself from the mental chaos that had been clouding my mind, making me see and believe in things that were never truly there. It felt like I had been trapped in an airtight container of confusion and illusions, that even after so many years of not opening it, it is constantly blurring the line between reality and my own distorted perceptions. For a second, I thought I had found clarity, considering the calmness in there (mind), but it seems the chaos was never entirely gone, only lurking beneath the surface, ready to pull me back into its trap. Urgh! It’s you again. That familiar, uninvited presence that jumps up on me when I least expect it. No matter how hard I try to push it away, it finds its way back, as if it's been waiting in the shadows, just out of sight. I thought I had escaped it, thought I had finally silenced its whispers, but here it is, back to disrupt my thoughts and unsettle my peace. It’s like an unwanted...

  It's okay, go ahead.   It’s 5 in the evening. I got a call from my boss, probably she wants to assign me some work which I am not at all interested in doing. I came back home as I wasn’t feeling well. I went to the hospital but didn’t find a suitable doctor who could cure my disease. I had an asthma attack. Not a major one, just couldn’t breathe properly. But my other senses are working. Yes! Of course they are. My eyes are working, I can see properly, I can even talk even though I am having a hard time breathing. It was just an asthma attack. Now I feel like I shouldn’t have acted that way. Anyway, I laid down and eventually fell asleep. I might have missed a few important calls, you know it, intentionally majorly, lol. Was it really just an asthma attack? Or was it something that I didn’t understand and might be obscuring from it? “If I had known, I would have known, wouldn’t I?", said a voice in me. Phew! These voices. It’s been a week since I am in the hospital, s...

“In the middle of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.” For a long time, I thought I knew her. She was perpetually smiling, spreading happiness, and bolstering others' self-confidence. Yet, I was oblivious to the fact that these were the very things she yearned for herself—a deeper comprehension from someone. I thought I knew her. Indeed, she harbored dreams, not of acquiring cars or a grand house. Her aspirations soared beyond what anyone could envision. She didn't dream of a life of luxury or pricey branded clothes. Instead, she dreamed of a life that made waking up each morning worthwhile, greeted by the birds' songs, the first sound she wished to hear, the fresh air she longed to breathe upon opening her window, and just enough money to satisfy daily needs. She has always shown kindness to the right people, those who live true to their nature, even if they are often oblivious to their own deeds. But somewhere along the way, I realized that the per...

  " Coffee beans ,   tall greens  and  you ..." You know that feeling when you go to sleep with a mind full of voices telling you to shut up and then the constant war of you telling those voices to do the same. But then, that very moment, there comes a feeling of  d rifting from nothingness into the fullness of thoughts, which is like standing on the edge of a still, vast ocean at dawn. At first, there’s a calm emptiness—a blank canvas of the mind where no particular idea takes shape. It’s a moment of weightlessness, where your thoughts seem suspended, like air just before the first breeze. And then with that feeling, everything, that seemed heavy, useless and uncomforting starts to feel light, useful and so much comforting.  Well, this morning was somewhat like that but with a pinch of paradoxes mixed in it. I thought, "Oh wow! there comes this ease in the air I breathe, and I can finally be going places from now on". But nooooo!! My mind and I have this s...