Story #40: An Anonymous Note (The Anonymous Anecdotes Project)

Dear you,

I know you are suffering in your own, unique way. I know you have a story, a history and something that gives you pain. I know you have happy moments that you never account for, and sad moments you never forget. I know sometimes you hide your pain and mask your insecurities.
Because I do, too.
But I want you to know that you’re the writer of your own story. All the characters, living or dead, are the people you chose to be with, at that moment. Every episode you experience is influenced by the words you say and the things you do. Just like every turn adds on to you successfully getting to your destination, every choice adds onto making what your life is or will be.
That being said, I don’t want to turn this into a sermon. We all know our choices make or break, but still, sometimes we end up saying and doing things that we shouldn’t have. Negativity fills us up. Things go bad one after the other, repeatedly, and everyone you’ve ever come to love seems to either not care, or be there for you.
But in times like this, I want you to know that you have the power to change your situation. You always have the power to change the situation. I want you to believe that you do.
Two years ago I had reached the lowest point in my life. I fell, hard; everything in my life seemed to be going wrong. I was sad, and I was sad all alone. To be honest, I still am. I haven’t recovered from it, but I’ve stopped thinking about it. I’ve learnt to focus my energy onto better things. I’ve learned to give into my emotions, but not too much. I’ve learned that emotions make you weak, and love makes you vulnerable. So I have tried to keep them both as far from myself as possible. I’ve come to know that I am alone, and that no matter what, friendship is, in the end, a beautiful illusion we distract ourselves with. Years spent in school together, times spent laughing, and sleepovers: they all dissolve into ego, selfishness and stop to exist. So I’ve just come to terms with the fact that no matter how much I may love people, they will never love me back as much. I will never be enough for anyone, and that is okay because people always have expectations, and expectations always lead to disappointments. 

This may appear to be a very pessimistic view of life, but I swear, I’m a very happy person and a self proclaimed optimist. Although, I believe now I’m turning into a realist. A realist who knows her flaws well; a little too well to hate them. A realist who for quite a long time didn’t look into the mirror because she hated the sight of her face. Anyway, I’m telling you this because I want you to know how I feel better about myself. 

I try to spread happiness. Try to. There’s something very satisfying in seeing someone smile; more so when I’m the reason behind it. So I don’t really care if its over something silly, or a story I just concocted. I just want to make people laugh. Maybe, I think, making someone happy is my way of making myself happy, because I never seem to be able to do it directly. Also, random acts of kindness. You have no idea how wonderful they make you feel. Wish the person who guards your front gate, buy the balloons from the little boy selling them at the red light, compliment your friend who’s insecure about her looks that she is beautiful, tell your parents you love them; there are so, so many little things that you can do that can literally brighten up someone’s day. They feel good, you feel good: it’s a win-win situation!

I know this because these are the things that no one ever told me. I also know this because I know it works. I wish someone would’ve been kind to me back at a time when I felt weak. I was still in school. I’d been crying for last thirty-five minutes in the toilet; that’s how I used to spend my lunch breaks. I’d stopped washing my sore, red eyes because I knew nobody cared enough to ask me what was wrong. This happened again, and again over different time periods in my life so far (I’m big on public crying, lol.) I’ve had multiple panic attacks inside fully crammed metros, and not one person has had the guts to ask me what was wrong. My point here is, in situations like this, people are afraid of being kind. Why? I don’t know. I just hope the people who are reading this aren’t the ones to turn their heads away when something like this happens. 

I want you to do one more thing. If you absolutely hate your existence, or you’ve just been experiencing bad things one after the other, do this: when you lie down at night, close your eyes and just say thank you to the universe for everything that exists in it for you, or rather facilitates your existence. Start with twenty things. The list will expand, day after day and you will realise the thousands of things that you need to be thankful for. I do this exercise at times when I feel that nothing is working out for me anymore, and it just makes me feel that I have way, way more things than I account for, and that my existence is magnanimous. 

I’ve babbled for quite a while now. I just want you to know that your life will go on; you are a unique, wonderful human being who is here for a purpose. I want you to know that right now is all you have. Smile. You’re allowed to cry. Let it out. Love. You will find love, inevitably, but for once try letting love find you? Everything good that is meant for you will come to you in good time. 

I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. 
I wish you well.


P.S: I listened to this song when I was going through a very low point in my life. It made me cry, a lot, but I also felt really better. I want to add it on here, because, I don’t know, maybe if you too are going through something bad, this could help. I hope it does. 

A Little Too Much (Shawn Mendes)

I cannot believe this is the last time I writing this after-note!

We all at some point feel exactly like the writer has described in the episodes of their life. Sadness, dejection, disappointment and what not. But really, true happiness lies in making others happy- be it through lame jokes (if you’re like me) or acts of kindness. These words have really struck a chord in my heart, and I think I will come back to this story, again. I hope the words have resonated with you just like they did with me. 

On that note, I declare The Anonymous Anecdotes Project as closed! I’m so thankful to everyone who’s contributed and/or read the stories; be it one, two or all forty.

Loads of love!


Any opinions, comments or ideas that you may want to put forward to the writer of this story can be mailed to me at Positive feedbacks and constructive criticisms are more than welcome. 

(The Anonymous Anecdotes is a project under which anyone can send me a memory, a story or an experience from their life that had a profound impact on them. It requires people to write their respective experience along with the way it changed them or their perception of life. According to the project, these stories are being published anonymously, with the intent of spreading a positive message and a hope that anyone who reads, relates or learns.)



Story #33: The Lighthouse (The Anonymous Anecdotes Project)

Picture this – a little ship sailing out in the open sea. It’s all nice and calm. The sky’s clear and the annoying, noisy seagulls are surprisingly missing. Such beautiful peace! However, don’t be so easily fooled by this quiet, deceptive tranquility. The absence of those very same noisy birds doesn’t bode well. Heard of ‘the quiet before the storm’? And before you realize it, there are menacing, dark clouds crawling over the same clear canvas. The heavens split open as torrential misery pours down.

Just a tiny boat, a tiny boat that is no match for the giant waves rapidly approaching. You lose control over the wheel, there’s nothing but looming rocks, encompassing shadows and monstrous waves up ahead. Treacherous whirlpools and sweeping tides that silently linger to bait in clueless, naïve wooden preys, threaten to break and gobble you up. You’re but a mere wooden toy tossed and flung around by the tides that just might capsize you. They conspire to seize you and hold you down till all the fight leaves your being and all that’s left behind is a beaten down wreck in the very depths of the high seas. A wreck that wards off most and commands a presence that is answered only by nervousness and a silent wish to stay away.

You should know this though, this tiny boat is anything but tiny. It’s your existence. It’s as magnificent as any of the finest ships out there decked in its own unique grandeur. It is your life and as much as you’d like to always be in control, but there are times when that’s out of the question. There are so many monsters out in the sea looking such harmless vessels to wander out, testing the waters, so that they can find them at their most vulnerable state and devour them. One small blind spot. Just one Achilles’ heel. Just one little insecurity for them to hound upon.

But amidst this turmoil and chaos, for that one moment when the waters retreat, have you ever looked about? Or are you just too caught up in healing and recharging yourself for the next onslaught?

Sure, it’s important to heal and pull your guard back up. But just for a little while forget them. Let your guards remain down and look into the dark, dreary expanse of the night. What might appear to be camouflaged as an abysmal stretch, hides among its countless evanescent stars a single, sole light lower than the rest perhaps. A lighthouse.

A lone ray of brilliance to guide back the other solitary crafts. Just a tower to guide you back home. It doesn’t forsake your tiny meandering self. It doesn’t leave you alone with your own thoughts. There’s suddenly so much more to your life and there’s this tiny spark within yourself. A hope to possibly continue hoping and to survive. Even if it’s but a mere mirage, it still fills the lost nomad with a promise of there being a light at the end of the tunnel.

When surely all seems lost and you seem to be done for, don’t forget there are those who will guide you back. There were times I faltered and almost gave in to my demons. I could barely get back up from where I had fallen. The ones I relied on, my own blood, weren’t there for me. In fact, I wasn’t needed. I was just a mistake after all. I would like to make this about a story of true love, because who doesn’t love a romantic story once in a while! My apologies, but that didn’t happen.

Sure, I found love and soulmates. Yes, I say soulmates, with an ‘s’ , for they are my better halves. I hadn’t had the best experiences in friendship before but if there was something good that pain gave me – that was my own lighthouse. They scattered rays of hope for me to hold onto in my life and a drive to continue fighting.

The companions I cherish and always seek out, be it when my life’s caught up in a storm or not. They made me realize that even if my self is rendered into a formidable wreck, there are those select few curious minds that will set out to explore this same wreck. They will dive into the scary depths to find me all battered on the ocean-floor, only to preserve and put me back together again.

There are times I have been unable to express how they quite literally saved me from rotting away and breaking down. There’s now a drive in me to seek out this lighthouse, to wait for that occasional explorer, and to continue sailing and conquering the high tides.

This is the most beautiful analogy to life that I’ve read in a long, long time.

Life tosses and turns you over, but there is always that one source of light, that beacon of hope that shines in your darkness, telling you that there is a way- a way out. 

So you know you need to hang in there a little longer, if you’re not seeing your lighthouse just yet. Hang in there a little longer. It will find you, and in Coldplay’s words, lights will guide you home. When you do find that lighthouse of yours, hold on to it like you’ve never loved anything before. 

I hope you do. 


(The Anonymous Anecdotes is a project under which anyone can send me a memory, a story or an experience from their life that had a profound impact on them. It requires people to write their respective experience along with the way it changed them or their perception of life. According to the project, these stories are being published anonymously, with the intent of spreading a positive message and a hope that anyone who reads, relates or learns. If you’re interested, you can send me your story at

Story #21: Was He Even There? (The Anonymous Anecdotes Project)

Was he even there?
Was that a commitment?

Or maybe, his attempt to come out of something, something even more disastrous in his past. Or maybe, he really meant what he said when he held my hands.

I suppose it was his convenience of not being able to stay alone for quite sometime. If he had really wanted me to stay, stay where I found my home, he would have cared enough for my fears, my dark and my pain, my worst and my all. He was aware of the dark, the grays and the blues but always expected the spring of me. He, who said he won’t leave, had left because now he realizes the world shall shower spring upon him but not me.  The whirl of wind and darkness are heavier than any armor. The dreamer in me did not stop loving him. I just stopped putting it up into my sleeve and making one last effort, every time when it’s the last time.

I already knew why it was necessary to give up on humans, friends and the dearest of friends but wasn’t able to do it any time but now I am trying to figure out how to give up on emotions. They tend to incapacitate you from applying your senses, basic logic in your dark times and leave you shattered with every drop of hope, expecting, imagining, venting yet hoping that this time if he’ll return, he’ll return with no part of him belonging to his past.

Sometimes when people love us, they unconsciously place us within the bounds of terms that are impossible for us to reach; these terms make love hard, and carve out vacuums in relationships where heartbreaks are born.

Love does incapacitate you, but it is beautiful at the same time, in the sense that you fight, you disagree, yet you still work towards an agreement. That is love. Anything that does not require effort is practically a joke. 

So don’t be afraid of walking away from anything that does not give you happiness; let go of expectations to live a happy life; and most importantly, let emotions only so close as to let them wash your feet, not drown you. 


(The Anonymous Anecdotes is a project under which anyone can send me a memory, a story or an experience from their life that had a profound impact on them. It requires people to write their respective experience along with the way it changed them or their perception of life. According to the project, these stories are being published anonymously, with the intent of spreading a positive message and a hope that anyone who reads, relates or learns. If you’re interested, you can send me your story at

Story #17: Take Care Of Your Passports, Kids! (The Anonymous Anecdotes Project)

I guess it happened 4 years back when I had gone to Hong Kong and Macau for my vacations. This was my first foreign trip. So, that gets me to the theme of this writing- Value and Importance of our Passports.

As you might have guessed, I had lost my passports. We were at the ferry port and there, I had unknowingly left the bag which had our passports. We went into the shuttle and a few hours later realized that our passports had been misplaced. My parents got furious and tensed. They went back to the port area and searched at every corner possible. My mom told me that she had even put her hands in the bushes and the bins in order to find the passports.

Later, after viewing the CCTV footage from different angles they found that a street beggar had taken away our bag which contained some gadgets, food items and most importantly our passports. Then tracing his way home, they went to his so called jhopda (hut) which even had an LCD in it.

But, before anyone reading this makes assumptions, I must tell you that the beggar had no wrong intentions and that he had taken our bag so that it wouldn’t get misplaced. So yes, we then took a sigh of relief. And I understood how much important passports are especially when we are in some other country.

Along with the lesson that you must take care of your passports, I think I’d like to draw another lesson from this as well: the inherent goodness of people. The ‘stolen’ bag had everything: gadgets, food, things that an ordinary person wouldn’t be willing to return without any one to claim them. I don’t know if he did it because he was sincere, or if he just said he was taking care of it because he’d been busted; and I don’t really care. All I know is that I will choose to believe the former assumption. 

Somewhere, we all have a person within us who is striving to be good, and do good, no matter what his circumstance or what he gets in return. Selflessness is what its called. 


(The Anonymous Anecdotes is a project under which anyone can send me a memory, a story or an experience from their life that had a profound impact on them. It requires people to write their respective experience along with the way it changed them or their perception of life. According to the project, these stories are being published anonymously, with the intent of spreading a positive message and a hope that anyone who reads, relates or learns. If you’re interested, you can send me your story at

Story #3: The Joy of Giving (The Anonymous Anecdotes Project)

Perceptions or perspectives take a long time to change. But this is not true in every case; one incident can hit you and the very next moment you no longer remain the person you used to be. That one second, or a minute,or an hour can put you through a phase of introspection and you become somebody else, somebody you never used to be, somebody you never thought of. After such an incident, when you look at yourself in the mirror, you are the same physically but never the same at the core. With this context, I’m sharing an incident after which I ceased to be what I used to be.

Since I’m an only child, I had always had all my parents’ attention. Never had to prove myself to them. Though my parents, like others, fought day in and out to fulfill all the needs of the family, they had all their focus and resources directed solely towards me. So, I was privileged in every way, you can say. Birthdays used to be celebrated, all my demands used to be met, and I never had to feel any discomfort. Even the first car we had, a second hand Maruti Suzuki-800 was bought on my birthday. That was how my early life went by.

As soon as I turned 6-7 or so, life had a reality check planned for me. We were travelling in the same 800, when at a signal, I saw a family having their lunch. The footpath was their all time shelter, that rag-bag was their livelihood and their kids were the sole earners; who left their meal and ran towards vehicles every time the signal turned red. Kids, of the same age as I was, had to support their families. That sight of their plight, shook my soul, although I later realized that I was able to see only a minute part of their sufferings.

That sight put a question mark on all I had ever had, and all I had ever got. Till then, I only considered it my right to have it all, but after that day, I started treating it all as a whole lot of blessings. The urge to help people, whether of my age or anyone younger or older, has now sown deep inside me. Today, I never give it a second thought before deciding to help anybody even if I have to push myself a little. Right now, since I do not earn, I cannot offer any monetary help. But I have it all planned in my head that the day I’ll start earning, a part of my income will make someone’s life better.

Secondly, now I treat my parents as gods. I may not agree with all their opinions or what they say, but I can never deny the fact that the hard labor that they put in is non-comparable. Before the age of 6, I used to live life with all my needs fulfilled without giving a damn about anybody. But after that experience, I’m all set to comfort others, help others and strive to bring a smile on someone’s face every day;

and I will continue doing this for rest of my life.


It’s truly rare to come across selfless people who tend to put the needs of others over their own. The joy of giving is the satisfaction of bringing a smile onto someones’ face, knowing that you’re the reason for it, and not feeling entitled to a payback. This is true goodness, and this is what the world needs more of.


(The Anonymous Anecdotes is a project under which anyone can send me a memory, a story or an experience from their life that had a profound impact on them. It requires people to write their respective experience along with the way it changed them or their perception of life. According to the project, these stories are being published anonymously, with the intent of spreading a positive message and a hope that anyone who reads, relates or learns.)

Hindustan In The Emergency Room

The following poem was written as a slam, on the prompt India versus Pakistan. In it, the conflict between the two countries manifests as a case of sibling rivalry.
Hindustan was a queen, a distant dream:
one that powerful dynasties wanted to conquer;
Hindustan was a gold mine churning out castles
and emperors and lattice works.
Until one day,
the sounds of army boots shook her land;
when men clad in red and black took over her,
and all she could do was watch and stand.
The queen, conquered, a trespasser in her own estate;
Hindustan stood a prisoner, locked up within the expanse of her own gates.
Damsel in distress the queen, carried in her womb,
hearts that raged against the unfair rule;
rebels with tongues sharp as the kings’ sword,
rebels who became preys to monarchs divide and rule,
rebels who now
began to fall into groups.
The sides were divided, on one-
tongues lathered with Arabic syllables,
heads covered in white caps and
feet that knew the way to Mecca all to well.
And the other with tongues laced with accents of Hindi,
hearts that swayed at the name of ram,
bodies that had dipped in the Ganga
and eyes that had scanned the Geeta at least once.
The mother to be, Hindustan,
watched as god, religion and language became barricades
that gradually began pulling
her unborn children apart.
The 15th of August, 1947
India and Pakistan awake to freedom,
and Hindustan,
failing to unite her heirs, dies in the emergency room.
When differences fanned the flames of sibling rivalries,
and civilians cried over communal atrocities,
The cold blooded rivalry had just began,
as Hindustan became India and Pakistan.
She never wrote a will and the brothers couldn’t share the property;
the greed for land and mothers’ inheritance,
put miles between the neighboring countries.
These siblings played, but with bullets and bombs,
and though they didn’t mask their insecurities or play pretend
they sent masked militants and planned on revenge.
Now the brothers are fighting over the one girl they both love;
but she, Kashmir, loves none.
With Punjab and Bengal alike,
they’re asking their cousins to choose sides.
Kargil, Bangladesh and a pair of hands tainted red,
still playing passing the parcel, with the blame on each others’ heads.
Image Source: Google
The longstanding situation of conflict between India and Pakistan is not unknown and goes on till today. 


To gather all the experiences one comes across, all in a huddle and
Nestle them inside one’s heart,
To soak them up into the deep crevices of one’s being,
Only to pour them out again to be etched into eternity;
To have a respite from speech,
but still express oneself exquisitely;
To conceive, conjure and collaborate past experiences and knowledge-
all for the creation of one immaculate piece of literature.
To convey all that you feel,
but with so much precision that you strike the chords of someone’s heart.
To not only share your experiences, but to have other people live and relive them with you;
To help them feel and touch all that you had felt and touched-
To be yourself not through what you say or how you look,
but merely through your words.
To have the power to change minds and ignite hearts.
To be the ignition switch
The one that could set off fireworks and light forest fires in a heart
Just with the strike of a match,
Or rather,

the nib of a pen.