Sidharth Vardhan

Woke up with the worm

Woke up with the worm, couldn’t eat, Music won’t do, Books won’t either, Something cruel is in the sunlight today, And ignored dog looks sad too. Know that will be crying today. Woke up with the worm, Hope it will kill me today. Can’t get you out of my mind, don’t want to love you anymore, Don’t want to think of you all the time, Don’t want the never-ending communication with you, That fucks up my mind, and oh hell, I am doing it now too. Know that will be crying today. Woke up with this worm That will kill me today. Reproaches in my head Wanting to tell you ‘Are immature, careless, stupid Reproaches – mean and childish no right to make them Yet gonna make them. Reproaching you all the time Wanting to hit you all the time And yet whatever the reproaches are They are nothing, nothing But same old one, One reproach, different clothes. That I loved you And you didn’t love me back. Know that will be crying today. Woke up with the worm Why won’t it kill me today? (First written as a Dedication for Khaleesi AKA Alex on March 20, 2018) Copyright –

Vani

(A short story by Sidharth VardhanFirst written on June 24, 2016) “Papa, Pa-Pa, Pa, Pa” he has rolled the variations of the word;‘Daddy’ or ‘Dad’ too, but he wishes that Vani will call him papa. It has just the right kind of sound to it. It has always felt like a big responsibility – inwardly he still has a lot of mischievousnesses, immaturity in him. ‘Will he make a good father?’This fear has been in him though he hasn’t shown his nervousness to Taruna – not purposefully; it is just that with her around, he just forgets his worries; there has always a reassuring wisdom in her eyes; as if she held a sort of secret, a secret that will ensure their happiness, which she has kept so gracefully from him. Even now, if only she was around, he would rather be focusing on –‘Today I’m going to be the father’ version. But she is not around. She is in operation ward with doctors and he is waiting at the door of the room pacing up and down like a character in his position in a typical Bollywood movie would. He still can’t see her in pain. And especially not in

The Dream of a Ridiculous Man – Dostoyevsky’s Christmas Carol

(A review by Sidharth VardhanOf ‘The Dream of a Ridiculous Man’First written on November 30, 2015) “Only perhaps in our children, in their earliest years, one might find, some remote faint reflection of this beauty.” Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Dream of a Ridiculous Man) Do you remember losing that treasured innocence that we were born with? that old childish ‘innocence’ (there might be a better word to describe it, but my vocabulary is poor) – the nausea of which we live with for rest of our lives? We know, or at least we think we know, that it can’t be helped, and we would consider someone a weakling, a divine fool or ridiculous if he or she retained that innocence beyond a certain age. We even laugh at our own foolishness of old days: “They hardly remembered what they had lost, in fact, refused to believe that they had ever been happy and innocent. They even laughed at the possibility of this happiness in the past, and called it a dream.” Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Dream of a Ridiculous Man) Yet, we look at children, ever cheerful, and feel sorry for the loss they are bound to suffer one time or another in their

A Disease You will Love

(A review of ‘Love in Time of Cholera’ –  a novel by Nobel laureate  Gabriel García MárquezFirst read on May 16, 2014) Probably the only time that I will rate a book with word ‘Love’ in its title with five stars but there are very few stories so completely told – I love every single word in this book. From very first sentence Marquez captures your attention and starts a story that is like pure music, moving in perfect rhythm, moving between scenes in a perfect flow, so that you move through pages without stopping to think – the way you carry on listening to good music without trying to focus on lyrics. The tribute to love is obvious from the very beginning, “It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love. ” Gabriel García Márquez (Love in Time of Cholera) However, even the urequited love is better than no love at all. “It is a pity to still find a suicide that is not for love.” Gabriel García Márquez (Love in Time of Cholera) and later, “The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love.” Gabriel García

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