Dear Diary

06th September 2025

Another day blurs into the next. I hadn’t slept at all, so by 5:00 AM morning I was crawling with restlessness and craving a cigarette. I wandered into the night, half-writing my blog, half-watching a web series, and completely lost in thought. Hours slipped by until I must have finally dozed off around 8:00 AM, only to be startled awake at 12:20 PM by the chant of Ganesha’s morning worship.

In the kitchen, I gulped water, and Mom asked me to reheat the tea. I drank it down, then went to freshen up. After my bath, I folded my hands before Ganesha’s idol. Mom explained the plan to carry him to the reservoir for his farewell, and reminded me to eat something before we left.

Office calls then came in—documents needed my signature—so I signed and returned them as quickly as I could. A small argument flared when I wanted to leave early; my guilt and the familiar ache in my chest pounded as I started the car. Mom and Dad climbed in, the clay idol tucked safely beside us.

Driving felt impossible when my heart and mind refused to align. It always happens, but with Ganesha’s departure it felt even worse. Thoughts of her dogged me at every turn; I carry them like a weight I cannot set down. At the reservoir, I performed the final rituals without shedding a tear, though inside I was breaking.

The ride home was silent—our car heavy with unspoken goodbyes. Back at home, the walls felt ordinary yet utterly devoid of peace. To distract everyone, I queued up a web series and uploaded my blog post—words I’d woven together while driving, raw and tangled with emotion.

No sooner had I hit “Publish” than a panic attack seized me. I wondered if she’d even read it. Desperate, I bolted to the corner shop and smoked two cigarettes in quick succession, laughing bitterly at my own failed plan to quit.

And now I’m here, writing my diary once more so that she can hear me. Even if she never does, I know, I carried her with me today.

07 September 2025

Today I am here again—another day to start with. The night didn’t end until 5:10 am. I woke at 10:00 am; seeing it was Sunday, I drifted back to sleep, half-listening to something on YouTube that I couldn’t name, only its sound. My eyes opened again at 12:10 pm, but after glancing at the screen, I closed them once more to escape everyone and everything.

They finally reopened at 3:00 pm to my parents’ silent stares. I forced a laugh and said, “It’s Sunday,” refused lunch, grabbed my car keys, and slipped onto the road with only her in my thoughts.

I pressed the accelerator without knowing where I was headed, veering off the highway onto quiet village lanes. I wanted solitude—even away from the hum of the engine. I switched on a random podcast and resisted checking the map; I just wanted to keep rolling. Every cremation ground I passed reminded me that death is inevitable, and panic seized me: what if I died before I could say sorry? Warm tears blurred the road as regret and longing washed over me.

A rough patch jolted me back to consciousness, and I finally glanced at the map. Realizing how far I’d strayed, I chose a route home and hit the accelerator again, still chasing a peace I couldn’t grasp.

On my way back, I stopped at a roadside restaurant—not out of hunger, but to hold still for a moment. I ate mechanically, tasting only the ache, I carried. Later at home, I washed off the dust, started a movie on Netflix, and began typing these woven memories. Today began with restless sleep and ended with restless thoughts; tomorrow, I hope to find stillness.

08 September 2025

Today, I went to bed early at 4:30 AM and woke up at 9:30 AM. My body resisted rising, but I forced myself to get up. After showering and dressing, I slipped quietly out of my home.

A company vehicle was waiting; drivers often wait for hours, and I always pity them. I asked the driver to take me to Hyderabad for an appointment at the regulatory authority. When he gestured to turn on the radio, I declined.

While in the vehicle, I began meditating and called Cucii. The blaring horns disturbed me, so I put in my earbuds. Meditating, I called her again and envisioned her walking down a street lined with V-shaped lampposts. I’m unsure if I truly connected, but that’s the image I saw. I worked to still my mind, which kept yearning for her, and I continued my meditation.

Then I recalled the astrologer I had tried to reach, so I called her again after her previous silence. To my surprise, she answered immediately. I asked about consulting Ramanand Guruji. She said she would send me a video to watch and asked me to message her once I’d finished. I clicked the WhatsApp link and watched the videos, learning that he is a renowned scholar who practices telepathy. I messaged her that I was ready for a consultation on Friday; we agreed on the fee and details.

Meanwhile, I visited the regulatory office I had set out for. On the return journey, I stopped by a barber shop. My heart and mind were racing.

I brought alcohol home to keep me from messaging her if I drank. I locked myself in my room and began drinking. Knowing I would still message her if sober, I finished my stash, drove out to buy more, hoping the alcohol would numb my impulses. Eventually, the drink overwhelmed me, and I collapsed into bed. Though the thoughts persist, I’m closing my day.

09 September 2025

Morning

At 9:00 am, a wave of panic crashes over me. I can’t bear it—her face and our last conversation assault my thoughts with every heartbeat.

By 9:30 am, the urge to flee home becomes irresistible. I slip out the door, load the washing machine with clothes as if guided by some abnormal instinct, and climb into the office vehicle.

My colleague briefs me on pending tasks at the site office, but I keep messaging her instead. I top up my mobile plan just to reach her again. Only then do I realize how wrong I’ve gone and begin begging for her forgiveness.

Afternoon

I run through the rest of my office duties without any real focus. Finally, I head toward Hyderabad, my eyes glued to her photos on my phone.

I stop at the municipal corporation office and then at the electricity department to settle official matters. Even amid formal discussions, her image haunts every word I speak.

On the return journey, I meditate in the vehicle, desperate to calm my mind. When I arrive home, I lock myself in my room and stare at her pictures for hours, tears quietly rolling down my cheeks.

Evening

A knock on the door snaps me back to reality—my mother, calling me for dinner. I refuse and return to my meditative state.

In my mind, I hear her voice scolding me, asking “What?” I whisper “cucii, cucii, cucii,” then plead for forgiveness. She asks where I’ve been; I admit I was trapped by my own ego and selfishness. She tells me to live with that. I protest that I can’t live without her, and she counters, “How did you live so long, then?” I confess I’ve been dying bit by bit. She says she needs time to think, and my heart sinks.

I break the meditation, find the leftover alcohol from yesterday, and drink it down. I start a podcast on my phone, let its voice lull me, and drift into sleep. When I wake, the day is over.

14 September 2025

I finally rolled into bed at 5:30 AM and somehow woke up again at 9:30 AM to my parents’ concerned faces. I mumbled that it was still Sunday, crawled back under the sheets, and drifted off until 1:30 PM.

Around 1:30 PM I forced myself up, did the usual bathroom ritual, grabbed the vehicle keys, and told my parents I was heading out. My head was spinning with one thought: escape. When Mom asked if I’d eaten, I lied that I’d grab something outside—I couldn’t bear another question right then.

Once I was alone in the car, I floored the accelerator without a destination in mind. An hour later I realized I’d driven down a dead-end road. Pulling over, I opened Google Maps and, before peeking at the screen, whispered an apology to Cucii. The weight of everything—her love, her journey to India, the cold silence that followed—cracked me open. My eyes filled with tears. To quiet the storm in my head, I tuned into a podcast, but guilt kept pressing in: how badly I’d hurt someone who’d moved heaven and earth for me.

Tears blurred the windshield until I unlocked my phone and messaged her again, begging for forgiveness. The road home suddenly looked familiar. I turned around and arrived back at 8:00 PM. I stopped for booze—my third drink this week—and slipped back inside, pretending to be sleepy. After dinner I barricaded myself in my room, poured a stiff one, pressed play on the podcast, and drank until I passed out.

Today was a mess of running, hiding, and regret. I feel ashamed of how I let fear and pride drive my actions. But in the quiet between sips, I could almost feel the hope that maybe I’ll find the strength tomorrow to face her—and to face myself.