TAILIAN'S DIARY :)

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The Market's Unintended Hearth

The sun rose over Balangir, but it brought no warmth. The winter air, already heavy with the December chill, was now thick with the bitter, coppery smell of yesterday’s ruin. The fruit market, once a vibrant riot of color, argument, and sweetness where mangoes were bartered and guavas stacked high was gone. All that remained was a landscape of charred wood, buckled tin, and sodden ash. It was a monument to loss, wrapped in the cold, sorrowful mist of the morning. Humans came and went wringing their hands, arguing with officials, mourning their livelihood. For them, the fire was the end of prosperity. But for the animals of the street, the destruction was, paradoxically, a kind of beginning. Motii, the street dog, moved cautiously across the black, slippery ground. She was thin and weary, but her focus was absolute. She had a litter of four blind, tumbling puppies who had spent the night shivering beneath a defunct vegetable cart near the railway tracks. They needed three things: shelte...

Silence Is Not Weakness

Today evening, I went to Maa Samlei Mandir in Balangir to witness the Navratri celebrations. The temple was glowing with lights, the air filled with the chants of “Jai Maa Samlei, Jai Maa Durga”, and hundreds of devotees stood in long queues with folded hands, waiting for their turn to bow before the goddess. The idol looked majestic. Her eyes fierce, posture divine, radiating power. But just outside the temple, I saw something that shook me more than anything else today. A group of men leaned casually near the entrance. Each time a woman or group of girls walked by, their eyes followed shamelessly. Some smirked, some whispered, and a few threw words that were too filthy to repeat. I saw one young woman, dressed in a simple salwar, clutch her dupatta tightly and hurry past, her face turning pale with discomfort. The men laughed louder at her silence, as if her unease was their triumph. Another girl, with her father (maybe a student returning from tuition), froze for a moment, star...

What Do Birds Think While Perching on an Electric Wire?

Do they ponder, mid-air, with a spark in their toes, Why humans below rush wherever life goes? Do they think these long lines are our version of trees, A forest of metal that hums in the breeze? Do they gossip of clouds or the weight of the rain, Of wings that grew tired, of distant terrain? Do they laugh at the cars with their grumbling sound, Or the people with feet always stuck to the ground? Does the robin recite her new sky-written prose, While the sparrow debates how the northbound wind blows? Does the crow quote a line from a tale never told, Of a thunderstorm’s whisper, both eerie and bold? Do they sit in a row like a feathered debate, Arguing gently on timing and fate “Should we fly now?” “Not yet.” “The sun isn’t low.” “Let’s wait till it paints all the houses in gold.” Perhaps they just rest, not a thought in their head, Letting currents flow quiet beneath where they tread. But I’d like to believe, as I glance toward the wire, Each bird holds a dream, or a question, or fire.

Unspoken, Yet Seen...

I have always felt that I am not good with words. Whenever emotions rise in my heart, they often get stuck in my throat. By the time I find the right sentence, the moment has already passed. But I believe eyes never lie. They hold a language of their own-silent, deep, and impossible to fake. I once heard a story of a boy named Ayu. He too struggled with words. Whenever he was happy, his eyes lit up like morning sunlight. Whenever he was hurt, they carried storms no one else noticed. And when he cared for someone, his eyes softened in a way that silence itself felt warmer. Most people didn’t notice. They were too busy listening for voices, not gazes. Ayu often wondered if he would always remain unseen. But one day, someone looked into his eyes long enough. She didn’t ask for words. She simply understood the quiet messages he carried—the shy laughter, the hidden fears, the unspoken affection. For the first time, Ayu realized he wasn’t bad at expressing. He had just been speaking a differ...

Facing the Sun ☀️

It was one of those rare afternoons when time felt unhurried. I found myself standing on the rocky stretch near the water, the world behind me fading away, and the sky opening up in front. The stones crunched softly under my feet, but above them stretched an expanse so wide that for a moment, I forgot where I ended and the sky began. The sun was half-hidden behind thick clouds, yet its rays broke through stubbornly, casting silver streaks across the lake. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. There was something powerful about that sight:the reminder that no matter how heavy the clouds may seem, light always finds a way through. I stood quietly, letting the breeze tug at my dress and hair. My thoughts, which had been restless for days, began to settle. It felt like the world was whispering to me: Pause. Breathe. Look at how vast life is. Your worries are only a grain of sand compared to this sky. Facing the sun, I didn’t search for answers. I simply allowed myself to be present, to belo...

Moral values

Moral values are the guiding principles of life. They are the invisible threads that connect human beings to humanity. Honesty, kindness, respect, responsibility, and compassion are not just qualities to be admired, but essential virtues that shape our character and define our actions. In today’s fast-paced world, where competition often overshadows compassion, moral values act as a compass. They remind us that success without integrity is meaningless, and power without responsibility is dangerous. A person who possesses knowledge but lacks values can misuse it, while a person with values will use even limited knowledge for the greater good. Moral values are also important because they build trust in relationships. A family thrives on love and respect; a school community grows with cooperation and honesty; a nation progresses when its people uphold justice and responsibility. They give us the strength to choose what is right, even when it is difficult. Most importantly, moral values ar...

Whiskers & Waddle

Once upon a time, in a peaceful little park nestled between green hills and sleepy cottages, lived a fluffy gray cat named Whiskers. Whiskers wasn’t like other cats,he didn’t care much for chasing mice or lounging on windowsills. What he did love was sitting by the pond, watching the ducks glide across the water like little sailboats. One particularly breezy spring morning, Whiskers noticed a new duck among the usual crowd. She had bright white feathers that shimmered like snow under the sun, and the daintiest orange feet he’d ever seen. Her name was Waddle, and unlike the other ducks, she didn't quack much. She hummed,soft little tunes that made the wind want to dance. Whiskers, being a shy sort of cat, would just sit quietly under the willow tree and listen. Day after day, Waddle would float near him, humming while she dipped her beak in the water. And day after day, Whiskers' tail would twitch with nervous excitement. Finally, one afternoon, he brought her a gift,a tiny flow...

In Her Arms, Through Every Storm

She came like dawn, the eldest sun, The first of three, our battles won— Before we knew the world was wide, She stood for us, our guard, our guide. With gentle hands and steady grace, She mothered us in childhood’s place. Through every storm, through fear and fright, She carried me that cyclone night. In '99, the skies had cried, But in her arms, I stayed and dried. The winds may howl, the dark may fall, But she stood tall—and braved it all. Oh, Lucy, strong with silent might, One glance from you could set things right. A single look, a quiet stare, And all our secrets laid out bare. Nothing escapes her watchful eyes, She sees through silence, truth, and lies. Yet in her heart, there burns a flame Of love that always speaks our name. Now she is wife, and mother too, Still holding more than most can do. But in our hearts, she stays the same— Our shelter, star, our sweetest name. So here’s to her, our guiding sea, The best there was, and’ll ever be. In every path and memory spun, She...

The day boredom stopped by... 🤠

It was a Sunday that felt like a Monday pretending to nap. Ayu lay sprawled on the floor of his room, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned with the same rhythm as his thoughts — slow, pointless, and tired of itself. His phone battery was dead. The Wi-Fi was out. Even the lizard on the wall had moved on to more exciting corners. “I’m bored ,” he whispered to no one in particular, hoping the universe might send help. Just then, there was a knock. Not on the door. Not on the window. But somewhere inside his mind. A soft, peculiar knock — like the sound of a raindrop tapping on memory. “Hello?” he blinked. “I’m Boredom,” said a voice, clear and calm. “Mind if I stay for a while?” Ayu sat up. “You’re already here.” Boredom shrugged — a tall figure in beige, with socks that didn’t match and a book half-read. “I’m often misunderstood, you know. People think I’m useless. But I carry hidden doors.” “Doors?” Ayu raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” Boredom smiled. “To imagination. To curiosity. To ...