Skip to main content

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 the parts of you that you only meet when everything else falls silent.”

The room stayed still. Ayu tilted his head, suddenly remembering the half-filled diary under his bed. The book he hadn’t touched in months. The tiny bonsai on his window sill that had quietly grown three new leaves.

Boredom leaned in. “You see, I’m not here to annoy you. I’m just a mirror… showing you all the corners you’ve forgotten to visit.”

By evening, Ayu had written a page of poetry, solved word puzzles and found a story in the pattern of raindrops on his window.

And when night came, Boredom stood to leave.

“Leaving so soon?” Ayu smiled.

“Only for now,” said Boredom, fading into the shadows. “Call me when the noise gets too loud again.”

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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...
1 comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more