TAILIAN'S DIARY :)

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...

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.

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...