TAILIAN'S DIARY :)

The room didn’t say goodbye. It just stood there… quietly watching. The walls that once echoed with laughter now held their breath. The curtains didn’t move. The fan kept spinning, but even that sound felt distant..like it no longer belonged to me. I stood at the door, keys in my hand, staring at a space that was once my world in Bhubaneswar. A place where I wasn’t just studying..I was living. Growing. Becoming someone new. And I wasn’t alone. My sister was there. Not just as family, but as comfort. As home. Late-night talks, shared meals, silent understanding… everything that made a strange city feel like it chose me. And now, she had flown away to a different country, chasing her dreams. And I… I was packing mine into boxes. Packing is a strange kind of pain. You don’t realize how attached you are to things until you have to put them away. Every book I picked up carried a memory. Every corner I cleaned whispered something I wasn’t ready to hear. That small crack near the window? I re...

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...

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...

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 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...

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...

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...

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 ...

When I was just six months old, life quietly shifted around me. My mother, fragile with illness, made a heartbreaking decision — to send me to my aunt’s home.Not far away, but far enough that I couldn’t feel my mother’s gentle touch. My parents visited me every other day, their faces full of love and worry. But I was growing up in the arms of my aunt, my favorite aunt — a young woman of only nineteen, who embraced the heavy burden of raising me. For three years, she became my world,my comfort, my guide, my guardian. She gave up dreams, studies, and time, to care for a little girl she had grown to love fiercely. Then came the day my parents came to take me home. I was just learning to speak, to run, to explore — but that night, feverish and frightened, I cried for my aunt. I couldn’t bring myself to call my mother  mummy  or my father papa . The warmth I had known was suddenly torn away, and my small heart was confused and aching. So whom should we feel for? The mother, whose i...

From childhood days of whispered schemes, Through shared adventures, hopes, and dreams. Side by side in school we grew, Karate kicks and shopping too. You, the one who laughs so free, At every joke I share with glee. A heart so warm, a mind so bright, Guiding all with steady light. Through law books thick, you found your way, Yet love and kindness led your stay. Handling storms with grace and might, Turning darkness into light. Oh, wanderer with wings so wide, With every journey, hearts abide. Yet soon you'll walk another lane, A new chapter, joy untamed. But though the roads may twist and bend, You'll always be my dearest friend. For bonds like ours, strong and true, Stay unshaken, ever new.

It was the kind of day when even the dogs in the village were lying down under the shade, their tongues hanging out as if they’d surrendered to the heat. The sun blazed down relentlessly, and the earth seemed to be sizzling beneath the scorching rays. Every step outside felt like walking into an oven. In a small village near the river, a boy named Ayuu sat on the cool cement floor of his house, gazing at the mango trees that looked like they were about to faint from the heat. His mother was inside, busy preparing pakhala, while his sister waved a patta lazily, trying to keep the sweat at bay. The whole village felt like it was in slow motion. Then, something changed. At first, it was just a light breeze, barely enough to move the dusty air. But then the wind picked up, growing stronger and faster, as if the earth had remembered the dance of the clouds. The trees began to sway, their branches shaking like they were trying to escape the heat. The leaves whispered to each other, and Ayuu ...

The mango sighed, the guava swayed, The coconut leaves gently played. The tulsi laughed in drops so sweet, As rain kissed every thirsty leaf. Each droplet danced on earth so dry, A gift from the forgiving sky. The garden sighed, “We've waited long,” Then whispered thanks in rustling song.  The breeze grew soft, the light turned gold, As stories in the silence told. The backyard bloomed in calm delight, Bathed in the grace of fading light.

From the moment I opened my eyes to the world, my father was my constant. He was the one who carried me in his arms, dropped me off at school, polished my shoes, and made sure my socks were neatly pulled up. He helped me with math and science, patiently guiding me through every formula and equation. But more than that, he shaped me into who I am today—with his kindness, his strength, and his unwavering love. Growing up, I always saw him as invincible. A simple man with the most generous heart, he never put himself first. He lived for his family, for us. When he retired in February 2023, I was happy for him. Finally, after years of hard work, he would rest. He would enjoy time with us, free from responsibilities. But life had a different plan. September 6, 2023—A day that changed everything. It started with just a numbness in his fingers. He brushed it off at first, but soon, that numbness spread, creeping through his body like an unseen force. Within hours, he couldn’t move. Our w...

🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕 In the garden of life, so gentle and true, There blossoms a flower, in radiant hue. Not just in name, but in heart and in grace, A mother so kind, love lights up her face. She lifts me up when I feel small, Sees my light when I see none at all. No shadow of doubt, no line in her love, She holds us all like the sky holds the dove. A teacher by trade, but a mother at heart, Guiding young souls, playing her part. With wisdom so deep and kindness so wide, She nurtures with warmth, like the sun at her side. December she shines, a candle so bright, November I came, in her soft, loving light. Forever her child, forever her grace, Forever she stands, my safest place.

𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞’𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐀 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞, 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝. 𝐀 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧, 𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧. 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫. 𝐀 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞, 𝐀 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲. 𝐒𝐨 𝐭...

Memories of your every happy bark, Memories of us walking together in the dark. Your echoing paws once ruled the earth, A spirit untamed, a soul of mirth. Loyal sentry with eyes so wise, A love unwavering, no goodbyes. The wind still hums your joyful song, Yet silence reminds me you've been gone. But in my heart, your spirit stays, A beacon of love through endless days.

If dreams were real and stars could speak, I’d chase the echoes, soft and sleek. I'd walk on clouds, embrace the night, Dance with the moon in silver light. If dreams were real, I'd paint the skies, With whispered hopes and firefly eyes. Mountains would move at my command, Oceans would rise to kiss the sand. If dreams were real, no tears would fall, Lost voices would answer to every call. Love would bloom in an endless hue, And hearts would never break in two. But dreams are fleeting, shadows bright, They fade like mist in morning light. Yet in my soul, they still ignite, A world unseen, but burning white. For dreams may vanish, slip, and stray, Yet deep within, they light the way .

The autumn leaves drift, gold and bright, Whispers of change in fading light. Like rustling winds that call my name, I shed my past, no soul the same. Winter wraps the world in white, A frozen hush, a silent night. Yet in the cold, I start to see, Even in loss, there’s growth in me. Spring arrives on petals light, Hope reborn in colors bright. With every bloom, my heart revives, A spirit waking, dreams alive. Then summer sings in golden hue, The sunlit days, the skies so blue. Yet warmth won’t last, the tides will turn, And once again, my soul will learn. For time moves on, the old must fade, And in its place, new selves are made. Like seasons shift, so do we grow, Through sun and storm, through joy and woe.