The Soulful Atom

Reflecting over life through weird, crazy, ever changing, euphoric, absurd, confused and at times impartial lenses -a journey of curiosity and questions with my two alter egos.. as I try to fall out of the stagnation of instability.. or the desperate attempt to remain..

Notes from Montpellier 5

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 I cry today.

A little for everything and everyone.

For the dear ones who left too soon and those who lived too long to forget everything.

I cry for the world that doesn't exist anymore.

I lament for the loves lost, not mine, everyone's.

There are times when all the weight of the world seems settled on my shoulder, not budging.

And so i cry. Helpless, weak.

I cry alone. In the quiet of my room, on the streets when strangers pass me by without any sort of look in their eyes.

When did the world become so cold?

Weren't we supposed to be social animals?

When did it all become about gains and profits, even in relationships?

The tears feel warm on my cool winter skin.

The feeling passes eventually but i know its not gone forever.

There are days when i don't cry at all.

But today I do.


- 11/11/25


Notes from Montpellier 4

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Je me sens bien, assise au bar. Je ne sais pas vraiment quand cela a commencé. Peut-être le jour où j’ai commencé à sortir seule, souvent. Ou peut-être quand j’ai compris qu’il n’y avait que moi, que personne ne viendrait.

Alors je m’installe sur une chaise, je regarde le barman travailler. Cela me donne l’impression d’être avec un ami. Un ami occupé, certes, mais présent malgré tout. Les barmen me parlent comme à une vieille connaissance, avec le sourire. Ils se souviennent de mes préférences, de mes choix, ils me proposent des boissons, ils prennent soin de moi.

Je peux mettre ma musique préférée. Je peux rester quand tout le monde est parti.

Je contemple les verres derrière le bar. Ils sont là, oui, séparés par catégories, mais réunis malgré tout.

Je pense aux gens qui ont bu dans ces verres : aux soirées, aux larmes, aux rires incontrôlables, aux amours. Ces verres ont tout vu. Et ils sont toujours là. C’est ce qui me touche.

Voilà pourquoi j’aime m’asseoir au bar. Il me donne le sentiment d’être chez moi, d’être à ma place, d’être confortable. Je n’ai pas besoin de jouer un rôle, je peux être moi-même. C’est ma liberté.

Et si l’argent peut acheter cette amitié, même pour une soirée… pourquoi pas ?


-2/11/25

Notes from Montpellier 3

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My heart feels heavy today.

It rained a bit.

The lights in the washroom are still out.

The fridge is  nearly empty.

Its nothing serious.

The rain stopped.

The lights will get fixed.

I'll do groceries tomorrow.

But my heart feels heavy today.

Maybe it's something else.

Today feels weird.

As if something is changing.

As if I'm leaving something behind.

Maybe I'm the one who is changing.

Maybe I'm leaving a piece of me behind...


-23/11/25

Notes from Montpellier 2

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The upturned stool in the corner.

Just besides the orante mirror mounted on the wall.
The beer tap leaks a drop every other minute.
A lamp flickers but not too much, just faintly, barely noticeable.
Like the flicker of a flame on a cold dark night when the power goes out and you are too lazy to get the firewood to start a fire.
So instead you curl up on the wooden floor.
Your blanker and your fur baby both warm and cozy
And you stare into nothing Soon the sky lights up with stars and you are overpowered by awe, like every single time..
Something in your heart flickers Like the lamp, like the flame, like love...

-12/12/25

Notes from Montpellier 1

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The glasses here are much cleaner, shinier.
A new place? New staff? Popular location? Lot of time?
The bottles are glinting too.. As if the liquor doesn't stay within for long.
All saying look at me, hold me, drink me, choose me..
I prefer the other bar, with its sorta dusty glasses behind the bar.
They have stories that they whisper if you listen carefully.
They will stare deep into your very souls and make you spill your darkest secrets to utter strangers.
Take a swig from one of these vintage beauties and you will forget your worries, yourself.
They will send you to the wonderland of reveries.
Only to wake up the next day and remember the vague shimmer of the rim and the glint of a smirk..

-12/12/25

Things to do with you - 3

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Beads of perspiration are sliding down my back in the black chiffon saree I draped earlier in the evening, while yours slide down your forehead as our heartbeats rise, lips and tongues intertwined running amock. Mouths watering wanting more. You push me against the counter in the washroom, hands going wherever they wish, I try to stop you, we don't have much time - Need to go check on the snacks and refill glasses. Someone will come looking for us soon. I can't resist too hard and let you have your way.. Your hands slide down to check on me and then your tongue... And then you inside me.. I have lost track of everything, its only you in my whole entire being; in every way possible. Your passion, your eyes make me forget everything else... We move in sync, you set a slow rhythm, my eyes roll back in my head as my pleasure approaches its peak, and then yours.. And then we are just there, two bodies writhing against each other in the aftermath of the rapture, holding each other tightly, breaths still going fast. Not willing to let go..


Eventually the music from outside reaches in and we are brought out of our reverie. As i head out you hold my hand and pull me back in for a long kiss, tongue and all and I have to tear myself away as there isn't time for another. Flushed in every sense I walk out, quickly fix my hair and lips and head out to the balcony to check on everyone. They don't miss a beat and amongst knowing glances and some winks I blush even more! The images and your touch, everywhere on my skin, continue to stay with me and I don't have a moment of respite. I try to act as normal as possible while butterflies keep doing somersaults in my belly.

Everyone is having a merry time. I love festivals. Especially with all the lights around. The crackers not so much since a past few years with what all types of pollution and my ear sensitivity so high. I'm just refilling some plates in the kitchen when a hand slides across the small part of my naked waist visible through the saree. My heart skips a beat and i stop in my tracks unable to think or move.

Yes after all these year - you still have that effect on me. I turn around and you are there grinning walking toward the fridge already. Grr.. I make a face and we both laugh. "Don't forget how sensitive you are to my touch mister. I shall have my revenge.", as we both head out to spend the rest of the evening with our guests. Yearning for some more time alone this evening - Things to do with you.

Things to do with you - 2

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It’s a summer afternoon. The sun is really putting his back into it this time. That’s what we say each passing year: “This has been the hottest summer yet.” Today, Dad looked up some info online, like he always does, and he found out that we are still in some sort of ice age apparently. I think it’s towards the fag end of it, probably.


Having no desire to do any work, and the AC having weirdly stiffened my limbs, I’m just lying around in the room, looking out through the French windows. There seems to be some kind of summer breeze going on. I wonder how it would be to step out and giggle at the thought—just as you appear in the doorway. It’s as if you sense a change in my emotions before it happens. “I’m taking a break. Do you want to do something? Grab a lemonade and chill maybe—wink wink.” My giggle turns to a laugh. You are so cute! I say yes to a lemonade and try to get up—or feign more like—and spread my arms out, reaching for you. You jump in immediately without a second thought or question. A huge cuddle later, we head to the kitchen. My limbs seem to be functioning now.

I sit at the table in my laziness and watch you work on that classic lemonade. I remember, since the day I first met you, you always took it upon yourself to do things. You just naturally did it. Back then, I didn’t realise it was natural and so obvious. It was your house, I was a guest. But even now, all these years later, you are still the same. You don’t let me do much of the menial work. I wonder—do you still think of me as a guest? A rueful smile escapes me, and you notice with your side eye, which is always on me—listening, seeing, paying attention. “What is it now?” you feign seriousness and then grin. I grin back. “Nothing.”

The lemonade is ready. You bring out two chilled glasses to the table and ask me if I would like to sit on the balcony. You know I love balconies. I contemplate. You wait. You have work to get back to, but you wait—for me—with that eternal patience of yours. I nod and grin.

It’s hellfire outside, but we sit there looking out. You inch closer and put my head on your shoulder and your head on mine. I feel at peace, like I always have with you. I sip the delicious lemonade. You ask me if I like it. “Yup,” as always.

We sit there and chit-chat about random stuff. You tell me about some work you’re doing right now. The glasses are empty. You have to head back to work. You kiss me full on the mouth and ask me what I’m going to do. I shrug. You smile, ruffle my hair, and head inside.

I sit there in the heat for a bit more, feeling it seep in through my pores into my very being. I close my eyes. I let it burn the question out of me: “Do you still think of me as a guest?” I see your smiling face shaking your head no. I smile and head inside to make a snack for you as you work— The things to do with you.

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