Well, what do you want?

A glass of water please.


There is dryness on my uvula

And kicking in my womb.

That’s all the reasons?

No, I must have water because

I need it every two hours and

there is only so much left.

You know, there are 6023 factories

Throwing industrial waste into the Cauvery!

Oh shut up!

We don’t need another environmentalist.

What do you need then?

We need you to take care of yourself,

Here, have this whole bottle and make sure nothing goes dry.

My thirst is not quenched, and I feel wary & lazy.

Sometimes when you trot around the house, thinking about things, some series’ scene, a movie dialogue, a conversation playing over and over again in your head — making sense or not, you are on that train of thoughts. You pull the chair, sit on it, your hands move, you drink water, a piece of paper on which you wrote earlier fell out on the floor, you pick it up and you didn’t even realise when you opened the laptop and it’s powered on and some old video is playing to which you fell asleep last night. Jolted back to reality…

Having read the last two stories that I wrote, as I usually do, before embarking upon the journey to write this new one has come to become a ritual of sorts. It feels like an era has passed in these last 5 months that I didn’t write anything (well, I wrote some illegible stuff here and there!) worth sharing/putting up on a public platform. This particular post, today, is not about one thing, that’s why coming up with the title was a little too hard.

I am just gonna dive into my mess — that thing inside my skull, which…

Minds are weird. I read about this in a really interesting book called thinking fast and slow that we would never consume something that doesn’t validate our story or beliefs. It blew my mind (yeah, weirdly it can be blown and still be intact!). Speaking in a broad sense, someone might always counter that it doesn’t happen to them, and it might have been true too, but there is a solid flaw in this argument. By default, our mind needs to trust a story in order to understand it. Deliberation comes later, if it comes at all.

There is a…

I am not going to apologise if I make this post too much about myself. Fleabag is one of the series I watched this month.

Question is how I stumbled upon it and what it meant to have watched it? Now, everyone (well, most people) know about beloved Prof. Jim Moriarty’s character from famous Arthur Canon Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. There is no Sherlock without Moriarty. I, personally, loved the one played by Andrew Scott. I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a little crush on him. …

So how does it work? In a place like this, where dragging your legs from one corner to other feels like clockwork that is exhausting, however small is the amount of oxygen you inhaled in order to displace yourselves. This post may turn out to be a big fat fucking rant. This is not my first warning.

You’ve decided to read it anyway. idc

Draw yourself a kitschy house — three pale blue coloured wall with an original Japanese print art which had flourished before WWII, your bed ever so comfy, your study and the wall to wall shelves of…

I had a conversation with light once

When we admitted our uncanny attraction

She has her dual nature, I have mine.

We look at each other from the either end of the tunnel

Space has been our common friend.

We all met at one point in time –

I was fresh out of the womb and there they were;

Timid, since it was night but I could tell.

We have talked for hours, mostly during the day

She told me about her travels

I, about my vision

She would ask me bewildering questions

I smile as if I have figured…

What would have worked for me –

Is not the question I had asked,

Only in despair,

I would display that kind of misery.

Walls of sadness

Crumbles through my lips.

I’m quiet,

Poor attempt to dissemble.

I’m not a hero in my story

I’m a side lying character,

No one really notices.

A poverty ridden loner

Who didn’t even learn how to drive.

When I sit and look out

My eyes don’t wander

They are glued to a sight.

I appear from a distance

As if torn by time

But I’m intact

Nervously thinking

Whether to feel wind on my skin

Or shut the windows suddenly.


Let’s not look for inspiration for a while

Begin the self discovery and sit with yourself

Dialogues will follow you everywhere.

Say what you have to say and be done with all the saying now,

Distinguish the voice and the sound you made.

Notice your step, watching them won’t help

The dust beneath your shoe is your own.

Unfollow the guiding light,

Mind the unevenness in the dark

Your truth will be realised in peace.

Be told in the stories, or not

Live with lungs bursting with air

The kind that you believe is good.

The collective uncanny effort to explore the world

Will always diminish your part,

So just, move on and play from afar.


I took this picture outside my house in Palwal. High and dry!

I wanted to know the whole truth about conformity and non-conformity. By far, I barely knew the real difference, so I set out to understand all the aspects that led to the discreetness of the split.

I needed to start at home — to be able to make sense of these things you need to rediscover the thoughts that prevailed at your home. As a girl child, my roaming around was frowned upon, my yelling was shushed, my questions were mostly fake answered, moreover if guests came over to my house I’d have to dance like a showgirl and pretend…

Swati Goyal

Can’t think of any bio right now. May be later.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store