Black Lotus

 In 2016 I took readmission into AV College of Arts, Sciences and Commerce. The previous attempt in 2015 ended up being ruined and I had to redo all exams of first and second year intermediate in one sitting in 2016. I have a lot of people I owe thanks to, Ajmal is along the first names on that list. Being able to select Psychology as one of my three majors and convincing my parents for the same in and of itself was a milestone to say nothing of the tonnes of other things I was able to achieve and accomplish. From as early as I can remember, although I was never the class or school topper I always won some positions in co-curricular and extracurricular activities. GK competitions, fancy dress, talent shows, whatnot. But it was only during my bachelor's that my personal life outside the class bloomed. For one I had an Activa, made a huge social circle, bunking college was a fad and being a rebel was the norm. Towards the end, I was in fact such a huge success that I ended up becomin...

The year is 2011. I'm distraught, we had to (sneakily) come back to Hyderabad. Although all of our papers were always in place for some reason it felt a matter of shame to tell my 'friends' I wouldn't be returning back to school from summer vacation. So while everyone made plans for summer camps and whatnot, my family left everything behind to permanently shift back to Hyderabad. At that point, I suppose it was a big change for everyone. Dad had spent most of 3 decades in the gulf with nothing to show for it. And mom had to huddle in Hyderabad with 4 kids in tow. My eldest brother was in OU still pursuing his engineering, the second one newly taking Admission into KV, while I along with my younger sister would take admission into Azra Public School. Azra was the nearest CBSE school to my home where we could choose to forgo Telugu as our second language because my sister and I knew thanks to our earlier experience, we wouldn't be able to study Telugu for the life of ...

My name is Mudassir Mohsin Jowher (he/him) and at the time of writing this, I'm a 25 y/o Indian Sunni Muslim Male Counseling Psychologist. This story takes place when although I was an Indian Sunni Muslim Male, I wasn't a psychologist. In fact, back then I was an NRI (non-residential Indian). I was born and brought up in Abu Dhabi, UAE till I was 13 years. I was the third child of an immigrant family with no immediate relatives in the country. Growing up in the middle East got me acquainted with concepts of flat life, living as immigrants, what it means to live pay cheque to pay cheque, facing property issues back in India, having to miss out on almost all family functions, making family instead of having one, the role friends can play in one's life and so much more. My dad would be a major character in a lot of stories that are personal to me. You see he had a psychiatric issue while mom was pregnant with me and that went on to shape a lot of things that happened thereafte...

"Who was she?" "Everything nice amidst all of my chaos. Let's leave it at that now." He replied. "No please tell me!" She begged. "Well.. she was everything right to my everything wrong... What?" "Lame ass that literally sounds like a ripoff from a highway bookstores' quote card." She smirked. 'Sigh.' he took a drag from his half done cigarette and continued "She.. she was my mane. She was the light in my dark. She was the truth in disguise. She was the fire in the circus. The love of my life. She was the fleeting spark off of a Flint. She was the polarity to my extremes. She was what no one else could ever be. She was what I needed but didn't deserve. She was what I had when I lost it all. She was there when no one was. She was the spirit of my life. She was the twist to my plots-" She interrupted "hey! but, wait, why is it that you seem to be narrating a past experience?" She wondered "Whe...

"Why? Why does it have to be him? Why does it always have to be him? You always bleed. Weep. Break. Fall and die only for him!?" He asked her his last few words almost incoherent. "Nahi Pappa..." Her voice trailed off. She couldn't control her tears that fell in spite of no clear reason why. She ran up to her bedroom slammed the door shut. But this time it wasn't only the frame that creaked. Or only the adjacent glass vase to the door that broke. She fell. Shattered. Scattered in all the right places for all the wrong reasons. For someone who literally did nothing to deserve it. And as she pulled up her sleeve and slit her wrist, at least the tally was complete. As she wondered herself as well; 'why him?'. ~A n excerpt from a book I'll probably never write by Mudassir Mohsin Jowher mudassirjowher@gmail.com facebook.com/mr.jowher instagram.com/mudassirmohsin

You wish me luck. You wish me best. You wish me morning. You wish me every night. You love me. You ask me to stay. You treasure me. You need me by your side. You heart seeks what you choose to find in me. You get what you like. You like what you get. When all turns better, you still need me the same. When the world is bright. You crave me all the same. When the dusk hits hard. You go back home to me. When stars all fade. You sit in my embrace. You wait for the sunrise, curled in my lap. We sit side by side telling our tales. You find me there when you need me by your side. And the world turns sour when I have to wake up. You aren't here. You aren't mine. That's when I realize you aren't real. Just another wish, another dream., another life, Another reality. Another fantasy. Some other time. ~Wish. by Mudassir Mohsin Jowher mudassirjowher@gmail.com facebook.com/mr.jowher instagram.com/mudassirmohsin

Not all stories are made in heaven. Some of them just tend to happen. At a roadside stall in windy summers, was when I met Huraira. Luckily it wasn't humid nor did I live with someone else. So it was quite easy for me to get her into my apartment. She walked a little tipsy. Upon inspection, I saw bruises on her feet. She was still ill and now in a worse state since I met her on the road, due to travel. I had to tend to her wounds several times. She'd whimper each time I cleaned the wounds.  I'd left her in the house and gone to work, hoping to avoid confrontation once she woke up. Sure enough by the time I came back, she woke up but, didn't leave. Strangely though I couldn't get myself to question. She was just curious that way. I didn't speak to her. Just walked in got on about my things pretending to not see her. Eventually, she got up and came up and sat beside me. I was just wondering something and the next thing I know she closes my laptop. I stare at ...

Life is like a game of Tic Tac Toe, just a fixed set of intersections and a limited number of options at times alternates. If you are lucky you would be facing some one dumb; if you are not they'll be facing someone dumb that's all there is to it. Intersections, options, and luck versus alternates and must I add there are no heroes just convicts and villains or as they call it 'Those that are caught and those that are not.' Our Main character, wait! before that, protagonists are just too overrated there is a person of interest and that's that. [Jermaine, why because that's the name of my favourite rapper,] This is a story about Jermaine and how his life is a plot twist, [well doctors would later on decide to diagnose it as schizophrenia but that's just an elaborate word for people in lab coats isn't it. Well I love to believe so, anyway.] Our Jermaine is your ordinary run of the mill- cog in the machine-born in the middle class: just the right amou...