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

Your words speak on my neck. On me, an insignificant speck. You touch lives you don't know- You save lives you won't know- You love people you can't know- You fix minds and you shan't know. Words touch where hands won't reach. Deep inside where I live; I get breached. Your words span time. ~A knot by Mudassir Mohsin Jowher Original Post Inspired via: @fakiha_faiz  's writing: instagram.com/fakiha_faiz #anmol_nayyar  's musings i nstagram.com/anmol_nayyar mudassirjowher@gmail.com facebook.com/mr.jowher instagram.com/mudassirmohsin