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By Deepansh Khurana
The podcast currently has 8 episodes available.
We do weird shit when we're heartbroken, man. We get drunk. We end up in fights. No, not just with people. There was this one time I had an ongoing spat with a city. Can you believe it? An entire city, filled with hopes and dreams and people, and I hated it—all of it.
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Original piece on Instagram.
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When I think of love, I don't think of much. I think of you, me and our table for two. I think of the walk to the restaurant, your hand in mine. I think of the eyes on us and us giggling at them. I think of the love that was lost somewhere between when I first felt it and when I lost myself in what only felt a maze of wrong people. I think of finding that love back whenever I find you looking at me. I think of the certainty that comes with your smile; a smile so effortless, it makes me smile back almost instantly. You know, I think of love a lot these days, but I don't think of much when I do. When I think of love, I think of you, me and our table for two.
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Original Piece on Instagram.
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On most days, I hated reading anything I had written before. I'd read something I wrote years ago and I'd get this feeling of detachment. As if I hadn't written it in the first place. As if it was a vague memory that I could remember the presence of but not its details.
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Original piece on Instagram.
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They lay down in the grass as the pale, winter sun tried to reach their faces through the disparate leaves of the tree right above them. One of them, with his back clinging tightly to the tree, held a few blades of the grass between his fingers, turning them. The other was on the ground, one of his arms crossed below his head, and the other raised.
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Original piece on Instagram.
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Sometimes, after a long day ended, I'd just lie down on the couch. Tired but trying not to fall asleep, staying awake intentionally.
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Original Piece on Instagram.
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For a lot of people, and for good reasons they had on the tip of their tongues, it was the worst time to be alive. It was scary, and you could die whenever. There was chaos in the air, wafting through the ochre landscape of autumn.
It didn't matter if it was the year or just life, in itself. Life was as dreary and dry as the brown and orange leaves, but for what it's worth, they convinced themselves it was the year. It made sense too, for most of us.
For some of us, we had begun this year on a note that was a tad bit higher than our usual. For some of us—for me—I had let go of my cynicism. It was the year I was supposed to fall in love with everything I could possibly fall in love with.
I remember: on a cold January morning, ecstatic and overflowing with warmth, I felt the sun and decided to look for hope. The world had all of us by the throat, but I was going to smile anyway. That is what I had decided, and that is what I was going to do.
People were good. The world was inherently a good place. It was a mess, sure, but it has been messier before. I was done with the heralds and the news and my general belief that everyone was out to get me. Even if they were, they were fewer. There were more of us. I had to believe there were more of us. There ought to be more of us.
Then, the year passed in a blink of an eye as we stayed inside our little boxes in little buildings, given we had a box to be locked up in. Suddenly, it was autumn already, and the leaves turned auburn and started to die.
Another January was around the corner, and they said it was the worst time to be alive, and yet, I couldn't shake the sun off. I couldn't help but smile. I couldn't help but hope. It took me a lot of time to get here, you see, and I couldn't give that up. No matter what happened, this was the year I recovered from perpetual hopelessness.
You'd know what I mean if you felt it too. Hope digs deeper into those who have forgotten how selflessly the sun shines. Once its roots set in, you can't give it up that easy. It won't let you pull itself out, end of the world or otherwise.
You'd know if you knew. You'd know I wasn't going to give it up that easy. I had felt the sun.
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Original piece on Instagram.
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"Are you going to write full-time now?" They ask me every now and then, and I don't know what to say.
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Original piece on Instagram.
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Hi, I'm Deepansh. I write as @thatpolymathguy on Instagram, and I've done that for years now. I reckoned it was a good idea to start reading my work. I'm not yet sure if it is, in fact, a good idea. Yet, I wanted to do this, and here it is. I Hate What I Write will have readings of my work from Instagram. I hope you find some entertainment in what I'm doing here, and if you like the words, see you on Instagram!
The podcast currently has 8 episodes available.