I Also Think.... I Also Write

For a very long time, I debated putting these poems up on my blog, I wrote them about a guy who was my favourite person when I was 17 years old. For anonymity let's call him Rakesh, Rakesh was a leading activist, an actor, a writer, a film director and so much more. He to the world was a Marxist who was steeping his foot into mainstream politics and to me he was everything a man shouldn’t be. When I reflect back on time I feel as if my 17-year-old self didn’t realize the majority of what I felt was mere infatuation and everything that he made me do was both ethically and morally wrong. All that I feel when I think about him now is this burning pit of disgust that penetrates my stomach every passing hour. To further contextualize these poems try as hard as you can as the reader to picture energetically cheerful extrovert Dipta falling for someone they met in one of the first protests of their life and them being utterly disappointed to find out the kind of man he was in the end. PO

 In the dimly lit bar of Jhamsikhel on a Friday night, I engaged in conversations with friends about the constant monotony of life. I shared a bottle of Lindeman’s Bin 35 Rose, which contained 110 calories per 100ml and had a fruity and crisp flavour. As the hours passed, a friend cheerfully ordered another bottle, oblivious to my turmoil. With it came an astonishing amount of guilt within me. While he happily cheered for the lives we all shared, I sat across from the ghost that had haunted me for so long: the possibility of disordered eating. With every sip I took, I felt like I was fighting a silent battle—a battleground where everything edible around me started to become a wielded weapon against my own body. The maddening pursuit of achieving perfectionism echoed in the corridors of my mind, it was like a ball was constantly hitting the corners of my mind and with each bang, I mercilessly judged how my body looked in the mirror of the bar’s bathroom while simultaneously