expressions-lsr

[expressions-lsr]

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The Team; Introductions

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Masterlist:

Meet the Coordinators

Events and Logistics

Editorial Board

Content and Research

Public Relations

Social Media

[expressions-lsr]

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The Team; Introductions

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Meet the Coordinators:

Shrutismita Borkakoti

( @bachemmmm )

Here comes the moment where I am expected to write about myself. No, I enjoy writing but not much when it comes to myself but nevertheless, I am going to give it a try!

I love to have coffee and I think that’s pretty much it. I love to read and to rant about it to anyone or everyone. I write a lot actually – my notebook, my notes app, any wanted or unwanted sheets – be it in middle of a lecture, before I fall asleep or while having coffee, etc, etc. I enjoy writing and it is one of the major factors on what has shaped me onto being what I truly am as a person since my childhood.

[Read Shrutismita's piece here]

Yoganjana Singh

Embracing the paradox of sensitive heart in dark academia mind (without weeping). Major Oscar Wilde girlie and Hozier geek. My favourite hobbies include overthinking about minor life hassles amidst life's mundanity and procrastinating my assignments. I also like to think I'm hilarious even in the face of everyone around me disagreeing. Desperate jokes aside, I'm another stressed, depressed, caffeine-obsessed monster who does her best to channel all the madwoman tendencies into her writing.

[Read Yoganjana's piece here]

[expressions-lsr]

Adoring the Storm

by Shrutismita Borkakoti

You assured me evenfall till dawn,

I compressed your hand when the breeze got fierce,

Then you comforted me, clasping my heart.

Now I'm standing, in the midway of the tempest.

Having only the landscape to escort me.

I can overhear the scenery, and we're conversing.

The expeditious breeze hugs me tight and moves on,

Returning to reassure me!

The thunder strikes with loud noises,

Telling me I'm not alone over here.

The lonesome sky,

Proving me, I'll have to do it by myself.

The rain falls swiftly, kissing me throughout

With its tender drops.

But the thunder strikes, tearing apart the clouds,

Struggling to light the sky,

And ushering me a path!

Now I thank you for leaving me here.

I loved you then!

But now,

I adore the storm!

[expressions-lsr]

Soft as Peace

by Yoganjana Singh

Like lilies

slowly swaying

with the wind,

A gentle hand writes on a blanched page.

It has supple skin and waxen nails.

What is the worth of her ink? One might say,

Does a message mean less when carried by a dulcet?

Borne by breezes and ripples

Rather than storms or high-pitched screams.

Stagnancy holds a gentle sorrow

hanging like unshifting vines over mulberry leaves,

While change rides a war-chariot.

We worship violence and cry when we bleed,

And then, in happy homes, an unnoticed tear falls into the tea.

If all good art will portray pain,

Where do I go when I want peace?

We look at water, just to see ourselves

For once, just notice the lily.

Imperfect and dirty,

but still a wonder entwined with the ordinary.

Generations are in awe of men who died early.

Brevity is admirable.

But what of old age in musty cottages by the sea.

For once, I hope our race romanticizes mediocrity.

[expressions-lsr]

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The Team; Introduction

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Events and Logistics Team

Meet the Heads:

Annesha B Bhuyan

Hey kids! This is Annesha, but I prefer going by Lishahahaha—because why not throw in a little laughter every time you say my name? I’m a self-proclaimed book nerd, who's always got her hands full. When I’m not lost in pages, I’m blasting Taylor Swift and decoding every lyric like it’s poetry. Oh, and I have a special talent for annoying Sunshine with endless belly rubs and random chatter—pretty sure she secretly loves it!

When I’m not off daydreaming or faking focus in my Political Science classes (guilty!), you’ll catch me hanging out with my friends at the exhi, happily scarfing down Veni Aunty’s Sambar rice. Oh, and of course, I’m always yapping away, keeping my friends entertained. Honestly, what would they do without me? *sighs* *giggles*

I wouldn’t call writing my superpower, but you’ll always find me scribbling random thoughts about some faraway muse. Whether it’s a quirky metaphor, a plot twist that sneaks up on you, or a Tay Swift lyric that hits a little too close to home, words have a way of capturing me. And honestly, I’m constantly in a state of monologue—like I’m the lead in my own indie film, narrating life with those 2 AM thoughts that make you laugh so hard you snort.

At first glance, I might seem a bit standoffish or unapproachable—just a façade to keep the world at a distance. But underneath that, I’m all about diving into conversations about books and soul-piercing quotes. Cuz, this is just me trying <3

[Read Annesha's piece here]

Avantika Kumari

Hi, I’m Avantika, a third-year Sociology Honors student with a passion for creativity and storytelling. I love expressing myself through writing, capturing fleeting moments through photography, and turning even the most serious situations into something lighthearted. I also enjoy experimenting in the kitchen, blending flavors with kindness and creativity. Whether it's through words, images, or shared laughter, I strive to find beauty in the ordinary and make every experience a little more joyful.

[Read Avantika's piece here]

Meet the Sub-Head:

Athira

“She doesn't exist! She never existed!”

Athira is a person who loves to wander and express in the empty silences of everyday life. She is not a writer but finds writing to be the only and most honest medium of communication for her. Her favorite themes to write about include love, light/darkness, contradictions, human existence and experiences of all kinds.

She appreciates the color white, and happens to delude herself every once in a while about how everything in this world belongs to the abyss of white hues. However, the white color that she extensively talks about isn't the dye that colors us, but the color that leaves us colorless.

Lost in the multiple realities of her dreams, the only place you can find her is the space in which she interacts with music. Recently, she seems to be quite interested in listening to songs composed by Coke Studio Pakistan.

Flowers, flowers, flowers all around! Athira is in love with flowers, floral scents, and ornamental gardens. She secretly wishes to be a plant in another life, and keeps saying how plants are superior to beings with their beginning and ending quite inexpressible in all ways.

Oh, I didn't tell you my relationship with this nobody! She seeks me at night, as an attempt to heal her ‘confusing’ thoughts, herself or something beyond her understanding. Initially, I thought she considered me as a way to negate reality, making me quite displeased with her. But, soon I realized that I happen to be the only way through which she can transcend her nightmares, and express herself in the most honest way. So, whether it's blurting out random stuff, questioning ideas of all kinds or penning down her innermost thoughts or dreams, I am always by her side. Moreover, with her I am no longer a string of letters but a meaningful moment that spends time with her as her lover, her childhood friend, her lost dream, and a lot of other characters that seem to identify Athira in different spaces and time. I am her collection of words!

Adding some facts to bring Athira to the space of reality…

She is a third year Journalism (Hons.) student trying to figure out the purpose of her life/life in general while wondering about her new travel destination/career. Her favorite pastime activity is looking up at the sky, and wondering where ‘that flight is going’.

She wishes to take off and fly to a home that feels like roses that bloom in December.

[Read Athira's piece here]

[expressions-lsr]

Share Between Dreams at Sunset

by Annesha B Bhuyan

Dear Muse,

Sunset Dreams, I once had one.

Vague vision of your eyes, and mild waves of your voice infiltrated my conscious mind and halted at the port where dreams sailed.

Seldom when I paint a lucid portrait of us, it turns out to be as airy as your locks unlike our tangled strands of life sealed in air-tight cardboard boxes.

Contrary to popular belief, storytelling isn’t one of my strongest pursuits. But perhaps I’ll have a marvelous time ruining my treasured mirage for you.

Walking in a gown through the lobby filled with murmur, I spotted an acquaintance walk in. Notably, he was wearing the same colour as me – White. But how did it ever skip my mind that white had variant shades and they don’t always compliment each other. I greeted him with the familiar smile that repeatedly made it quite futile for people to decipher its legitimacy.

He greeted my folks, had lunch and asked me for a place to smoke. I withdrew him to secrecy and walked him out.

Just when I was about to slump against the nearest chair, I espied YOU walking straight to me dressed in the colour that complimented your skin tone the most. Let me just put out the only sane thought that I had in mind, “How do you always manage to be the exact opposite of me?”

But did I enquire that? Nah, I did not.

With sparkling eyes, the only thing I could do was just to return your unwavering gaze. Accelerating to your greeting my dad, given my mom by now grasped that if my wishes came true, it would always have been you.

I chaperoned you to my front porch for a breath of fresh air, and you took out one of your classic cigars. I frenzied, “Have you lost your mind? At least think about your image in front of my folks. I could’ve taken you someplace remote.”

“Do you really think I care about your someplace remote? I am not your whitewashed good boy now. Am I? The only person I care about is you.”

Peeking deep in your watery eyes, I couldn’t infer the latent world behind them. I tiptoed to hold you but rather you bowed to kiss me. We met midway and our noses pecked. And there came the habitual giggle.

I tugged at your coat sleeve. “Where are we going Crybaby?”

“To someplace better Princess”, I replied with the widest grin on my face.

Running through the vast meadows, the aroma of mustard hit us. And we kept running with the collaging sky at sundown. Standing in the middle of nowhere, I turned and gazed at you with teeming emotions. Your face replicated my chords and before another wink, I breathed – I love you!

I got hold of your collar and kissed you until it made every fibre of my being buzz with glee.

Did the auburn hues of the retired sun make my eyelids flutter? You would know better, won’t you? Was it another day of waking up alone? By any chance, was Mary on a Cross playing?

[expressions-lsr]

Knowingly Unknown

by Avantika Kumari

Deep inside a wounded heart,

Lies the memory of a 20s start.

Every day feels like a fight,

Darkness lurking in the light.

Haunted by what was done ,

Haunted by what is gone.

Every step feels like a struggle,

Every day seems like a juggle.

Courage to move through the pain,

Happy 20s memories to regain.

The past may have left its mark

But it won't define a life that's stark.

A bright future can still form,

A new chapter can be born.

[expressions-lsr]

FORBIDDEN!

by Athira

In another universe, in another moment in time, can we be together?

I want this to be a poem, but my thoughts, and feelings for you won't allow me to versify what has been penned for you because when it comes to you, I would rather be chained in hell than here. Let me be free to pursue you, at least in my heart, to my heart's content.

`/Apples lie rotten on the ground where I found you; would the forbidden, if left unnoticed, soon find me rotting? /`

On a summer evening, I found you looking at yourself, in an attempt to not find yourself in others' eyes. But that chance moment changed my life. From then on, you are the only one I looked at. However, I knew what I saw in you is forbidden and I shouldn't seek it...

Seeking something that has never been hidden but only gone unnoticed until then, would that count as forbidden? I am simply recognizing my love, and in that simple act of recognition, there is a violent attack on what could be the most humane side of me.

Enchanted by the apple's beauty, wouldn't one want to know the essence, the scent, the taste of the flesh that makes one experience such surreal beauty. Once I ate the apple, I was bewitched, and in a trance that I haven't been able to come out of. From then on, everything I did was forbidden, for you and me. And the more I tried to forbid the forbidden acts, everything started rotting as if they were being starved, and forbidden of something so essential to their being.

`/What's forbidden? My love or the idea that I have feelings for you? When it's love, can anything less than love forbid it from achieving its ends? /`

If I had met you in another space, devoid of time and progression of all kinds, would you choose me?

My love is devoid of lies, contradictions, and everything that works against the love that I have kept in me for so long. All I can feel is what I know, and what I know is something I cannot hide for the fear of it rotting more than it being drowned in the water that makes it survive.

My love found you late, but should that forbid what remained in my heart for so long? My love, which waited for years to finally bloom at the sight of you.

My love cannot possess you but it can allow you to transcend the possessions you have been, to make you feel the freedom of being in love. For all these years you were forbidden, but I can let you be free, only if you let me be free in expressing my love for you.

/`/"In love, it's all fair, the aches, wounds, and scars that may take years to heal because in love, you are not feeling the potential of life but the experience of becoming one with the being that sees you in the rawest form, and almost devoid of life.

You are witnessing the being in you while 'being' with another being in a space that transcends life and flourishes on the truth that has always connected you two. So, in love, can anything not be possible? (Aren't possibilities the chance occurrences that dominate life? Can such ideas indicate the definite path of an idea through which life has been found, even if that path is founded on transgressions?)"/`/

"To love something, then, is to name it after something so worthless it might be left untouched—and alive."

~Ocean Vuong

To keep you alive, and for me to survive, I will keep calling you forbidden so that anyone who wishes to be yours steps back, fearing consequences, which in my case happen to nothing important because I have become you in acts of repeated imitations of pronouncing my love for you in a silent prayer only to be heard by you.

If you are forbidden, no one can possess you, can they? But I suppose love doesn't follow that rule. You could be all consumed in the ecstasy of love.

So, I shall never name you because our name is a secret that, if found, could never be lost again. And isn't love all about getting lost again and again to be found by love again and again.

"Don't we touch each other just to prove we're still here?"

~Ocean Vuong

I won't hurt you, and I wouldn't want to, even with a simple glance at you. But how am I supposed to tell you that I have been waiting for you without ever touching you with my presence? How can I make you hear my voice when my presence is often present and absent in the noises of the surroundings, without ever touching you with the tremors in my voice?

I want to tell you that I am here, looking at you, wondering if I would have found you before, maybe then I wouldn't have had to relive my past that forbids me from meeting you, often translating into a present in which the future seems unreachable in the reality construed by us.

Can we, perhaps, leave everything behind and become one in a paradise that exists parallel to the reality we are in? Can we do that?

I want to be with you, even if I fall and hurt myself, because in you there's something I wish to have, even though it tastes like sweet poison, something that would bring me back to myself.

I know you want to recognize me, but being the taboo is quite poisonous, so you avoid my eyes and avert your gaze while yearning to be together in each other's presence. But I don't mind being touched by the poison because perhaps that's the only remedy for my aching soul, wishing to be loved and found in love one last time.

"Perhaps love can be spoken in different tongues, but it's only in the embrace of your loved one that you can feel that love can never be spoken about because it simply lives with neither a past to worry about nor a future to go on existing. It is an experience rooted in its movement towards becoming something more than what it is, but it needs to be recognized for it to bloom between the ones who find it lingering near them."

Please don't run away before finding me, and if you are afraid of being in a space so forbidden that people rarely look at it, please let me guide you to a space that has been ours from the beginning. Our love was never forbidden; it was us who were forbidden from being in love. But in love, can anything be forbidden? How can one touch a rose if one forbids the thorns from touching their skin?

This time, I will be 'the forbidden' so that you can seek while I run and hide in a place only you and I know.

[expressions-lsr]

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The Team; Introduction

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Editorial Board

Meet the Heads:

Anusurjya Borah

A third-year Psychology Hons. student who’s a hopeless romantic and whose love of life is words, this author’s sole ambition in life is to own a cottage in the mountains and have a black cat named Salem.

However, forced to be in this grind for success in life, she finds escape through dance and the culinary arts, and the worlds of Holly Black, Benjamin Sáenz, Madeline Miller, anime, and Asian drama series. In moments when she needs a reconnect to the world she inhabits in real life, the works of Murakami, Vuong, and Hosseini are what ground her back in.

A perfectionist and a procrastinator, the only thing that truly drives her at all times, anytime, is the desire to live to the fullest. Perhaps that is why the words that have been a constant in her life are: To Be, or Not To Be? That is the question after all.

[Read Anusurjya's piece here]

Shifa Neyaz

Hi!! I am Shifa, a second year English Honours student. I am one of those people who has tried every hobby in the world, but through the years only some have stayed with me, those being reading, writing, crochet and fitness.

Writing is and has been one of the biggest parts of my life and I believe that it has had a big hand in shaping me into the person that I am today. It has been my support system, creative and emotional outlet and my escape from reality all at the same time.

What got me into writing in the first place was reading. I once randomly bought a dork diaries book in 6th grade and have never turned back since. From Fantasy writers like Cassandra Clare and Holly Black, Romance writers like Lynn Painter and Emily Henry to all-time-favourites like Jane Austen and Charlotte Brönte, I have read and loved every one of these writers' works.

Enough about my hobbies (hehe), if I were to describe myself in a few words, I'd say I am the loudest person in the room, I am the biggest cat-lover, I have a smile for everybody and I absolutely love watching and reading anything and everything that comes under the category of Rom-coms.

I'm so excited to be a part of Expressions and can't wait for everything that's to come!!

[Read Shifa's piece here]

Meet the Sub-Head:

Attrija

Helllooooo! I am a second year Political Science student. I am a cat mum and I love reading classical and feminist literature. I love the book The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath and I think about the fig tree analogy almost everyday! I mainly write confessional poems and I discovered my love for writing serendipitously. Writing is an inseparable part of my life. I mainly write in order to feel truly free. I love exploring and experimenting with different genres and writing styles. I have read and thoroughly enjoyed Camus, Dostoyevsky, Brontë, Austen, Fitzgerald, Dickens, Wilde, Woolf, Tolstoy and Kafka. I also love watching romcoms and F1 in my free time. You can find me talking in the reference library of lsr with my classmates about feminism, absurdism, art and politics in general. I can never leave my room without a book in my bag, it just feels incomplete!

I love expressions to the very core and I am so grateful to be a part of this beautiful society <333

[Read Attrija's piece here]

[expressions-lsr]

Organ Deep

by Anusurjya Borah

Skin-deep, they said. They said love makes you feel skin deep. But of ages late, the depths of my joints, the hollows where life’s marrow should be, and the cavities that should be cushioned by muscle and fats, all of it has only been sucking on and into itself. Love, the presence of its absence, has sunk in organ deep into my soul, a parasite consuming from inside and thereupon turning from life’s Last Leaf to the vision of a boggart constantly terrorising my mind. Love has taken ‘in sickness and in health’ quite dearly as even in its death it hounds my shadow. If only i could go to the pharmacist for medicine to revive my heart’s health back into its virgin state of keeping well, and not a crone’s wobbling knees barely keeping up with the weight of unfortunate affairs.

If only love was truly coffee breath warming the frozen winters.

[expressions-lsr]

Falling in, Falling out

by Shifa Neyaz

Love is like an ocean.

Beautiful, deep and as dangerous as can be.

You might fall in love without ever meaning to.

Ever realising that it’s happening as it slowly digs its claws in.

And once you are there, it smothers you and drowns you.

Pulling you in and never letting go.

There are dangerous beings lurking behind,

Pitting your downfall every second of every day.

But as scary as it is, the ocean is also the most beautiful thing that exists.

Even as you are drowning with water surrounding every inch of you,

Breathing seems like the easiest thing in the world. Every breath fills up your lungs, putting you at ease.

And though there might be creatures, that want nothing more than your ruin,

As you look around, you notice the pretty corals and the many little fish.

You see the beauty that surrounds you, and there is no confusion.

As treacherous as it is, the ocean will keep you safe.

The waves will embrace you when you’re down,

Carry you high when you win, just always be around.

But what if it pushes you away, and leaves you on a shore?

Covered in sand that hides the bruises of being shoved.

Wounds of betrayal that’ll never fully heal.

How do you get up, when this pain is all you feel?

Falling into the ocean is easy, but when it forces you out

You’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, not a person in sight to tend to your wounds

You’re stranded alone, through summers, winters and monsoons.

Expected to survive on your own, on this island no one knows.

Falling for you was easy, I jumped in without a doubt.

But now that I am alone, how do I get out?

[expressions-lsr]

Chrysalis

by Attrija

It was a mausoleum of her memories.

Dead petunia and rose petals were strewn on the bedside table, taking attention away from the creases on the bed sheet. She used to lie there, for hours on end, sometimes scrolling through her phone, reading multiple books at once or scribbling in her black book.

I have seen her toss and turn through the night, sometimes lying wide awake in the dead of the night staring listlessly at me. It was during those moments that I wished I could help her even a little. I felt so useless at times, mainly when she was feeling the same bedeviled by her own thoughts. I could make that out from her physiognomy: dull bleary eyes, chapped lips and bloodless face. Her stare pierced through my heart. Every night, she buried memories, feelings, thoughts underneath the bed, it was like a secret sanctimonious affair. I used to think that it would be a prolegomenon of the poetry book she wanted to write, but perhaps a sad poet’s enemy is their own self. I could see the magical intertwining of her old and new self, every night, birthing her present self. It was a cycle, unbeknownst to her.

There were days when the bed used to be empty, that’s when my life came to a standstill. Moving around at full speed, I was used to seeing her succulent pains and how she coped with them. I could map her life, all three sixty degrees of it, that’s how much I loved her. But I don’t think she ever knew that. She was majestic, and I, a lonesome object. There was no way I could be something to her.

Nights passed, while my existential crisis lingered on. She had her fair share of rosy albeit prosaic days, while I moved around non-stop for her. It was summer, so it meant that I would rarely be switched off in the scorching Delhi heat. That was a relief, because I wanted to make myself useful as much as possible.

One summer night, there was a thick veil of ominous silence between us.

Paranoid as I was, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her to understand what she was going through. This time her thoughts struck my blades tangentially. That’s when I realized her thoughts were not getting buried under the bed, rather they were being scattered all over the ceiling, in shades of candlelight.

That was the day of ‘her’ becoming.

Her bed was her chrysalis that protected her from the outside world, a safe haven that housed her silent cries as well as her laughter cloaked with the mundane hum of the heart. And I was the centerpiece of her life’s theater. Her longing stares towards me weren’t just ordinary. They were carefully crafted fluttering of eyelids and zigzag motion of the pupils that straightened out the curls in her mind. That was the beauty in her saturnine nights.

Every day, I helped her become a butterfly in her world, whilst preserving the sanctity of her chrysalis that she kept growing and coming back to at night.

That was the night of ‘my’ becoming.

-An excerpt from the tale of ‘Feelings on the ceiling’

[expressions-lsr]

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The Team; Introduction

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Content and Research Team

Meet the Heads:

Priyadarshini Stuti

( @rain-rhapsody )

“The sky is dimlit; air is crisp The leaves drip with dew drops, Oh! Why is the Moon so small tonight?”

A dreamer, and a hopeless romantic… I guess that’s what you’d call a poet :3

Cat whisperer. Caffeine addict. Avid fan of russian literature. And a collector of kaomojis /ᐠ .⋏. ᐟ\ﾉ ♡

[Read Priyadarshini's piece here]

Siddhi Kaul

"When winter comes, can spring be far behind?" A second year econ student, Siddhi has a neverending love for coffee and fluffy dogs. She loves putting her thoughts into words through poetry and occasionally songwriting. A desi hiphop, bollywood and kashmiri (she's kashmiri) music enthusiast, you can always find her complaining about the long college hours and explaining the lyricism of her newest song obsession to her friends, while eating an ice-cream sandwich."

[Read Siddhi's piece here]

Meet the Sub-Head:

Tejaswini

“She writes the poetry She dreams to live.”

Yes the quote is the other way and around and yes, I am pretentious enough to refer to myself in third person. =)

Hello hello I’m Tejaswini, A second year student majoring in History with a minor in Political Science.

I’m a cynical hopeless romantic that is a sucker for stories, and by default, a certified bookworm, as well as an unsponsored promoter for V.E. Schwab, one of my favorite authors.

I’m also obsessed with Formula 1 and tend to allegedly make it my entire personality on race weekends.

Ever since my mom dumped me in the library when I was 3 (I was a yappy kid. Am.) Words have always been my escape, I’ve learnt to find and be myself in between pages.

I believe I am bewildering (confusing but comes across as mysterious, usually works for me until you actually get to know me. I’m weird), gravely inept (no social skills) in conveying my complex and deep emotions by conversation, and pretentious (we talked about this earlier). And this is, by the legends, the perfect combination to make you an incredible writer. Can’t comment on the incredible part, but I do try to write when I’m overwhelmed; which is pretty much all the time.

Expressions has been my place to let out all my guarded thoughts and restrained feelings, as well as what motivates me to keep going when I’m having writer’s block. (deadlines are very humbling:)

On a whole I’m just a person that’s killing it at life (barely getting across).

But I’m learning to love everything bit by bit.

[Read Tejaswini's piece here]

[expressions-lsr]

The Mother

by Priyadarshini Stuti

I revisit her on my trips down the memory lane.

Her eyes carry the cheer of festivities,

an inviting warmth, a welcoming embrace.

Her laughter, contagious;

it rings with the cacophony of voices known.

Her smile beams through her dimpled meadows,

through nurtured gardens through hallowed echoes-

of Time.

The wind is a gracious host,

it carries wistful wafts of her scent; diffuses it.

It smells like my mother's cooking, and

it smells like my grandmother's laundry-

crisp; under the afternoon sun.

It smells like the ripened fruits of a youthful summer.

She sings, and in her melody,

she hides subtle notes;

the lullabies of the townsfolk,

the hymns of the namghar,

the joyful rhythm of heartbeats.

We hold hands together, and i-

reminiscing about our time together, i-

feel my heart bear a heavy burden-

of Melancholy.

And in a moment's, time-

the clocks break loose.

realisation;

an acknowledgement of the time that had passed on

since we parted ways...

Her tears azure, alike raindrops prancing across the sacred river.

And in it-

shaken, distraught, yet visible

i catch a glimpse of my reflection.

Time, is the larva that spins it's cocoons fast

I glance upon the pupae caught in the web of nostalgia.

A mother she was, she nurtured,

the culture of the people residing within.

Deep etched like the wrinkles on her furrowed brow.

Deep buried under her skin, lies history.

Time is a butterfly spreading it's wings for the first time...

Her children had left her, and they were

leaving still- dreaming of eventful lifetimes,

of charades of accolades, of charades of lifestyles.

She turned toward me and her face,

faced mine; she looked weary, her hair graying and yet-

her appearance hadn't altered from her youthful self.

The itsy bitsy shops all stand rugged, but firm.

And the houses, with their sash frames

Outlive the ones who once reigned abode.

Time is a fire breathing dragon,

Disrepair; it's flames-

burn into the small desolate structures,

which once promised eternity.

[expressions-lsr]

Orange bowl

by Siddhi Kaul

My face feels hot

Tears make my vision blurry

I fight the urge to slam the door

Because I know I'll only be yelled at more

I mentally scream as I gently close it

Run to the bathroom to cry on the floor

I wash my face, look in the mirror and smile

Convincing myself I'm just fine

It always went like this

There was nothing new in my silent rage

Studying now was my best bet

As I filled page after page

Drowning my tears in algebra always worked

The math frustrating me more than my troubles

And just as the air was lighter

My door creaks open as your footsteps thud

My eyes buried in my books, I refuse to look up

You place a bowl of fruit on my table and leave

Not a word, far from an apology

Cut and chopped, peeled and all

My grudge not enough to let food go to waste

So I pick up a slice and put it to taste

And deeply exhale from my lungs

As the sharp citrus hits my tongue

[expressions-lsr]

Cosmic Constant

by Tejaswini

undeciphered stares

hold declarations unspoken

almost touching hands

leave lingering temptations

unkept promises

hide dangerous hope

stars light years away

illusioned together by constellations

threads of the souls

woven and torn by heart

[expressions-lsr]

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The Team; Introduction

‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧‧͙✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Social Media Team

Meet the Heads:

Zubiya

"Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high." – William Goldman, The Princess Bride

I'm Zubiya, a Muslim now pursuing a B.El.Ed degree in its second year. Something about me is that I love writing either it's a love letter for a loved one or a story without any context but just John green once said " my thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellation" sometimes the sea of words within also find it difficult to locate it's positions.make my days pass through by flipping pages of storybooks or assignments, as there is no inbetween. If we ever meant to become friends, you might find me embarrassingly waving a biggest hii, or petting a cat. Perhaps a momentary friend I'll be, but maybe with memories."

[Read Zubiya's piece here]

Mannat Gothwal

“She is unstoppable, not because she doesn’t have doubts or fears, but because she continues despite them”

I know starting with a cliched quote is not very demure but I couldn’t help it. I’m Mannat Gothwal, a third year student at LSR and your very own social media head/geek. I love engaging in deep conversations and theories about true crime documentaries and any latest thriller series I’m obsessed with. Other than that, I’m a self proclaimed selectively extrovert girl who’ll either yap till I annoy you or sit in silence till it bugs you. Oh and don’t forget to reach out to me for book recommendations that will traumatise you (sorry not sorry ;))

[Read Mannat's piece here]