Goodnight

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I sit by your picture in the mornings;
And keep my vigil by the light’s burning;
My mind gives my body quiet warnings,
But they both succumb to my heart’s yearning.
I watched over you in your final days:
Keeping your tumours dry and your eyes wet;
Though cancer has its insidious ways,
Its horrors could not make my love forget.

I’ve your ashes in a pot, atop flowers;
So I may yet sit with this part of you.
I know the sea will claim this too, in hours;
But no power can take my love from you.
I shall, in time, not softly cry at night;
But now, sweet girl, I just bid you good night.

Protest

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Since around 2014, something has shifted across the world — not just in one country, but everywhere. A certain kind of thinking has grown louder, more confident, more entitled to occupy space.

And while that reality is unsettling, it has revealed two uncomfortable truths.

First — it has unmasked people.

Prejudice no longer hides behind politeness. Bigotry speaks openly. And in that exposure, there is clarity. I have learnt who I cannot stand beside, who I cannot call my own, and who does not deserve access to my life. There is a strange, painful gift in that — the ability to see people as they truly are.

Second — it has shown me my tribe.

The quiet ones. The ones who do not scream hatred. The ones who believe in dignity, in nuance, in letting others exist without needing to dominate them.

But here is where we are failing.

We are too quiet.

We tell ourselves that we are different because we do not rant, do not rage, do not reduce people. And that difference matters. But silence is not the same as dignity — and it certainly isn’t resistance.

If hate can organise, so can empathy.

If lies can spread, so can truth.

If they can be loud, we can be clear.

Not through noise, but through presence.

Through protest.

Through calling out misinformation.

Through refusing to normalise cruelty — whether towards people, animals, or the world we inhabit.

Change will not arrive because it is allowed.

It will come because it is insisted upon.

So perhaps it is time.

Time for those who believe in love, in fairness, in coexistence — to stop waiting, find one another, and speak.

Not like them.

But not in silence either.If you’d like, I can tighten this into a shorter, punchier carousel version or make it more poetic and sharp for impact.

(Thanks to Sanjevi Jayaraman, who inspired this piece.)

Minutes & Hours

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Hours and minutes, minutes and hours –
My anxiety ticks and has me game;
The controller controls my mind,
For a while, I lose your name.

It’s dangerous to run this loop,
But grief has come to stay;
I act out in ways I never liked –
But I can’t rail at the sky and pray.

So I address death on my own terms;
I know well to look him in the eye;
Not weeping, I set up a funeral;
Because a lifetime is left to cry.

A dog’s heart fails to understand
Either your death, life, pictures or flame;
Yet she reminds me of smiles ahead,
With no hint of anxiety or shame.

So the hours drag on in memory,
Marking moments I can’t forget;
It’s a different grief and anxiety –
Untouched by regret.

The pyres are burnt and done now,
Releasing the tears into moon rivers;
The fortunate have done with their crying,
While exhaustion leaves me in shivers.

Funeral tears and mourning wails,
Cascade a torrent into life’s sea;
And some tears are dammed for later,
When there will be more of death to be.