Forest - by Vishal Dayama - The Chaddi Things

As I am carrying the cake back to my house, I can’t help but wonder how old did I turn today. I don’t know why I am calling this hut a house. It’s nothing like a house. This is a makeshift something. A shelter that’s sheltering itself from falling. I probably shouldn’t badmouth it, after all, it was I who created it. I did a shoddy job though. Forget punching and all, I feel even a strong whiff of negative energy might break it. Actually, a whiff of negative energy can break the strongest of houses. Good metaphor. But in my hut’s case, I literally mean it. Anyway, I don’t know how old I’ve turned today. Or if it’s actually my birthday. I don’t know. Somebody left a cake outside the door so I am just assuming it must be my birthday. I am not young, that’s all I know. I wish I were.

As I am carrying the cake back to my house, I can’t help but wonder how old did I turn today. I don’t know why I am calling this hut a house. It’s nothing like a house. This is a makeshift something. A shelter that’s sheltering itself from falling. I probably shouldn’t badmouth it, after all, it was I who created it. I did a shoddy job though. Forget punching and all, I feel even a strong whiff of negative energy might break it. Actually, a whiff of negative energy can break the strongest of houses. Good metaphor. But in my hut’s case, I literally mean it. Anyway, I don’t know how old I’ve tur