Weekly Diary : Week 12
25 August 2025 (Monday) : Practical Exams and Bad Dream
The morning began with heavy rain. The kind of rain that makes people want to stay home. My parents told me not to go to college. But how could I? Today was our practical exam. I only said one thing to them: I had no choice.
At the station, I met Tissue and Mice. We went to college together. I thought maybe, before the exam, I would get some time to revise fermentation technology. But life doesn’t always listen.
Ma’am kept pointing out mistakes in our journals. Again and again. Correct this, rewrite that. Almost the whole class was stuck fixing errors. All the time I thought I’d use for revision slipped away. And then suddenly, the exam was there.
I hadn’t studied. Not even once. The only words I could say to myself were: Jay Mata Di. Jo hoga, dekha jayega. I walked in lab, trying to be calm, but fate placed me in the very first seat. Right in front. I was in the very first seat. And in front of me—fermentation technology ma’am and the placement department sir. The worst possible combination.
Still, I survived. I don’t even know how. My hands worked on their own, my brain half-empty. But when viva came, I whispered a silent prayer: Anyone but sir. Please, not him. Maut aa jaaye lekin mera viva unke under na ho.
My prayer was half-answered. The viva was under ma’am. I forgot that she was the one who teaches fermentation technology. Her questions were sharp, conceptual. My answers? Just air. Empty words, scattered thoughts.
Meanwhile, Tissue was under sir for viva. She was happy. She answered well.
After the exam, I came home and collapsed into sleep. That’s when the real horror began.
I had a dream. A guy with a blurred face. His hands were on me. Wrong, shameless, cruel touches. I couldn’t move. I was about to be harassed when I woke up.
No, I didn’t wake up on my own. My phone was ringing. Over and over. It was Mice. She had doubts about tomorrow’s practical checks. I sent her the photos of my journal. She said sorry for disturbing me, thinking I must have been asleep. I told her, koi na.
But inside, I was thankful. If she hadn’t called, I don’t know how far that dream would have gone. Even now, the memory of it feels raw, like a scar left by something that never really happened.
I wanted to see the moon that night. But the sky was empty. It was raining. No moon, no light.
So I sat with my unfinished experiments of genetic engineering. Rabba, kitna bekar aur daravana sapna tha.
Why these dreams? I don’t consume violence. I don’t watch such things. I watch Shinchan, sometimes Tom and Jerry while eating. And yet, why these dreams?
26 August 2025 (Tuesday) : Another Day of Corrections, Marksheets, and Vacations
This morning the journal correction started again. Genetic engineering. Medical microbiology. Same routine. Same irritation. The journal is heavy, and carrying it every day feels like a burden. My shoulder has its own story of pain now.
In between all this, our class teacher walked in. She called my roll number. For a second, my heart sank. Ab kya kaand kar diya maine? Kahi PTM me absent hone ki vajah se daat padegi kya? My mind always assumes the worst.
But it wasn’t that. She just wanted to hand over my marksheet. Then it clicked—I was absent last Saturday, and that’s why she had called me today. Semester 1 to Semester 4… all bundled into a few sheets of paper. Strange how years of effort fit into such thin pages.
Another news story followed. Ganpati vacation from 27th to 31st August. For a second, I felt some relief. But the relief didn’t last long. Online lectures are waiting even in the name of vacation. The syllabus is too big, too incomplete.
I came home and just sat down quietly and started working on my blog. Writing feels lighter than journals. At least the weight of words doesn’t bend my shoulders.
27 August 2025 (Wednesday) : Nightmare in the Afternoon
From today onwards, Ganapati Vacation started.
In the afternoon, I completed and published my blog. And then I slept.
I woke up straight in the evening. I looked around my room. I drank a glass of water. Instantly regretted sleeping. Not because I wasted time, but because of the dream. Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.
In my dream, I saw a room full of people. I was outside the room. The room was in the center of some forest. I could hear people crying, shouting, the noise of hitting each other, beating each other, screaming in pain. I saw blood start to come out of the room. Blood. So much blood. I was seeing it from a distance. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, someone grabbed my hand. I looked at the person. Blur face. Strong. Too strong. Dragging me toward the room. My clothes started staining with blood. I tried to wipe it off. The more I tried, the worse it became. Just when I was about to enter the bloody room, I woke up. I caught my breath. Drink water. Why am I seeing this? Not the first time. I had similar dreams before. What does it mean? Why? Just why?
Evening. I needed to divert my mind. I took a book from my drawer. Picked one randomly—The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi. Read, but couldn’t understand. Words passing, but dream replaying in my mind. Reading is useless this time. Fresh air. I wanted to walk, but it was raining. I stayed there on the balcony for too long.
Father returned from work. Freshened up. I showed him my marksheet. He just nodded. I understood he was disappointed because of B grades in a few semesters.
After dinner, everyone was sleeping. Night came. I hate it. I cannot sleep. Eyes wide open. Time: 11:47 pm. I regret sleeping in the afternoon. If I hadn’t slept, maybe I would be asleep. If I hadn’t slept, maybe I wouldn’t have had that dream. Blood. Screams. Shouting. Blur-faced person dragging me. My mind refuses to stop replaying it.
AHHHHH!!! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY MIND!! STAY AWAY!! WHO ARE YOU? WHY IS YOUR FACE BLURRED?!! DON’T YOU DARE TO DRAG ME INTO THAT BLOODY ROOM!!
Memories started flooding. Childhood. Slums. School life. Nerdy self. Parents fighting. Bad words. Noise. College life. Everything. Just stop this!! my head is in pain… someone help me… I want to cry… am I allowed to cry?? just stop it!! I hate crying. It makes me feel weak.
I want to sleep. Let me sleep. GET THE HELL OUT OF MY MIND!!
I am not doing enough. I am such a failure. I am not good at anything. Not enough. Self improvement, bright future, to-do list, focus time—all bullshit. I just talk. I never act. I shouldn’t blame anyone. It’s my mistake to let others control me. It’s my mistake that I am lazy. Sorry to myself. I am sorry.
I will do better. I will not talk big. I will take action. I WILL MIND MY OWN BUSINESS. GET OUT OF MY MIND!!
But the dream keeps replaying. Room. Screams. Blood. Blur-faced person. STILL THERE. I hate it. I hate it so much. Ahhhh!! I am losing control. I WANT IT OUT. GET OUT!!! STOP IT!!! I WANT QUIET!!! I WANT MY HEAD TO STOP PAINING!!! I want to cry, but I don’t want to cry. PLEASE… PLEASE GET OUT OF MY MIND…
I should be strong. I will not let this affect me. I will not let this control me. I will take action. I will focus. I will stop talking big. I will be disciplined.
BUT WHY CAN’T THIS NIGHT END? WHY IS THIS DREAM STILL ALIVE IN MY MIND? STOP… JUST STOP… Mai pagal ho jaaungi… Don’t make noise in my mind… Just stay quiet…
Just keep quiet… Don’t you dare to occupy my mind !! I will not let you stay in my mind… Get the hell out of my mind RIGHT NOW… !!
Rabba… Mai kya karu..??
28 August 2025 (Thursday) : To Lose Myself In Work, Not In Dreams
I woke up late today. I don’t even remember when I fell asleep last night. All I know is that the dream from yesterday was still playing in my mind, over and over. My head felt heavy, a dull headache stretching across the day.
To make it worse, my neighbor’s kids kept coming to our house. They always come to see my nephew, and then the noise begins. Their laughter, their shouting, their little feet running across the floor. I had no problem with them—until they started hovering near my desk.
I tried to lie down, and tried to close my eyes, but I was scared. Scared of falling asleep. Scared of entering the same nightmare again.
And then it happened. The kids moved closer to my desk. One of them touched my diary. My diary… I don’t know what snapped inside me, but I snatched it back and shouted. “Don’t touch my things. Don’t even come near my desk.” They looked at me, wide-eyed, and then ran away.
Soon after, my mother scolded me for my behavior. I didn’t answer her. I just closed my eyes again, the headache still pressing against my skull. At some point, I fell asleep.
By evening, I got to talk to Gaajar. I told him about my dream. At first, he laughed, asking me what nonsense I watch before sleep. Then he scolded me—for not waking him up last night. He even joked about what kind of media I consume, but I told him honestly: I don’t watch such things. He suggested music, something to ease the mind. He asked about my headache, whether I needed medicine. I refused. It wasn’t as bad as before.
Later in the night, I came across a youtube short. It was about outlining stories with something called the storyclock workbook. a strange thing to stumble upon after the last two nights, but it made me think.
Before sleeping, I made a small decision. I laid out my clothes, my bag, my books, my towel—all ready for tomorrow. I even wrote down my to-do list. It sounds ordinary, but for me, it was something more. A way to keep myself busy. A way to lose myself in work so deeply that I don’t have time to think about dreams.
Dreams cannot control me if I do not give them space. so, I will not.
29 August 2025 (Friday) : The Dream That Said ‘I Like You’
What does it even mean when a blur-faced stranger in your dream confesses to you? I don’t know. But today, my alarm dragged me out of one such nonsense.
I woke up early. Around 6 a.m. The dream was still fresh. I was walking in search of a job at sun pharma. The rain started. I opened my umbrella. Then, as if I was some free ola cab, a blur-faced guy came under it. out of nowhere, he said, “I like you.” And that’s when my alarm saved me.
Seriously? I never got a confession in real life. Not even close. And now, some random faceless guy in my dream decides to say it. I almost laughed at myself. I barely even talk to guys. And now my dreams are playing cheap Bollywood scenes with me.
Anyway, I pushed it aside and got ready. I brushed, bathed, and sat at my desk. Breakfast wasn’t ready, so I ate a few guavas and began making notes of fermentation technology. I already had notes before, but this time I wanted to make exam-focused ones. I was halfway through sub-unit 1.3 when my pen stopped working.
I checked the pen holder. Empty. I looked outside. Heavy rain. Perfect timing.
I thought of waiting, but no. I wanted to complete it in one go. So I decided to buy a new pen after lunch. But life decided to play another trick. Right after eating, I randomly found a pen lying in a corner. I don’t know if that counts as luck or mockery. Either way, I completed the entire unit 1.
Then came the scolding. My mother. Apparently, I had been studying “too much.” her words: stop writing, close the books, watch something on the phone, listen to music, freshen your mind. I ignored her. But then she raised the real weapon—she threatened to come to my PTM and complain about me to the HOD.
That froze me. Because she can actually do it. And if she found out that the PTM already happened and i didn’t tell her… well, meri maiyat nikal jaayegi. And if papa knew too—bas, khatam.
So I closed the books and went to sleep. Or at least, tried to. I was too scared of another strange dream showing up.
Honestly, this wasn’t the first time I was scolded like this. It happens often. My parents don’t want me to study for too many hours. They actually scold me to stop. They tell me to go out, play, watch cartoons, listen to music—basically do anything except study.
Strange parents, right? In most houses, children get scolded for not studying. But here, I get scolded for studying too much. Not just me—tissue also faces the same thing. Mujhe aur Tissue ko jyada padhai karne par daat milti hai. Maybe we are the unlucky ones. Or maybe the funny ones. Depends on how you look at it.
30 August 2025 (Saturday) : The Weight I Cannot Name
I woke up early, freshened up, and took a bath. Without wasting a second, I sat down to work on my story—the one I’ve been crafting and recrafting for weeks. I thought today would be the day I’d finish it. But stories don’t bend to my deadlines. Hours slipped by, and though words covered the page, it still felt incomplete… hollow, like something essential was missing. My other tasks remained untouched, ignored, while I obsessed over the one thing that refused to fall into place.
By afternoon, my routine was interrupted by a video call. Batasha called, and soon Tissue joined too. The three of us, old college friends, laughed and spoke for a long time. I felt a strange warmth then. Even though Batasha is in Kolkata, busy chasing her dream of becoming a doctor, she still makes time for us. That mattered more than I admitted out loud. For a brief while, the missing pieces of my story didn’t matter.
Evening came with its familiar shadow. My parents fought again. No fists this time, only words hurled like stones. It should have hurt, but it didn’t. Not anymore. I didn’t cry, didn’t even flinch. I told myself I was proud—proud of the numbness I had built. Proud that tears no longer had power over me.
But pride vanished when my body betrayed me. My hands began to shiver. My chest felt heavy, though I couldn’t find sadness anywhere inside me. I froze. Why was I trembling when I felt nothing? No grief, no anger—just emptiness weighed down by something I couldn’t name. It was strange. It was terrifying.
I lay down after that. Straight to sleep. It was easier than facing the heaviness.
31 August 2025 (Sunday) : The Prison of My Own Dreams
Have you ever woken up unsure if the nightmare ended—or if it simply changed its form? That was me today.
I woke up late. Another bad dream. Worse than the ones before.
In the dream, I was playing badminton with someone. A guy. His face was blurred, like the others who keep appearing in these strange dreams. We were outside a building that looked like my old school. The same school where I finished kindergarten and my first four years. Only now, it looked… wrong. Dark. Hollow. A shadow of what it once was.
The shuttlecock flew into a window. I went inside to take it. I found it on the second floor, but when I turned to leave, the gate was gone. I searched for another exit, but each door opened into another classroom. Empty benches. Broken stairs. Silence that pressed on my ears. I kept running, climbing from one floor to another, but the ground floor had vanished.
And then I saw them. A girl with short hair, pale skin, and empty white eyes. She was staring at me, smiling. Beside her was a woman stitching… not clothes, but fingers. Human fingers. Both of them smiled that same horrific smile. My chest tightened. I ran.
I found a rope by a window and climbed down, forcing myself out of that place. But when I looked back, the white-eyed girl was still there, watching me. Her smile never moved, but it followed me. I tried walking home. The streets were too quiet. In the market, I saw her again, hidden among the crowd. People stared at me, their faces carrying a strange pity. Someone whispered, “Whoever goes in never comes out. And whoever comes out… never remains the same. They think they’re safe, but in truth, they’re trapped forever.”
Before I could reach my house, someone’s hand covered my eyes. A split second later, it was gone. I opened them, only to find myself back in that school building. The girl was on the ceiling, her smile wider, her eyes brighter. She jumped at me screaming, “You will never get out of here!”
That’s when I woke up. Gasping, trembling, staring at the ceiling of my room. No girl. Just the fan. But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I wanted water but didn’t dare to step out. What if something followed me? I stayed under the blanket, still breathing hard, still trapped in a dream that had already ended.
Eventually, I forced myself up because I wanted to use the washroom. I was holding it but it was unable to hold after a certain time. Even then, I checked the ceiling first. The fear clung to me while I brushed, bathed, even while washing my hair. Every time I closed my eyes, the dream replayed itself. The girl. The building. The voices.
So I drowned myself in work—my story, my journal, my blog. But lying there, in the dark, I knew the truth.
I wasn’t afraid of the dream itself. I was afraid of seeing it again.
Rabba, mujhe aise weird sapne kyu aa rahe hai…?
This week felt like living two lives—one in the daylight, one in my sleep.
The days were simple enough. Friends called, laughed, and pulled me into conversations I didn’t really mind. Home was the same chaos it always is—loud, predictable, almost boring in its routine. There were online lectures even in the name of vacation. But I didn’t attend any.
But the nights… They had other plans.
Dreams came sharp and cruel. First, I was almost harassed. Then, dragged to some bloody room in the middle of a forest, like a scene from a cheap horror movie. And when I thought my mind had finally run out of nightmares, it gave me another one—me playing badminton with a guy whose face I couldn’t even see. Creepy school as the backdrop, shuttle flying into the darkness. Nice try, brain.
I was shivering—hands trembling. Maybe I’m numb, maybe I’m just used to it. Hard to say. Maybe I am being dramatic. Still, I made it through.
So here’s the end of the week: another pile of strange dreams, the same noise at home. Next week will come. I’ll see it the same way.
