Vishakha Mukherjee

India

Writer
Reader
Anime/Manga Lover
Dreamer
Born in Alabama moved to Yonkers and now India

Message from Writer

Just love to write! Write whatever your hearts wants!

Published Work

Warm Muffins, Glass Feet

Warm hearts have glass feet. Crows mock her hustling of the tragedy that is mankind, yet can't help but sneer at her solidarity content. Humans were built for happiness, but she raked out the gears, the inner-mechanisms and twisted them for just that. Her tears would dry the moment they fell. Smiles stretched pleasantly across her plump cheeks, sometimes for no reason. A song was always on her lips, just waiting to burst out. She took pride in her unruly curls, uneven freckles, and crooked teeth. Warmth radiated from her like freshly-baked chocolate-chip muffins. Laughter escaped her thin lips, regardless of what others thoughts.

And she loved. With the force of sun. Her feet may have been glass, but they were bullet-proof.  
 

Thank You Loneliness

Dear Loneliness
Thank you loneliness, for teaching more lessons than my parents ever could. We’re all stranded in our own worlds, the size of islands. The gaps between them can be shortened and the boundaries can be touched, but never do they clash. Never do they collide in our self-centered and fearful orbit.
I was always lonely and still am. When I was little, I would look out the windows during the spring and see the cherry-blossoms. They were gorgeous and pink. Envy would knot in my stomach, making me cry. The petals had each other when they fell and were hurt, but I didn’t have that. Never would. I knew a bit too much from an early age.
My house would be so silent; I would turn on the television just to hear something.
 I would always scribble two people together because I never wanted my first stick figure to be all alone. I never wanted a stick-figure to...

Kaleidoscope Sister

If people were colors, my sister would have been a rainbow. While I was a bold black, filled with a bit too much of everything for it to be pleasant on the eyes, she flaunted every color she had.

Blue deepened to a starling shade at her tears and silent suffering. Red burned maroon to those that had the gall to hurt her or me. Green brightened at her unshakable bliss as she frolicked the fields, weightless, as if her feet were glass and heart of paper. Pink flushed as she wrapped her arms around my waist, loving me like her other half. 

My sister was a kaleidoscope of colors. And I loved each and every one of them.

 

Talons of Saints

Not all hawks had beaks. They painted their chestnut brown feathers, promising power and blood-lust, to cloud white, trying to blend in with the doves. Nothing could pass their razor-sharp graze, honed by experience and distrust. They morphed their embedded bitterness into consideration, for those forged by fire could never really let go of the warmth it brought. They give others the  kindness they've always desired. But prays for those who dare defy them or hurt their loved ones.

Mercy and love are two separate  entities they knew far too well. They wielded the blade of retribution all for the sake of those they have lost and those they fear to lose. Those sharp, sharp blades, their crimson-painted talons, gloved by love and unsheathed by those who dare, were the talons of saints. 

No-one would preach their acts, fearing their wrath. Yet Respect would burn in their chests at their love. 

For sharp talons hold an even softer heart. 

 

Californian King Bed

Our feet could touch, we're so close, yet we're thousand miles apart. The dawn sun sweeps out the windows, mocking us with its all encompassing warmth. It knows every shadow, knows more about you than I ever really could. 

You tried. I can't deny that. Both of us have tried more than most.

But sometimes that isn't enough. Effort is useless when pushing a mountain from both directions. 

Our paths touch, yet not quite.

You don't tell me the what keeps your eyes open at night, and you respect me enough to not ask about mine. We set too many boundaries that both of us are terrified and hesitant to cross.

But when the sheets ruffle on our Californian King Bed when you reach for me. When you stroke my shoulders that carry the weight of heartbreaks and heartaches, I feel like there's hope. I feel it in my bones that we can change when I sew the stitches not...

Ancestors Speak

River Child

The river was more of a lover than her husband ever would be. It kissed away the wounds on her hands from spluttering  oils and scrubbing sweat-drenched clothing. Cooled her head in the sultry summer and cleansed her of the the day's woes. Every afternoon she was embraced by the waters with more respect and affection than any man was capable of. She was the river's child, sister, and wife. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

As a river child, she suffered, like they all do. Those loved by the river are powerless under the world's cruel tide. But the river gave her the shoulders to bare that burden. Strength was engraved in her being, even if experience didn't allow it.

Her feet were calloused from tending to the fields and the house. She played, laughed and sung with the force of a sun. And despite her terribly methodical life of cleaning and appeasing a husband she never...

My Dee-da's Lap


 A lazy summer afternoon, 
My Dee-da’s lap the perfect place to be,
Soft muscles covering her hard thighbones
Her vibrant cotton sari filtering my nose
The warm, garlic-smelling hands on my black hair,
The planes of the fan spinning above,
We were content in our little bubble

Writing Streak Challenge Week 13

Writing Streak Challenge Week 13 Day 1

Day 1
Adrift:
The stars are below my crusty feet,
Floating, with hollow bones,
A heavy weight set in my chest,
Waiting to Burst,
Above the World, Yet forever Grounded.

Food Writing Competition 2020

A Stew Pot of Culture

I'm not joking when I say that I mainly stayed in India for the food. As much as I love the States cheesy-perfect pizza slices and mouth-watering burgers, Kolkata's food is a different league altogether. In Calcutta( which I personally like to call it), food isn't just a business or necessity-it's a warm art-form. The cooks,in the street stalls and five star hotels, twist 
Chinese,Italian, Indian, Russian, Tibetan,Thai-every cuisine you can name at the top of your tongue, it's there. 

Now if you were to tell me a must have item, it would be biryani. For those of you who don't know ( and I pity you if you sincerely don't), biryani is an authentic, Mulgudi dish consisting of sunflower-yellow rice, Chicken and potatoes, exclusive to Kolkata. The lentils slip into your mouth as the spices expose give your tongue a rollar-coaster the best of traditional Indian flavors. Not too spicy, not too bland, just 100% delicious. Tangri kebabs, red,...

Food Writing Competition 2020

A Stew Pot of Culture

I'm not joking when I say that I mainly stayed in India for the food. As much as I love the States cheesy-perfect pizza slices and mouth-watering burgers, Kolkata's food is a different league altogether. In Calcutta( which I personally like to call it), food isn't just a business or necessity-it's a warm art-form. The cooks,in the street stalls and five star hotels, twist 
Chinese,Italian, Indian, Russian, Tibetan,Thai-every cuisine you can name at the top of your tongue, it's there. 

Now if you were to tell me a must have item, it would be biryani. For those of you who don't know ( and I pity you if you sincerely don't), biryani is an authentic, Mulgudi dish consisting of sunflower-yellow rice, Chicken and potatoes, exclusive to Kolkata. The lentils slip into your mouth as the spices expose give your tongue a rollar-coaster the best of traditional Indian flavors. Not too spicy, not too bland, just 100% delicious. Tangri kebabs, red,...

Amen for an Empty Grave

Transparent flowers for an invisible grave,
Stem sap sticky on your fingertips,

The sunlight kisses your freckled skin,
Comforting you more than any person ever could,

And the world was almost perfect,
Until it wasn't.

Your legs buckle,
Your kneecaps scraping the weightless stone,
And you ponder

Wonder what you're grieving for...
Did it Matter?
You ask yourself 

But it did.
Honey it did.

Perhaps the people blind to your tombstone and tears
Will scoff
But Honey it matters more than you think.

Grief was like fashion;
Too personal for others to comments, 
Yet others still had an opinion on it. 

But Honey, 
Don't listen them,
Whatever's inside is yours

It may sink in the Earth and rot in the past,
But it'll forever be yours

So grieve,
Grieve until you're satisfied,
A human action so many perceive as the luxury
for the idle, for the demented, for the lazy,  for the overly-sensitive, 

But it isn't, 
Honey
It isn't. 

Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

Challenge Completed

Day 1 :Nancy wanted to talk about the elephant in the room, but Jack was firm on keeping their new pet. 

Day 2 :Jacob tried to hide the skeleton in the closet, but his girlfriend found the bones, while cleaning his room, and called the police. 

Day 3: They were birds of a feather until molting season started.

Day 4: The cat at got her tongue, but thankfully didn't scratch her eyes out when she was trying to pet him. 

Day 5: The grass was always greener on the other side, until their neighbors moved in and ruined it

Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

Challenge Completed

Day 1 :Nancy wanted to talk about the elephant in the room, but Jack was firm on keeping their new pet. 

Day 2 :Jacob tried to hide the skeleton in the closet, but his girlfriend found the bones, while cleaning his room, and called the police. 

Day 3: They were birds of a feather until molting season started.

Day 4: The cat at got her tongue, but thankfully didn't scratch her eyes out when she was trying to pet him. 

Day 5: The grass was always greener on the other side, until their neighbors moved in and ruined it

Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

Challenge Completed

Day 1 :Nancy wanted to talk about the elephant in the room, but Jack was firm on keeping their new pet. 

Day 2 :Jacob tried to hide the skeleton in the closet, but his girlfriend found the bones, while cleaning his room, and called the police. 

Day 3: They were birds of a feather until molting season started.

Day 4: The cat at got her tongue, but thankfully didn't scratch her eyes out when she was trying to pet him. 

Day 5: The grass was always greener on the other side, until their neighbors moved in and ruined it

Aging and Decaying (Prompt 2)

We're all aging and decaying,
And there's no way of escaping.

Our telomeres shorten and shorten,
Our invisible lifelines shorten with every division,

Youth lies at the ends of our chromosomes,
Not in the creams or serums we adore so much,

Stress reduces their length,
Trimming our lifespan like a skilled gardener in a particularly savage mood,

Mitosis- Identical division
yet not every chromosome is as identical as we would have liked,

We're all aging and decaying 
And there's no way of escaping.


 

In Motion

Dyed Hair and the Apocalypse

Bleach stung her nose. The hair dye itched her scalp as she limped along the road. Her baseball bat, dripped with blood as it scraped the pavement. She clutched her aluminium weapon, her fake electric pink nails piercing her skin. The crows were screeching above, mocking her inability to escape. She glared at them, scrunching her tired brows, before exhaling in defeat. 

Charred flesh wafted the midnight air, a savage scent that both dulled and heightened her aching senses. Fire smoldered, bristling with the rage of the forsaken. The overwhelming  heat warmed her, yet she couldn't help, but shiver. The events of the day rushed past her, assaulting her after the adrenaline wore off. Her muscles  were screaming from the battles of today and the ones that were to come. She yearned to collapse on the gravel itself and let the flames consume her, yet her mind stubbornly demanded that she lived. 

Earlier today, she was secretly transforming her lame...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

Challenge Completed

Day 1 :Nancy wanted to talk about the elephant in the room, but Jack was firm on keeping their new pet. 

Day 2 :Jacob tried to hide the skeleton in the closet, but his girlfriend found the bones, while cleaning his room, and called the police. 
 

Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

Challenge Completed

Nancy wanted to talk about the elephant in the room, but Jack was firm on keeping their new pet. 

Farsick

The Sand Palace's Shackles

Sand tickles my feet whenever I go to the beach. Saltwater filters my nose, a melancholic scent of the past,- a past I wish I could let be.It wasn't my history yet it was more than mine. In those fleeting moments, when memories of someone else hung over my shoulder, like a tipsy, cruel butterfly, itching to kill some time, I remember my Sand Palace.

Of course, back then it wasn't called that, I think. No one would term such a marvelous structure as a simple 'Sand Palace'.  But it was 'my' personal pet name for it. 

I haven't stepped into it, but I could feel crevice, every texture, every grain of sand under my finger tips. Grains of sand would strewn the floor, like crushed stars. Perhaps that's why I love walking barefoot. Velvet carpets, musty with seawater. Seagulls bleeping from a distant, singing their careless, demented symphony. The ocean's lulling waves would try to conceal their savage cries,...