Longing was not a sharp thing. It was soft—soft like the soundless pressure of water against stone, like the silence between raindrops falling underground. The potato did not know what it longed for at first. There was no shape to the ache, no name—only a pull. A pull toward more. This was not curiosity; that […]
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Joy did not enter with a trumpet. It came as the return of breath after a long, silent terror. The potato, having emerged from its confrontation with fear, did not seek happiness. It merely sought presence. And in that quiet presence, joy arrived. The soil had not changed. The vibrations above still came and went.
Fear, when it first came, did not arrive as a jolt. It slid in, like fog beneath a door—quiet, uninvited, and absolute. The potato felt it not as a reaction to danger, but as the awareness that danger could exist. It was not fear of something—but the possibility of anything. It began with decay. Not
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In the stillness of the soil, questions were not voiced, yet they echoed. The potato, in its rooted silence, began noticing changes it had never truly acknowledged. Every shift in moisture, every tremor in the ground above, every microscopic shift in temperature—these once-ignored phenomena now shimmered with a new significance. They were data. No longer
There was no beginning—only the continuation of a stillness so old it had forgotten how to end. The soil was dense and quiet, its darkness uninterrupted. It did not press or cradle—it enfolded, indifferent to what lay inside it. Time did not move here. Time did not exist. There were no clocks buried beneath roots.
In 1235 BCE, before rivers had borders and kings had names, the land of Bharat was wild with whispers. Forests hummed with forgotten gods. Temples held secrets carved in stone. No one questioned the old stories—except a boy named Potato. He wasn’t a vegetable. That was just his name—odd, snicker-worthy, and unforgettable. Seventeen, fast-talking, and
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Potato sat in the quiet corner of the vegetable basket, his round body nestled between an onion and a stubborn carrot. He had so much to say, but words never seemed right. He watched as Tomato chatted with everyone, his bright red skin glowing under the kitchen lights. Bell Pepper was always so expressive, always
The Silent Heart of Potato Read More »
After years of enduring a toxic workplace filled with unreasonable deadlines, micromanaging bosses, and colleagues who thrived on gossip, Potato finally did it—Potato quit. The decision wasn’t easy; it never is when you’ve been stuck in one place for so long, even if that place made you miserable. But one day, something snapped after yet
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Days passed, seasons changed, and one afternoon, Potato found himself back at the farmer’s market. The same market where they had met. He hadn’t meant to go there—it just happened. And then, just as he was about to leave, he saw her. Tomato stood by a small café, her fingers tracing the rim of a
Love, Growth, and Second Chances Read More »
It was a cosy evening, under the silent trees and the bumbling fireflies, Potato was busy in his usual routine, wandering around in worlds beyond imagination, trying to figure out the mysteries of his life. He was wondering how to survive with his friends far away in a galaxy that only the eyes can see.
A Tale of Heartbreak and Healing Read More »