INTERNAL TRANSMISSION
Hello, dear scroller,
If you are here, reading this, I want you to understand something first: you are not just reading words on a screen — you are listening to me.
Lately, this has been the only way I can be fully myself.
So today, I am not building a universe.
I am opening a wound.
Three years ago, I broke my ankle. I was stuck in bed — immobile, frustrated, quiet. Somewhere in that stillness, I hummed a tune. I composed a song in my head, wrote lyrics for it, and even tried to publish it.
It didn’t work.
I lost the path.
Which, if we’re being honest, I often do.
Recently, I came across an app that lets you hum and generate music from it. And yes — I was lonely enough to try it. Like millions of others.
But what came out of it was not just music.
It was a story.
Let me stay linear for once.
About that old tune — I hesitate to say I “created” it. The damn thing feels familiar, like it has existed before me. I checked recognition apps. I searched for the original source.
Nothing.
So maybe it did come from me.
I call myself an empty vessel sometimes. I don’t mean that in self-pity. I mean I am willing to be filled. I don’t hesitate to learn. I don’t hesitate to absorb.
Anyway.
I hummed that three-year-old tune again.
This time, it became music.
When I pressed play, I didn’t feel pain.
That surprised me.
This song was born from what I once considered my most unhealable wound. Yet when I heard it now, it didn’t reopen anything. It felt… soothing. As if something inside me had quietly stitched itself back together.
I don’t know how to explain that properly.
Which is why I hesitate to call myself a writer.
Out of pain came a tune.
Out of the tune came a story.
And yes, dear scroller — you are special. Because I want to share the title of that story with you.
Especially you.
Because right now, all I have is you.
It’s about a man who travels to Panipat.
I know. My stories always begin like that. Movement. Leaving. Transition.
My favorite genre is moving on.
It’s about a man whose marriage is called off because of his past.
It’s about a woman recently divorced.
And of course — it’s twisted. Just enough.
The beauty of brokenness is this: falling in love might be overrated.
But surviving it isn’t.
The title?
Bachelor of Panipat.
Yes. I know how that sounds.
But what else did you expect from me?
In simple terms, this story is that people say, “What’s yours will come back to you.”
But why does something have to be yours?
I mean, can’t we love something without owning it?
Can’t we just watch something beautiful grow and call it love?
If it doesn’t make sense, it’s okay, kid… it took me 27 years.