Fot two to three months every year, I am bedridden. Hours go by and I hardly move. My bed becomes an island where only essential visitors—a poetry book, some medicines and my phone—are allowed. What would you do if you were stranded on an island? I read a little, and listen to some music. My only connection to the outside world is my phone. Without the phone and a working internet connection on it, I might just drift away, taking along the island with me, deep into the sea. You lose sense of time when you are chronically ill.
Scroll up. Scroll down. Scroll up.
Diary: The Fresh Wave Of Deadly Attacks Against Kashmiri Pandits And Migrants In Kashmir 
'Put Your Hands In Boiling Water To Prove You Are Not A Witch' 
