Sobriety Month.



Understand. And love.

We’re here. And we care.


I fell off the wagon again. I thought I was smarter now. More matured. Turns out when it comes to alcohol, I still am a sucker for my instincts. Last two weeks, I’ve drinking like my old self again. I genuinely thought I was better now, but not really.

I’ve ignored this blog lately too. I apologize from the bottom of my heart for that too.

I feel like I don’t know myself anymore. I’ve always believed that I am a good person. But right now, I don’t know anymore. I fucked up and I don’t know to fix things. Fuck things, I don’t know what to tell myself anymore. My entire foundation has been shaken and I am on this pile of shit I don’t know how to get back from. I am genuinely hurting.

Four consecutive days of drinking later, with hardly any food inside me at all, I had a major case of alcohol poisoning. 1200 bucks and two IV injections later I am much better now.

You see, it’s okay to fuck up. It’s okay to apologize. But when you’re like me, it’s not. I’ll carry what I did with me all my life. Because I know it’s not me.

It feels good to write again. Also, the blog completed 4 months yesterday. So congratulations to everyone involved.

I am going to do a sobriety month now because it needs to be done.

And I will try my best to fix things.

As always thank you for reading and listening.


-Aitijya Sarkar


My Brother.

Those tiny eyes stopped her heart and at that instant she knew that never again would the month of August be gloomy.

The Wall welcomes another person on board, Samiksha Gupta. Love and accept the amazing person that she is. Try and connect to her story.

As always,



Understand. And love.

We’re here. And we care.


Every year, in my hometown August would rush in with showers of rain interrupted by the warm sun. Bushes of roses punctuated with wild grass.

Nature ornamented every patch of land pleasing eyes everywhere. This would mark the beginning of a festive season of in everyone’s lives.
Yet, all of this could not cheer up a four-year kid’s heart. By the end of the very first week itself, she wasn’t able to take it anymore and a streak of tear rolled down her cheek, just like the streams that emerged from between round and shiny rocks above the hill.

Her many friends tried to cheer her up. Her loving parents would take her out for shopping and buy her new clothes and toys but the sight of decorated shops all around her would further dampen her spirits.

And on the day of Rakshabandhan, she would refuse to leave her house. She wanted to avoid facing all the girls and guys who’d be proudly showing off their gifts and wearing bands of love around their wrists. She was a single child- a beloved, yet single child.

This story repeated itself year after year until one fine day her mother said, “Sweetie, soon you’ll have a younger sibling.” She put her little hands on her mother’s baby bump.

“Come soon, baby brother”, she said kissing it.
“How do you know it’s a brother?”
“I just do!” she winked and her mother smiled.
And she wasn’t wrong after all.

On November 28, 2005 she held her little brother for the first time in her hands. They were not so little anymore. Those tiny eyes stopped her heart and at that instant she knew that never again would the month of August be gloomy.

Months passed by and the rains set in again.
The sun glowed.
Roses bloomed.
Grass grew in crevices.
The streams flowed too.
Her parents took her to the market again. But, this time their efforts actually delighted the (now) seven year old kid’s heart.

Or maybe all of these things had nothing to do with her happiness. It came from her personal little bundle of joy.

By the end of the very first week itself, she had bought 10 Rakhis for her only baby brother and everyday she would spread them open on the table and spend hours selecting the best Rakhi for her brother, who was too all too young and fragile to even stand up by himself.

When the day finally came, she was the first one to wake up. She dressed up in her favorite Barbie frock.

And then she made the baby get up, for she had already waited enough- waited for seven long years.

And then she, the little “mother-sister”, bathed him and dressed him. A Rakhi was finally tied that covered one third of her baby brother’s arm. And as she treated him to a piece of chocolate, he bit her finger. A tear rolled down her cheeks once again, just as it started raining outside. But this time it was a tear of joy.

Now, almost 11 years later she penned down the most beautiful incident of her life. Rakshabandhan continues to be her favorite festival of all.


-Samiksha Gupta

For any post contributions email us at


Hello Goodbye.

You're back again at the start, A second chance, A work of art.

The Wall welcomes an extremely talented girl on board, Dayita Panicker. Read and understand her and her story. Also, this would be the first poem to be posted here.

As always,



Understand. And Love.

We’re here. And we care.


Hello, Goodbye,
Hold on,
Don’t lie.
Tell me the truth,
Please don’t ask why.

Whisper secrets,
Make up tales,
Hold back giggles
Cause that never fails.

Cover your face,
Put on a fake smile,
Hide all the fear,
Behind your lies.

Bury your pain,
Within your bones
To show you’re sane,
And made of stones.

Don’t dare to speak out your dreams,
Keep doing what you’re told
And hold back your screams.

Hope and pray,
You lose your sight,
Cause after all you’re giving up
Without a fight.

Until one day you lose your mind,
Break your chains,
And tear your binds.

You feel the rage and sorrow within,
More at yourself for you have sinned

You try to turn back and go,
To the moment you gave up hope,
But it’s much harder to do than say,
“I would’ve done things differently that day.”

You’re back again at the start,
A second chance,
A work of art.

You know your choice
Just say it loud,
I have my dreams, of which I’m proud.

I know it’s hard, I know you’re scared,
But it’s now or never,
You’re either alive or dead.

Call this your second shot,
Not many get a life once it’s lost.

The pain is there to keep you going,
I promise it ends, Don’t give up without knowing.

Life is hard… It’s supposed to be

If everyone jumped,

who would be left to see..

The joy that comes, after the pain,
No hardships, means no gain.

So hold on for just a while longer.

I promise, this will only make you stronger.


-Dayita Panicker

For any post contributions email us

The Wall and Us.


So we’ve been waiting to reach 50 followers before we posted this piece and we just did. We thank you for the appreciation. We hope you believe in us. Even if you don’t we hope some day you do.

Right now there are three people working with The Wall.

Rishabh Prasad.

Aishwarya Sarkar.

And me, Aitijya.

Today’s post would be just about The Wall. I’ve been asked too many times what it is all about. I am not good at explaining things. So I am going to write this down.


“Have you ever felt like you would feel much better if you knew there was someone out there in this world who could understand you?

Maybe you are going through something which is almost inconsequential to someone else. But it matters to you. It’s real. It is happening to you.

Maybe you’ve gone through something, which changed your entire life. It changed your perspective on life. It changed the way you behave.

Maybe when you were young, every night your mother would tuck you in to sleep. Sing a song maybe. Tell you a bed time story.

Maybe you felt an extreme surge of emotion somewhere sometime.

Maybe you tried to explain all of it. Maybe you tried to tell someone about it. Maybe you felt helpless that they could not grasp it. Could not understand it.

You see no one can know how you feel, unless they spend a day in your shoes.

That is what The Wall is all about. It’s to let the world know, that no one is actually alone.

If you’re an alcoholic, there is someone out there who has gone through the same.

If you just lost your mother, someone else went through the same.

If you feel lost and hopeless, someone else feels the same way.

Think about it. We are 7 billion people. And 14 billion stories. Each and every story matters. Each and every life matters.

Why The Wall?

Because we build walls all around us. The world and society has shaped us in such a way that almost always what we see is not how things actually are. All of us live behind these metaphorical walls. I’ve known so many people who are so amazing and beautiful in their own peculiar way that it still astounds me. But, when you look at them, you’ll just not get it. Talk to them, spend time with them, then maybe. This blog is about breaking walls. Once you give away a piece of yourself you’ll see there is someone on the other side. Help them and let them know that they’re not alone.


When I was at my worst, if someone came up to me and told me that they’ve gone through the same, it would have made me feel much better. I could have connected to them and their lives.

This is to make sure that we bridge this gap. Break all these walls, free ourselves of the ghosts that haunt us. Maybe a happy memory too.

We have hefty ideas for this blog. This is a community. This is a place where there would be no judgement. This is a place where you could or couldn’t find peace.

This is a place where you are not alone.

Thank you. And have a great day.


-Aitijya Sarkar

PS- We will begin posting stories again. For any post contributions email us



Death, loss and longing.

life is a

An amazing person.

Sensitive, caring and a brilliant heart. An even better singer. He is working with us now. Read and understand him and his story. And know us better.

As always,



Understand. And Love.

We’re here. And we care.


“The reason I had a normal childhood was because of my mother and my grandparents.

My father on the other hand has always been more of an inspirational figure. The values that he has taught me, has helped me improve as a person. I had to spend my childhood away from my parents due to certain unavoidable and personal reasons.

My birth was the reason my mother wasn’t able to complete her education. She has sacrificed a lot for me. And I am very lucky to have her in my life.

Staying away from them was actually a blessing in disguise. It developed me as a person, who knew how to adapt, no matter how difficult and desperate the circumstances were.

I was raised up and taken care of by my grandparents. My grandmother has always been like a mother to me. She has always been my support system. I miss my childhood. Circumstances were much better and simple then. Things didn’t affect me as much as it is affecting me right now. Growing up is indeed a part of life, but losing yourself in the process is what chokes me up.


You never know, what’s waiting for you the very next moment.

Uncertainties suffocate me.

Growing up is an art and not everyone can master it, mould it and learn from it. The ones who don’t get used to it are left with too many unanswered questions about life.

Attributing meaning to our lives, is an endless journey. I consider myself as a below average guy who believes in spreading happiness. Happiness is subjective. Even a minute gesture could mean the world to someone.

I aspire towards my dream but somewhere I get stuck in confusion. It’s just that the phase of growing up has been tough and it gets tougher with each passing day. I have lost a lot of people who meant the world to me. It’s been rough.


Nothing is permanent.

Some day or the other, everything will cease to exist and come to a standstill. I can never forget the day I lost my grandfather. It was the day before my University final exams. He had always been a pillar of strength for me.

Nurturing my love for music and always protecting me. He was always there. I wish he was still alive today. I could do nothing for him when he was alive. I feel his absence almost every day. I loved him, and I still do.

A friend of mine killed herself a month before my class 12 board exams. I look back now, and remember how in a short span of time she had become like family. I could share my soul with her and she would just listen. No judgement. I still remember her dead body lying on the floor’s carpet. I remember her mother resting her head on my shoulder. It gives me goose bumps and heartaches even today. I couldn’t save her.


Is this what you get in return when you love people so much?

Is this a part of growing up?

We lose people we love the most.

Recently, I got to know that my father suffers from Bipolar Disorder. My mother kept me away from him to give me a better life. Though my father is doing better now, he is on lithium tablets. They are known to cut down one’s life expectancy.

Even my mother has health issues. What if, one wretched day, I lose them? Where would I go? Where would my journey end?

These gut-wrenching questions and the silent crying in the middle of the night, suffocate my mind.

All I want is to see myself and the people who care about me happy. It includes my parents, my grandparents and the handful of those to whom my existence matters.

As my beloved friend says, nobody deserves to be alone.”


-Rishabh Prasad

PS- For any post contributions email us at


Rum and Coke.

alcoholic final

I promised all of you that over the course of the next two weeks I will post about me and the kind of life I’ve had so that the people who read and comment know the kind of person they’re sharing a piece of themselves with. If you have not read it yet, you can read it here.

Here goes another piece of me.

As always,



Understand. And Love.

We’re here. And we care.


“It’s been around 4 and a half years since I’ve been drinking. My relationship with alcohol has been rocky to say the least. I know I am just 21. I know I am but young and have miles to go. But this has happened. And it’s real. For me, it is.

Before I begin I wanted to explain the simple difference between an alcoholic and someone who just drinks. An alcoholic does not know when to stop. He/she turns to alcohol for everything that goes down in their lives, however big or small. One glass turns into two and before you know it you’re puking your guts out to make space for more.

Do not get me wrong. I love alcohol. I remember one night when I mixed my sleep medication with booze, I just curled up next to my mother and I told her, “Maa, I do not think I can live without it. I am just not me.” I was crying profusely and I was a month sober before this. Withdrawals are real. They happen. You just don’t know how bad they can get.

Yes, I am only 21.

Alcohol just makes me lose myself. To be honest, it helps me open up. Not anymore, though. But that is why and how it all started. It started in school. During my first year of college, I would drink a quarter of rum and be done. Then came second year. A quarter turned into litres. I hate blaming others for my mistakes, but to a certain extent I have to accept the fact that things at home were bothering me. Things that I can’t share because it’s not really my story.

I have this habit of blaming myself. I did kind of blame myself for it all. Even when my sister had THE accident, I blamed myself. She fell from the fourth floor if you’re wondering. But that’s not the point.

Alcohol became my answer for everything. Then came the sleepless nights. Then the auditory hallucinations. Visual hallucinations. Pills. Mixing them with alcohol. This vicious cycle ended with me downing 16 pills when I was around 3-4 litres of alcohol down. I wanted to kill myself because it was just too much. The nightmares, the lifestyle, panic attacks, insomnia, continuous intoxication. I’ve hurt so many people in the process and I’ve been really glad to have such people who’ve stuck with me no matter what.

You know how they say you’ll know your real friends when you’re down and broken? They were right. You do.

I will not lie. After that incident, my parents were so patient and helpful it was really touching. I’ve been blessed with a brilliant family. They do not understand me. And at the same time even though they would not show it, I know who to turn to when things go south. I totally understood why they wanted to send me to a rehab. But they didn’t. Do not worry.

I still drink. Alcoholics anonymous is useless by the way. If you ever wish to seek their help, DON’T. Doctors won’t help you either. They’ll not understand and more often than not you’ll just use your pills to mellow yourself down.

How did I get better? I didn’t. I still can and would drink litres of alcohol. But I know when to stop. I do know. As phony as it sounds, I do. I know there are certain times I should drink and certain times I shouldn’t. That separates me from my old self.

I am not an alcoholic. Maybe I am. But I do not think it still has as much power over me.

Why did I write this today?

Because I am going to drink today.

Thank you.”


-Aitijya Sarkar

PS- For any post contributions, email us at-

Sleep. Peace.

Dreams Reality
So a friend of mine recently told me that for a person who does not know me, for them it will be difficult to trust me. They probably want to share something, but they’re hesitant because they do not know who they are sharing it with. This got me thinking.

So, The Wall is all about pain and memories and sharing. It’s the idea that no matter who you are, what you think, what you feel, whatever you’re going through and whatever you’ve gone through, you are not alone. There is someone else out there who has gone through the same or is going through the same. It’s about letting that person know that they are not alone.

So here I am. Over the next couple of weeks, I will tell you about me. So that you can connect and know the kind of person I am. I am not much of a sharer but I will try, because there is nothing I’ve believed in more than I believe in the idea behind The Wall. No one deserves to be alone.

As always,



Understand. And Love.

We’re here. And we care.


“Sleep has become a bit of a problem lately. It’s difficult to explain, but I will try my best. The condition that has been plaguing me for quite some time now is something known as panic induced night terrors. It’s basically nightmares accompanied by a panic attack.

What happens is that I do not understand the difference between a dream and reality. The dreams are so complex and real it feels like the things that are happening in my dream are all real. For example, if I am drowning in my dream I think I am drowning for real, and then I start gasping for breath. So someone at that moment has to wake me up, because I do not realize it is actually a dream. If I am still sleeping, I feel like I am about to die, because in reality I actually am, since I’ve been out of breath for almost about a minute.

Funny as it sounds, that pretty much sums it up.

It’s been happening for a year now. Initially it started off with one or maybe even two in a week. Then their intensity increased to three or four each week and they became more complex with time.

Then came a time, when it became very very regular. That is when my mind started fearing sleep. I’ve heard a lot of people say that they suffer from insomnia. But, that moment, when I was just too scared to go to sleep, that is when I realized the gravity of it all. At one point, I did not sleep for 5 days straight. I am not even kidding here. Not one hour of sleep.

It was funny how I told my family about it. Because think about it, sleep? Really?

I’ve been to five doctors since. I’ve been prescribed 12 different pills, and bought more than 200 of them. That made it worse. These pills, they just f*** your mind up. I started having auditory hallucinations, visual hallucinations and so much more. I started abusing my medication to escape all of it. They mellowed me down and gave a happy high. My brain was stressed. My body was stressed and I was just plain tired. I thought I was losing my mind and I wanted to check myself into a psychiatric facility.

What was my response?

I turned to alcohol as always. I don’t want to talk about alcohol too much today because alcohol has always had a love-hate relationship with me. So SHE deserves a separate post altogether.

I am not better. These things still happen. Maybe not every day or as often but they do. I stopped any form of medication, because I don’t believe in them. It has always been difficult to explain all of this but I hope whoever reads this understands or tries to. My dreams are so complex you will not understand how weird and real they are.

So that’s about it. Why I wrote this today?

Because yesterday was a bad night.

Thank you.”


– Aitijya Sarkar

PS- For any post contributions, email us at-