Neerav, Sone ke Hiran, aur Mahir

By Chandan MK

I am thirty-five now…

and yet, a boy still lives within me —

the one who once asked,

“Why does my heart wander

where the world forbids it to?”

For twenty-seven years,

I lived between fear and desire —

from the time I first understood love,

till the world finally said

it was not a crime to feel.

Before September 2018,

I thought of myself as a sinner —

because my heart leaned not toward the opposite,

but toward those like me —

men who looked beautiful, or kind, or gentle,

or simply — human enough to love.

Those whose beauty shimmered like sunlight on skin —

they were just Golden Deer —

captivating, untouchable,

a chase meant only for survival.

But the ones whose souls felt familiar,

they appeared to me — divine.

Neerav — The Lotus I Couldn’t Hug

2011, Vaishali Nagar, Jaipur —

a small paying guest home, a big city dream.

I was doing my MBA,

and then came Neerav —

January-born, a synonym of Lotus.

I call him :N in my memories.

He stayed two months for his internship.

We spoke over dinner, on terraces,

and once walked to a nearby temple —

Mata Rani’s shrine.

I took him there for blessings,

but perhaps I was seeking my own peace that day.

We watched one movie — Delhi Belly.

We talked about careers, about growing up.

And on his last day, when he was leaving,

I asked him to write something in my diary.

He wrote a small note on friendship —

and that was our unspoken farewell.

He used to call me “Chandan Bhaiya.”

Funny, because he was six months older.

I could never hug him —

just a few handshakes, some glances at dinner,

and the quiet ache of unsaid things.

When he left,

I bought his pillow from the caretaker —

for ₹100.

I slept with it for months,

hugging it like it carried his presence,

his scent, his warmth —

my silent secret.

After MBA, he moved to Delhi for UPSC.

I joined a job in Gurgaon.

On his birthdays, I sent him Ganesha idols

and engraved pens.

Three years later, he said — “Please don’t send anymore.”

In 2015, I met him once at Old Rajendra Nagar —

took homemade laddoos from my mother.

He smiled; time paused.

Later that year, I confessed my feelings

over WhatsApp.

He replied, “I am not into boys.”

I cried that night.

And I locked love away —

deep, dark, and permanent.

He’s married now,

a father to a little daughter.

I sometimes watch his life through silent scrolls —

his photos, his smiles.

Two months with him

became twelve years of yearning.

Desire, Loneliness & Illusion

After him, silence grew louder.

I began chatting online —

under hidden names, fake profiles —

not for lust,

but for connection,

for a momentary illusion of belonging.

Yet, none of them were him.

None were Neerav.

A disease struck —

anaemia, hair fall, fading strength.

I lost my health, my hope,

and eventually, my city.

Mahir — The Calm I Couldn’t Keep

After six years in Udaipur,

destiny brought me again to Delhi —

where I met Mahir.

He had a calm presence,

a quiet smile,

and eyes that spoke softly,

like prayers whispered in a storm.

I tried to keep distance,

but my heart — foolish and faithful —

fell again.

I lived in Mayur Vihar then,

craving to see him once each day,

to hear even one word from him.

His smile — it was my sunrise.

During a Goa trip,

we sat close in flight.

I said little,

but my heart spoke everything in silence.

In office, I nominated him for his qualities,

just to see his happiness shine.

He taught me SIP and saving —

and I, in return, learned to love again.

On his 35th birthday —

born on July 07 —

I planned seven gifts.

But courage failed,

so I wrote a letter —

and mailed my truth instead.

Then, life turned cruel again.

Through someone else, he heard

about my secret addiction to online chats.

And when he said,

with tears in his eyes,

“I am dirty inside, only pretend to be good outside…”

I knew — I had lost him too.

In April 2024, he visited Banaras.

In November, I did.

Maybe both of us went there

searching for peace we never found in people.

I left Delhi after that —

left the job, the city,

and maybe, a piece of myself.

But I couldn’t leave him.

Eternal Illusion

Two months with Neerav

took twelve years of me.

Two years with Mahir

will keep me alive for a lifetime.

Neerav’s place in my heart

is now Mahir’s,

and every other man who attracts me

is just a Golden Deer —

shiny, distant, and empty.

I’ve never been physical with anyone.

And perhaps, never will be —

because to me,

love is still just one name: Mahir.

Last alphabet of a keyboard, 

I denote him N!

Tenderness, Desire, Illusion

The first love — like a lotus,

blooming in still water.

The second — like a peacock,

graceful, mesmerizing,

yet never truly mine to hold.

Between them,

countless Golden Deer have crossed my path —

but none stayed,

none looked back.

When I was alone,

those golden deer became my reason to survive.

To talk to them,

I created a false face —

not to deceive,

but to be seen,

because truth often goes unnoticed.

Yet, I never harmed any of them.

I was just an unseen friend —

a quiet visitor in their world,

who made them smile for a while,

who gave a little warmth

to their curious hearts.

I walked through their meadow softly,

without leaving a mark —

only a trace of a smile

lingering in the air.

Maybe I was never meant to be loved —

only to love.

To keep their names

folded between my heartbeats,

and call it — poetry.

By Chandan MK