Why I Taped My Mouth and Said Nothing
hey asked me,
“Why are you silent?”
“What are you trying to prove?”
“Are you okay?”
The answer is yes.
And no.
And everything in between.
I taped my mouth because the people I wrote about never got to speak.
Vennela never got a reply.
Salman never got to send the letter.
They didn’t die. They weren’t assassinated.
But they were muted by bigger voices,
by war,
by silence.
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So I stood there.
With a jersey split in two — India and Pakistan
With their names on my cheeks
With a suitcase that said:
“This is not a bomb.”
“It’s a letter no one wanted to read.”
I didn’t shout.
Because shouting never helped them.
I didn’t beg.
Because they never got to.
I just stood — because that’s all they ever did.
📘 The Last Letter Before the Border
isn’t about protest.
It’s about absence.
And sometimes, the loudest line in a story
is the one left blank.
Read what they never got to say.
👉 https://amzn.to/43mQqOK
