Words come out of me now and then. Not always planned - some stretch into essays that pull apart why mainstream stories collapse under their own weight. Others take shape as poems, handed to individuals who might never earn such attention. Once in a while, sentences build small worlds where figures stumble through decisions better left unmade, all painted in too much detail.

I’m Anshuman Pandey - currently studying, writing regularly, yet always circling back to questions about storytelling: its mechanics, its failures. Much of what I create sits in a space where irony meets honesty, sometimes marked by a note clarifying the blend. Though hard to pin down, the balance shifts depending on the day, the mood, the sentence. Footnotes appear frequently, not as decoration but as part of the structure itself.

Writing has taken me through student protests, made-up futures where everyone suffers, love treated like a business deal, even deities crafted simply so someone else gets blamed when life goes wrong. Maybe - though it’s hard to say - the link across all these topics lies in trying to understand stuff by putting words on paper.