Thank You

Sneha Christall
3 min readMay 10, 2022


Image for representational purpose (via Unsplash)

Leave your education, designation, denomination,

Your bank balance and clout, at the gates

Where uniformed guards pat you down

Wordlessly, before you proceed.

Because, none of it matters once you find yourself in the

Echoless chamber.

Up above, a lone ceiling fan

Creaks heavy with resignation,

Offering little respite to

The bodies huddled underneath,

Clamoring for space

On the slatted wooden benches.

In the great hall nearby, convened

Ordinary humans, tasked with the extraordinary.

Dressed in black garb, white collars,

And an all-important air,

They make a living out of blurring lines,

Molding the truth,

And finding the grey areas

That best suited their agenda.

As time wears on in the echoless chamber,

Exhaustion spills out in a hundred little ways.

While some guard themselves with masks and sanitizer

And a phone to keep their hands busy,

Others’ anger becomes pronounced by

Beating of chests, hurling of curses,

Howling, bawling cries,

Directed at the little old lady,

Dressed in black, seated above the rest,

A pedestal fan beside her.

She looks on in disinterest,

As a lesser mortal escorts

The now weeping individual out.

Another one would be here by tomorrow.

They are a motley crowd and yet,

None are here of their own accord.

Desperation is worn the same by everyone —

Sweat and tears intermingle,

As dreams built not so long ago,

By a younger, more hopeful version of themselves,

Come crashing down,

Like a house built in haste,

On unsteady ground.

Now, no words remain to be said.

Thoughts, stifled by the monotonous call of

Names, numbers and years,

Are now indistinguishable, amidst

The slow humdrum of ‘justice’ being served —

A little here, some there,

A little delayed by another six months,

If you are lucky,

And a lot, by years,

If you aren’t.

What is justice,

If not an attestation

To the human tendency to seek order

Amidst chaos,

Of trying to set things right,

As soon as they

Fall off?


In a little room tucked away,

Squeals and shouts of children

Fill the air.

Unaware of their parents’ differences,

They play, finding friends

To build new games, rules,

Winners and losers.

There are no winners or losers

In the echoless chamber, however.

I sit in silence,

A song to calm me,

Its verses, steadying and centering me,

Reminding me of my own breath,

Which at times, had faltered,

But was yet to give up.

All this, for two minutes

With the little old lady,

Who had by now,

Retired to her AC room.

She hardly met my eye

As we bowed down.

And, with a single flourish of her pen,

She granted me my modicum of justice,

My own patch of blue sky,

That had colored my dreams vividly,

For over a year now.

Outside the echoless chamber,

Time sped on, like it always does.

A light afternoon breeze

Played with my hair,

And I found myself smiling,

And saying the same words

Over and over again —

Thank you,

Thank you,

Thank you…

Note: This poem is my first attempt at writing using the ‘defamiliarization’ technique. I find that I write best, when writing from experience. What do you think this poem is about? Let me know how you liked it and drop me an e-mail at, if you would like to connect!



Sneha Christall

Wanderer, writer, memory collector.