Just Writing Stuff Down

There’s something beautifully stupid about writing when you absolutely shouldn’t be. Like, the kind of rebellion that makes no sense but still feels like a small victory. Right now, I have a PE exam on Saturday. PE. As in, Physical Education. As in, the subject that’s supposed to be “easy” but somehow contains more charts, definitions, and health-related guilt than a fitness influencer’s Instagram story. And yet, here I am, not revising somatotypes or the Rockport Fitness Test, but writing a blog post. Because my brain whispered, “Write a little, it’ll help you study,” and I — being the gullible little content goblin I am — believed it. To be fair, my brain is rarely helpful during exam season. It has the attention span of a squirrel on French Press coffee or Chai (which, ironically, is what I run on). I’ll sit down with the full intention of studying about flexibility or cardiorespiratory endurance, and five minutes later, I’m staring into the abyss, wondering why we have knees. Like ...

I didn’t know what to write today. Actually, I opened this blog with zero ideas. Like… less than zero. Empty mind. Full head. If that makes sense. (To be fair, I was tired studying and I was on a break, just like Ross and Rachel enjoying my chai and live concert videos) So this one’s about the music. My music. The kind most people my age don’t listen to. The kind that isn’t in every Instagram reel or sped-up for some 15-second Instagram trauma dump. The kind that came from old aux cords, not algorithms. It’s not a superiority complex, you know. Okay, it is, maybe just a little bit. But mostly it’s because I just don’t relate to the *new* sound. I don’t want bass drops. I want meaning. I want that scratchy, live-recording sound. The kind of music that makes you pause mid-scroll and go “wait, WHAT did they just say?” and then rewind five times because it’s that good. To be fair, I didn’t choose this taste — it kind of chose me. Grew up hearing it around the house thanks to my dad, and li...

Like I'd mentioned, just when you think life seems great back to normal something like this happens. Another tragedy. Another war striking simultaneously. Where are we headed? What are we headed for? cruelty? pain? grief? is that all 2025 is gonna bring us? is that all we deserve? I don't know. And I had decided I wasn't going to address this but... I don't know how to begin this. Words feel insufficient, even hollow. But silence feels worse. Ever since the news of the airplane crash on June 12th broke, I've been stuck somewhere between disbelief and devastation. My heart has been aching in ways I can’t explain — for the lives lost, for the families left behind, for the sheer horror of it all. There’s something so terrifyingly unnatural about a plane crash. It’s not just tragedy — it’s betrayal. A betrayal of safety, of expectations, of life itself. One moment, people are checking in, texting their loved ones “see you soon,” choosing window seats, arguing about legr...

I’m shifting schools in 11th grade. Not moving cities. Not changing countries. Just a different building. New uniforms, new teachers, unfamiliar corridors. On paper, it’s nothing. But in my heart? It feels like everything’s about to change. Because what do you do when the reason school feels like home… doesn’t come with you to that new building? I didn’t walk into 8th grade hunting for soul sisters. I wasn’t looking for forever people. But somewhere between those stupid inside jokes, crushing over boys, floor-laughing fits, fight-patchups, and panic-before-exam meltdowns, I found them. And without even realising it, they became home. So yeah, I’m shifting schools. But these girls? They’re not just in my memories of school. They are the memories. They are the magic. They are school. They are home. Sandhya was the first one who made Ahmedabad feel less like I'm being uprooted and more like a peaceful, long vacation that never ends. She’s not the hugs-and-heartfelt-talks ...

I had really hoped that the blog I wrote about the Pahalgam killings would be the first and last one I’d ever write about such a horrendous incident. Alas, I guess, my generation will have to see this.   I’ve never felt this kind of fear before. The kind that lingers in the back of the mind every second of every day, these days.   And I’ve already lived through a pandemic, wars on TV, climate breakdowns, school shootings from afar, and now this—mock drills and blackouts like it’s all part and parcel of living. But it’s not. None of this is. The air feels... wrong. I’ve grown up in a free country, surrounded by laughter, chaos, music, and dreams. I’ve walked home late after dance class, had sudden dinner plans with friends, sat through boring school days only to come home and laugh with my family over lunch and chai. But right now? Everything feels different. Heavy. Tense. Quiet in a way that isn’t peaceful. The India-Pakistan tensions at the moment aren’t just headli...

Hello again,  I hadn't planned on what I wanted to write the next time I wrote. Just mere seconds ago, I ended up reading some of the most disturbing news in depth.  The killings in Pahalgam, Kashmir, took place on 22nd April, Tuesday, 2025.  Kashmir has always had a conflicted history with multiple events, such as this one, repeatedly taking place. The population of historic Kashmir is divided into about 10 million people in Indian-administrated Jammu and Kashmir and 4.5 million in Pakistani-administered Kashmir. There are a further 1.8 million people in the Gilgit-Baltistan autonomous territory, which Pakistan created from northern Kashmir (sourced by BBC News). It is quite evident from the information provided that the Himalayan region of  Kashmir  has been a flashpoint between India and Pakistan for over six decades, making it the most militarised zone in the world today. Now,  as a teenager, a girl, a c...