Just Writing Stuff Down

I’ve been dancing since I was four years old. Back then, Navratri was just about twirling around in a frock, clapping completely offbeat, and thinking I was the star of the garba ground. But the older you get, the more things change. Suddenly it’s not just about dance—it’s about outfits. Looking good becomes… important. Matlab ekdum “main heroine hoon” vibes. That’s when the real drama starts. Weeks before Navratri, the whole house becomes a fashion studio. Chaniya trials, blouse alterations, messy rooms full of jewellery sprawled everywhere, mix-and-match accessories ka dukan. You’ll plan an entire “lehenga schedule”—Day 1 this, Day 2 that—only to panic when you’re actually getting ready and end up changing the whole plan. Then comes the pre-ground rituals: pass ka jugaad, matching bindis, eyeliner wings that never wing right, lipstick ka shade confusion, then taking photos while mom screams from the hall because “traffic lagega!” And bro, the traffic… it’s like the whole city is head...

Today's one of those days where I wake up and my heart does this weird little flip. Not the good kind. The kind that reminds you someone's missing from the world. It's my grandmother's birthday. Diddu. My warrior. My absolute favourite human who ever existed. And look, I could write this whole dramatic post about grief and loss and all that heavy stuff. But honestly? That's not what she'd want. She'd probably roll her eyes, sip her wine, and tell me to stop being so serious. So instead, I'm going to tell you about the most incredible woman I've ever known. Picture this: a woman battling a gazillion problems, and I mean BATTLING it, who still managed to be the most joyful person in any room. While everyone around her was falling apart, she was cracking jokes, planning family dinners, and making sure everyone else was okay first, always putting others first. Always making sure no school gap goes boring! That was Diddu. A force of nature wrapped in love...

Olaaaa, I’m bored. It's nothing new, but I thought I'd let everyone know.  Ah yes. That time of year again. The time when the universe collectively decides: “Let’s torture students and make them question all their life choices.” Red Bull/coffee/chai replaces water, sleep schedules vanish like a magician’s rabbit, and suddenly, even folding your underwear drawer feels like productivity. Welcome to exam season. And look, I know. I know mujhe abhi padhna chahiye. Like right now. Notes khol ke, syllabus revise karke, ekdum focused student ban kar. But instead? Here I am, writing this nonsense because ranting on the internet is easier than reading one page of Political Science. Priorities. Because here’s the thing — exams are not just about studying. Nah. They’re about the rituals of not studying.  That moment where you open your book, stare at the first line for ten minutes, then suddenly decide to clean your table because obviously a neat table will help you understand Freud b...

Just today, I was scrolling through Instagram—bored, as usual—and one of those random influencer reels popped up. You know the type: same-looking as all the others, a dress that’s falling out from everywhere, some cheap trending song playing, the whole “pick me, I’m hot” vibe screaming at you. Usually, I’d double-tap—because the transitions are nice, the aesthetics are appealing, and sure, the whole “look at me” energy is entertaining. But today? I clicked   not interested . And it hit me. Just because someone in my class, or a girl online, is obsessed with this influencer doesn’t mean I have to be too. I realized I’d been influenced before, enjoying things I never really had an opinion on. I enjoy dark humor, for instance—stuff most people call “offensive.” And yet, there I was, mindlessly liking content because the world told me it was hot, desirable, worth my attention. Funny thing about opinions: most of the time, they aren’t even ours. They’re borrowed, recycled, passed around...