DIARY OF DREAMS

Oceans have a way of teaching us about endings. A wave rises, it sparkles for a moment, and then it disappears. No clinging, no resistance. Just acceptance. If only life were that simple for us. For Aarohi, letting go never came easy. She wanted things to last. Some mornings don’t start with alarms. They start with mosquitoes. Aarohi was sleeping peacefully, bundled like a burrito in her blanket, until that irritating zzzzzz buzzed past her ear.  Swat. Miss. Swat again. Miss again.  If mosquitoes had a sense of humor, they’d probably be laughing at her. Irritated, she got up, walked to the plug point, and saw the mosquito repellent staring back at her, it was empty.  Not “maybe a little left” empty, but absolutely, hopelessly empty. And yet, what did she do? She unplugged it and plugged it back again thinking it would magically start working again. Satisfied with her “ effort ” she went back to bed. This, my friend, was the theme of her life. When she went to brush her te...

Half of our memories are bottled up in fragrances. Just take a deep breath at the right (or wrong) place and boom,  you’re back in 2008, sitting in a classroom wondering why geometry exists. Some people say photographs hold memories. I disagree.  Fragrances do.   Smell is the ultimate time machine, one sniff and you’re transported to a moment you didn’t even know was hiding in some dusty corner of your brain.  If LOVE had a smell, it wouldn’t be a perfume ad with a slow-motion beach walk. It would be something simple, something ordinary, and yet so deeply yours. It’s funny how a fragrance can become a person. Like that one particular smell that clings to their shirt or sometimes just them.  You hug them, and for a second the world doesn’t matter, because that smell is home. And it’s not just romantic love, I’m talking about your mom’s dupatta, carrying that gentle scent of detergent, talcum powder, and comfort that makes you feel safe even when you’re falling a...

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of pouring rainfall. Everything else was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of stillness that feels deliberate, like the universe is holding its breath. I sat up slowly, disoriented — not scared, but unsettled. Like I had been pulled out of sleep too early, like something unfinished has been paused inside me. I slipped out of bed and sat on the cold floor for a minute. Not sure why. Just sat there , staring into the dark room, listening to the rain, waiting for… I don’t know what. The clock said 3:13 a.m. Of course it did. The hour where nothing good happens but everything real begins. My throat felt dry — not just thirsty, but hollow. I reached for my water bottle on the bedside. Empty! That’s not usual. I almost always fill my bottle before bed. Always. That small routine had never failed. But tonight… it had. Or I had. Or something else had. I frowned, already feeling that strange sensation in my gut , the kind you get when you notice ...

🌻 Summer Vacations Are Coming… But So Is Work There’s a certain sound that echoes in the soul of every desi adult around May-end. It’s not a koel. It’s not a plane. It’s your inner child whispering: “Beta… June aa gaya. Suitcase nikaal.” But plot twist: I’m no longer a school kid. I’m no longer a college student. I’m a full-time, salaried, tax-paying corporate prisoner Sorry, I mean “professional.”  And this June-July? It’s not summer vacation. It’s just... two months of heatstroke, heartbreak, and work emails. Last year was my first summer as a working adult. And let me tell you—it hit harder than a chalk duster hurled by an angry mathematics teacher. What even happened !? There was a time when “summer” meant freedom. Like actual, Constitution-approved freedom. The last day of school felt like a climax scene,shirt untucked, bag dragging, hair sweating, heart dreaming. You walked out like a Bollywood hero exiting a blast. Except the explosion was just sweaty kids and th...

Someone said, “20 years ago.” I said, “Yeah, the 1980s.” They said, “No… 2005.” And suddenly, I needed to settle down. It was another Existential Crises I did not see Coming. Because… what do you mean 2005 was twenty years ago , the year I was obsessing over playing Snake on my father's Nokia phone?  The year of downloading songs from websites, MP3 players, flip phones, and friendship bands. That’s my childhood, not history! And collecting glitter pens, is now a two-decade-old memory ? Time is not flying. It’s teleporting. In just three months, I’ll be 23.  Twenty-three. When my parents were 23, they were married. At 24, they had a child. They were raising a tiny human at this age. They had wedding albums. Tax-saving plans and of course matching curtain sets. They were running households, attending PTA meetings, buying mixer grinders. Meanwhile, I consider a day successful if I remember to drink enough water and don’t accidentally nap for five hours. Moreover I am...

(Gentle*)MEN – The Unsung Heroes We Never Wrote Songs About CHAPTER 1 Ye chand sa roshan chehra, zulfon ka rang sunehra… Gulaabi aankhen jo teri dekhi… Aankhon mein teri ajab si ajab si adayein hain… Ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga… I know, I know; you’re probably wondering why I’m throwing Bollywood’s most poetic praises for women into a blog about men. The title clearly says “GentleMen,” so where’s the relevance? Why am I being so unfair to the title? But you know what’s truly unfair? The sheer absence of Bollywood songs praising men. Women get compared to the moon, the stars, fragrant roses, and even bijli (lightning) when things get extra dramatic. But men? Silence. Nothing. At best, they’re called Majnu if they love too much or Devdas if they drink about it. Today, I want to change that. This is about  GentleMen,  not the ones who roar like action heroes, but the ones who quietly exist, making life a little easier, a little safer, and a little more beautiful for the pe...