DIARY OF DREAMS

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 t...

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 people ar...

There are some laughs that stay with you forever, echoing in the quiet corners of your mind. No matter how many people you meet, these laughs remain etched in your memories, a testament to the bonds that shape us. This is a story of Ashi and Manya—two women who, despite their differences, showed the world what true friendship looks like.   CHAPTER-1 Ashi and Manya met on the first day of college, thrown together as roommates in the chaotic hostel of their engineering institute. Ashi was the kind of girl who could make friends with a wall. Her laugh—loud, unapologetic, and infectious—was her trademark. She had a habit of checking her reflection in every shiny surface she passed.  Not for the desire of attention—no, no, she wasn’t   that   kind of person. But if there was a reflective surface anywhere between her hostel room and the classroom, she would   definitely   check her hair. Mess mirror? Check. Someone’s scooty mirror? Check. The glass windows o...

CHAPTER-1 Ananya and Kabir lived in the same bustling city, leading lives as parallel as train tracks, yet never quite meeting.  Ananya, a young graphic designer, often got lost in deadlines, promising herself she’d enjoy life “when things settled down.” She had a cupboard full of unworn dresses with tags still attached and a shelf of scented candles that had gathered so much dust. “Special days” she would mutter, even though her calendar seemed allergic to them. Kabir, a software engineer, was no better. His bucket list was like a museum—filled with things he admired but never touched. Learning to play the guitar? On hold. Hiking in the mountains? “Next summer, for sure,” he’d say every year. His fancy sneakers stayed protected in their box, and his vacation fund was always raided by “more practical” expenses. Their worlds collided one fateful Saturday at a small bookstore. Outside the bookstore there was a small chai ki tapri where Rajesh bhaiya and his daughter used to sel...