Pages From Her Diary

 I read something today that quietly caught me out. A writer — Kritika — wrote about the particular silence of posting something into the world and watching it collect exactly zero reads. That weird, specific heaviness of it. And her conclusion stayed with me: that the reader was never really the point of writing at all. That the person who gains the most from a piece of writing is not whoever reads it — it's the one who wrote it. I sat with that, and then I looked back at the last few weeks of my own evenings, and I felt a little exposed. Because what have I been doing? Berlin. Ved. Light Yagami. One after another, these long late-night posts dressed up as "character analysis." And tonight it's obvious, almost embarrassingly so: none of them were ever about Berlin or Ved or Kira. They were about me. They were me, sitting alone in a city I don't like, taking the mess in my head and quietly bullying it into sentences until it made some kind of sense. Berlin was jus...

So the film spiral I fell into didn't stop at Money Heist One reflection leads to another — that's how it goes when a new city leaves you with too many quiet evenings. Berlin had me thinking about  how  to live, about romancing the moment even when the moment is a strange town and a borrowed flat. And then, almost by accident, the algorithm threw  Tamasha  at me. Imtiaz Ali, 2015, Ranbir and Deepika. A film I'd watched years ago and shrugged off as "nice songs, slow story." I put it on as background noise while eating my dinner. I did not eat much dinner that night. Because this time — and I keep coming back to this,  the second watch is where the real film hides  — I wasn't watching a love story. I was watching a man I recognised. And I didn't like how much I recognised him. You know the setup. Ved meets Tara in Corsica, and they make a beautiful little pact: no real names, no real stories. For one week he gets to be anyone he wants — funny, wild, dramati...

  Two weeks in Bangalore now. Two weeks, and the city still feels like a borrowed jacket — right size on paper, but it just refuses to sit on my shoulders the way Mumbai did. The traffic doesn't make sense, the roads loop into themselves, and every evening the same thought rings in my head — yaar, yeh apni jagah nahi hai . People keep telling me it grows on you. Maybe. For now it just sits on me, heavy, like an unwanted guest who has decided to stay for dinner. So I did what I always do when a place refuses to feel like home. I went back to something that does. I opened Money Heist again. Funny thing about watching anything a second time. The first time, you are a slave to the suspense — racing ahead, eyes glued to what happens next , who lives, who dies, which mask falls when. You swallow the story whole and miss half of it. But the second time, the suspense is gone, and suddenly you have eyes for everything you blew past. The plot stops mattering and the details start scream...

  Five Lines That Stayed A 2 a.m. reading of Kevin Kelly's "68 Bits of Unsolicited Advice" — and the five sentences that refused to let me sleep. It is 2 a.m. The fan is on. The city outside has gone quiet. And I am doing what every adult swears every night they will stop doing — scrolling through old bookmarks on my phone, hoping something I once saved will turn out to still be worth saving. Most of it is junk. And then I tap on a link from months ago: "68 Bits of Unsolicited Advice" by Kevin Kelly — sixty-eight short sentences from a man on his sixty-eighth birthday, written by someone who has clearly travelled vividly and paid attention. Out of all sixty-eight, only five stayed with me by sunrise. These are the five. 1. "When you die, you take absolutely nothing with you except your reputation." I read this and thought of every Indian funeral I have ever been to. The same plastic chairs, the same quiet uncle with the register, the same con...

                       I am not who I think I am I am not who you think I am I am who I think You I think I am The concept of Looking Glass self is a sociological theory that describes how our perception of ourselves is shaped by the feedback we receive from others. According to this theory, we develop an understanding of ourselves based on how we believe others perceive us.this blog is an attempt to  explore the concept of Looking Glass self, its relevance in today's world, and how it affects our interactions with others. What is Looking Glass self? Looking Glass self is a theory developed by Charles Horton Cooley, an American sociologist in the early 1900s. Cooley suggested that we imagine how we appear to others, then use the reactions of others to our appearance to form an opinion about ourselves. Essentially, we are constructing an image of ourselves based on how we think others see us. Relevance in today's ...

Speechless ! As I finished reading the book “ Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom , I could only marvel at the way how the book represented life lessons thru experiences it kind of made me question my own life made me cry and left me in awe . I just couldn’t get over a line from the book …” The truth is, once you learn to die , you learn how to live : which formed a trigger for today’s blog …. Death is a topic that many of us tend to avoid or fear. It is the ultimate unknown and final destination that we cannot escape. Yet to many of us it’s a taboo subject even though it impacts our lives. Scientifically speaking, death is the end of our physical body. It is a natural process that we cannot control. However, spiritually, death is seen as another dimension, and we are not just our body or mind but something more. Despite this perspective, death still brings grief and loss to those who are left behind. The first layer of death ("la muerte chiquita,") is when we become aware o...