Beyond Boredom

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 I am bored out of my mind,
Only if there was something to find,
A puzzle or riddle of any kind,
To leave this mind-numbing boredom behind.






My brain is starved for some stimulation.
A physics problem or some math calculation,
To engage my mind in deep concentration,
And break free from this dull stagnation.

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All time highs

General people appreciation post

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 I cannot get to sleep, so I decided to sit in the balcony. And it is frikking cold, and there is music playing in my room, well where is there isn't. I have recently been feeling a lot of appreciation for the people in my life and wanted to pen it down.  Two days ago I got my much awaited first-ever promotion. I was alone at home when I got the call. I was beyond elated. I called all my friends and family to share the good news and then sat in front of my laptop. Then I decided to call up a friend who didn't respond to my somewhat cryptic message "call aa gaya". I call her and give her the news and the first words out of her mouth were "saman uthao apna aur aa jao" which translates to pick up your things and come over ASAP. And that is all we want in life, someone to say that to us. I love this woman very very much.  Umm secondly, I don't know if this happens with everyone or just me, but in the last couple of years, I have gotten really close to my cou...
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Where are the "Friends" now?

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It's been 11 years since Monica and Chandler moved out of the apartment. That was one big moment for the group, after which they all really did grow up. Their lives went into six different directions, but they still try to keep in touch. The keeping in touch does not go very well with their busy lives. But they try to meet at least once a month at the coffee house, and swap stories like old times. This has now become a tradition. Also they always always go to Monica's place for thanksgiving where she cooks them a delicious meal and the kids run around and have fun! Monica and Chandler moved to the suburbs with the twins, who are now 11 years old. Monica is not only a chef at one of the best restaurants in NY but has published two cookbooks as well. Chandler who started on a new career path is now booming in that field, He is working at a great advertising firm, but he prefers to work from home (at least half the time) and stay with the kids. They have a perfect littl...
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Think Non-Fiction is Boring? Think Again.

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You think non-fiction books are dry?  You think there’s no story, no suspense?  Just a bunch of facts or perspectives with nothing to keep you hooked?  Then you are very wrong, my friend! Non-fiction books can be incredibly addictive. Once you step out of the fictional world and into the reality of non-fiction, you’ll see the scales tip. Every decision carries weight. Every move has to be calculated, because unlike in fiction, when someone messes up in real life, the consequences are real. Watching people factor in risks, make tricky, bold, or even borderline insane decisions will leave you anxious for them. It doesn’t matter that it happened years ago—you’re right there with them in that moment of panic and uncertainty. Non-fiction also teaches you empathy in a way fiction can’t always achieve. You live through the triumphs and failures of real people, understanding the weight of their choices, the courage in their risks, and the humanity in their flaws. You begin to se...
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The Room of Forgotten Things

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Last week, I had a really lovely dream and woke up nostalgic and happy, with almost a smile. Context: I took a week-long break from work, so my mind was quite at ease and not worrying about meetings and deliverables.  Alright, so coming back to my dream. I am in my college room (the one I lived in during my 3rd year). I was maybe visiting campus or coming back after a break, but that wasn't very clear to me. Alright, so I am in my room, and it is very cluttered and full of things such as books, photographs, clothes, guitars, harmoniums, pens, notebooks with a clothing line going right through the middle of the room, and whatnot.  As I took a closer look at the things in the room and checked the cupboard, it started returning to me. These are things that I have lost or forgotten about, all sitting in that room for me to discover and explore. There is a pile of books, and atop is a Manchester United book that I had gifted my husband last year on his birthday while we were in Goa...
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The Authority Problem

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What a wonderful world it would be if we could send every man who refuses to acknowledge the existence of an alternate opinion or way of doing things to a rehabilitation centre. I am certain we have all had our fair share of experiences with such men. More so as women, because somehow, when we present an opposing view with confidence, there is wonder in their eyes.  It is the expression a child has when taken to Disneyland for the first time; utter disbelief, minus the excitement. Their minds, rusted shut by decades of unquestioned authority, struggle to process the audacity of a woman not only having an opinion, but having the nerve to say it out loud. Appalling. Off with her head.  But of course, this remains nothing more than a fleeting thought in their minds. In reality, they either ignore you entirely, or if they have had some degree of social conditioning, they acknowledge your point and promptly overrule it. There is also a third kind, the most dangerous of the lot, the...
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India is Akbar Birbal and Tenali Rama: हमने कभी फर्क नहीं किया

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A lot has been happening in our country over the last few weeks. There has been a lot of talk about it in every form of media available. I myself have been giving a lot of thought to the processions happening all over the country. It is a very complex and complicated issue. On the one hand, I cannot even begin to understand and comprehend the emotions of hundreds of millions of people across the world, who have their emotions invested in this and their joy on the 22nd of January and Ram Mandir. And my love to all of them. It has been a long battle, and they finally got what they had always wanted.  In a serendipitous moment last night, while engrossed in reading Walter Isaacson's "Elon Musk," I came across a chapter about Twitter, talking about Elon Musk and Parag Agarwal. This prompted a train of thought in my mind about the millions of Indians relocating to the USA annually. I imagined a future where, perhaps, a century or two from now, people of Indian origin would con...
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That Bulb Needs Changing.

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That bulb needs changing. Yes, that is correct. And I think this one line is going to sum up my experiences as an adult. This bulb could be a metaphor, or in fact, it could be a real bulb. What I am trying to indicate is that being an adult means that something, somewhere in life, is broken and needs fixing. Always. All the time. I don’t think this is a phase, I think this is a requirement for adult life. As soon as you enter your late twenties and early thirties, all the appliances in your house conspire together to never let you be at peace. They talk and collude. They create a problem small enough to be annoying, but not big enough to warrant immediate action. It exists in that perfect sweet spot of constant background annoyance. It has been an okay-ish day. My "micro-manager" gave me feedback on how I failed to peer into his brain, picking the exact words he would have used in an email to the client. Yes, that is an actual expectation. (Sam Altman? Elon Musk? Can we get m...
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Five and a Half Years and a Lifetime Ago

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As I make my way from the airport to Bangalore city, nearly six years after I departed from it, memories flood back to me. I reminisce about the time I spent here, recalling one of my closest friends who used to reside near the airport, close to that massive mall. Instinctively, I yearn to visit her - the version of her from back then, in that old neighborhood where I used to travel long hours over the weekends just to be with her. She was like a home to me during those times, always there when I needed her, whether it was after getting too high from smoking up or during moments of conflict with others. We would spend hours watching random TV shows and engaging in heartfelt conversations. Mornings would find us cuddled together, reluctant to face the realities of our adult lives and the responsibilities that accompanied them. I remember driving through the chaotic Bangalore traffic for two hours just to be by her side when she was sick and alone. Our bond was akin to that of family; in...
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Reclaiming Pink On Our Own Terms.

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For many of us women, the imposition of pink in our childhood felt unwelcome. It wasn’t just that pink was the color assigned to girls or that we looked undeniably cute in it—it was what the color stood for. It marked us as different from the boys, a quiet but constant reminder that we were expected to be softer, gentler—or maybe, weaker. The words “you throw like a girl” or “stop crying like a girl” reinforced this narrative, reducing our identity to something lesser, something to be corrected. People treated us differently. Everyone treated us differently. Boys were allowed to be just that—boys. But we, the girls, had limits. No one expected the boys to help with ghar ka kaam , but we were encouraged—no, expected —to absorb these values from an early age. We weren’t supposed to be rowdy, loud, or “boisterous.” We were taught to be quiet, calm, and graceful. Pretty. Pretty in pink. Over time, I started to detach from pink, pushing away everything it symbolized—everything associa...
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Bonded in Ink

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Traditions make us feel closer to those who came before us, keeping their presence alive in small, familiar ways. They remind us that we’re part of something bigger—a history, a community, a shared experience. They give us a sense of belonging, grounding us in who we are and where we come from. I recently got a tattoo on my wrist. A Marathi word written in Malayalam. Since then, every time I look at it, I think of my grandmother—my father’s mother. She passed away when I was 12. Next year, it’ll be two decades since she left. We weren’t particularly close, just the usual grandmother-granddaughter relationship. She’d ask me to save sweets for my dad, and I’d tease her by eating them right in front of her. Just to annoy her. When she was paralyzed on her left side, I was a little scared. She invented a game—letting me pinch her left arm as hard as I wanted because she couldn’t feel it, but on the right, she’d react dramatically. I remember her in her little granny bed, sometimes scold...
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