Oblivion

We get lost in the tailings of daily life. The laundry that is becoming a mountain, the fridge that needs restocking, and the Roomba that needs to be cleaned. And on top of all of this, there is Mark Zuckerberg trying his fucking best to make you addicted to a social media platform that is known to induce anxiety, fear, and loneliness in people. So we don’t have time. Or so we think. I think sometimes we need to take a giant, deep breath and just look around. Look at where you are. Look at what you have achieved. Appreciate it. Appreciate it not because, oh look, other people don’t even have this, but because, hey, look at you. You got here. You dreamed of being here. You worked to get here. And you did. Take a beat and enjoy it. Somewhere between the laundry and the traffic, we have genuinely forgotten how to enjoy the things we once desperately wanted. For instance, I have been working at Accenture Strategy for about 4–5 months now. I had been applying here for almost three years and...

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...

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...

I have always had a problem with crop tops. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a problem with people wearing them. You do you. I was just never able to comprehend them. For me clothes are mostly functional and comfortable. They can be trendy and fashionable, but comfortable at all costs. I hardly wear anything that makes me feel physically or mentally uncomfortable. This is why I don’t get crop tops. And I know I sound conservative and judgmental, but I’m honestly just coming from a place of trying to understand what about them makes me uncomfortable. So my husband and I are finally watching The Bastards of Bollywood. Great show. And I vocalize this thought to him. We try to figure out why. Both of us being consultants, we started to break the problem down. What I realized is that I don’t mind crop tops, but I cannot understand what beyond the male gaze is the value of this. I am sure people who wear them find them incredibly comfortable. But this begs a bigger question.  To what e...

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...

I am very much a family person. I love my family. I love my immediate family to death, but I also love parts of my extended family. Not that all of us are great, or characters straight out of the movie Hum Saath Saath Hain. We bitch, we gossip, we do panchayat, we take offence, we give offence — the whole nine yards. But somehow, we still manage to be nice to each other. We still manage to love each other through all the lies and backstabbing. We fight over petty things, but we also forgive easily — well, most of us. And we’ve had big fights. Fights where it felt impossible to come back from, and guess what? We came back. We might bitch about each other, but we fiercely protect each other from the world. Yeah, I can bitch about them. Geetika, you keep your trap shut. Think of it as a bunch of us being held together by clay. Sometimes, someone comes loose, but with just a tad bit of water, it’s an easy fix. But of late, I think the clay is starting to harden and become brittle. Guess g...

In my 20s, I was blessed, Whiskey nights and zero rest. Functioning with no sleep Sleep deprived, but perfect knees I track my protein like buried gold, Count my steps like I’m told Gone are they days of stale fries Holding her back *aru cries* By 9pm my body is drained Oh another muscle is sprained. Did I get enough fiber this week?  Going to cult is my only streak! Once I lived on Maggi and junk A quarter of whiskey also drunk Ohh flaxseeds, chia, nuts too, Honestly, who even are you? So here’s to aging, pain and grace, Tracking health like it’s a race. But deep inside, I’m still that vibe— Just now with heat packs by my side. 

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...

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...

Spending a couple of hours in an Apple Store, waiting for my dad's new iPhone to update, turned into an unexpectedly introspective moment. This sleek, glass-walled environment morphs into a stage for human stories, each purchase unfolding its own tale. For some, it's just a routine swap from one model to the next. But for others, it's a milestone—a symbol of ambition, success, and even celebration. I find myself noticing the curious details around me: a steel balti oddly placed on the table, an unexpected relic in this minimalist setting. Nearby, two men with a young child hold onto their new iPhone, looking slightly out of place. For them, it seems like a defining moment—perhaps a reward for their hard work. In another corner, a group of girls gathers around a shiny new pink iPhone, giggling, snapping selfies, and enjoying their new purchase. A newlywed couple sits nearby, their smiles suggesting that the phone in their hands might be a wedding gift, a token for the new ch...

Is happiness the end goal?? You chase happiness. You look for peace. By definition, chasing means you’re trying to catch up to something. There’s urgency, intensity, and often a sense of over-attachment to an outcome. On the other hand, looking feels more observational, deliberate, and calm. These two words alone capture the difference between the concepts they represent. Happiness is fleeting. It’s a moment in time—a spark at night. Beautiful, yes, but always gone too quickly. Peace, though, is enduring. It’s not a quick flicker; it’s a slow, steady burn that keeps you warm through the night. When you’re chasing happiness, it’s often tied to an external event or achievement: landing that promotion, finally taking that dream vacation, or experiencing a perfect moment. And while those things bring bursts of joy, they don’t last. You hit the milestone, and then what? You’re back on the treadmill, chasing again. Peace, though, is different. It doesn’t hinge on what’s happening around you....

  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.

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...

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...

I am someone who generally feels very cold. A testament to this is that I would wear a windcheater in Goa in August and September when it would rain because I would feel slightly cold. I remember as a child, we went on a family trip to Himachal Pradesh and we had gone to through Rohtang Pass and then to a valley with a lot of snow where people were playing with snow. I remember being out for 5 minutes and then turning blue. My memories from the rest of the day are lying down in the car wearing every sweater possible and every blanket my parents could find, while the rest of my family were out playing in the snow. Again, I feel very cold.  Now, contrary to me, my husband, the Mallu, who has lived all his life mostly below the Tropic of Capricorn, DOES NOT feel cold at all. He will be roaming around the house in December in shorts, while I will be putting on my thermal socks. I really think he is a husky who would thoroughly enjoy extremely cold places. His birthday is coming up this...

We have to get our upper lips waxed and our eyebrows threaded And remove every single strand of stray hair and the world, the world calls it much-needed "self-care" Men in boxer shorts is totally okay and their ball sacks are free agents but a visible bra strap is a call for some chiding and our camel toes, ohh they definitely need some hiding Tanning is a very big problem and blackheads are the mortal enemy There are different creams as per the time of day Girl, without perfect skin, how ever will you slay? Looks are what “matters” the most for us Your beauty decides your worth   Honestly, no one cares if you are feeling fine Well, of course, the industry has 400 billion dollars on the line These double standards have become the norm boys will be boys, but girls gotta stay in form So buck up woman, it is time to dress, We've got the whole damn world to impress.  

In the realm of emotions, the animated film "Inside Out" brought to light the concept of core memories—those critical moments in life that shape our identities and stay etched in our minds forever. As I sit here during an office outing I helped organize, and yet find myself on the periphery of groups, I find companionship in a secluded sofa outside the main hall. I sit here in a reflective mood and scroll Instagram. Well ,that is my generation people. So, here I am scrolling Instagram , and I come across a story of a friend's dad retirement, who coincidentally was also my dad's colleague. I am suddenly transported back a couple of months ago to my own father's retirement. As I reflect on this memory, I know there is this one particular moment that I remember distinctly and fondly. And somehow I know that I am going to remember this moment for the rest of my life, till the day I die. The day was filled with speeches, photos, gifts, and a cascade of "thank you...

Bite-sized Review:   Yellowface, picked up on my brother's recommendation, initially lingered untouched on my table. The narrative follows Athena and June, writers tethered by an unusual connection. As June gains success riding on her "best" friend's demise, the book explores themes of ownership and plagiarism. Despite a slower pace after 200 pages, it remains a riveting tale that unexpectedly jolts, leaving you intrigued. A compelling and engaging read. Full Review: I picked up Yellowface on my brother's recommendations.  Purchasing it on instinct during a shopping excursion with my childhood friend, the book rested on my table for several days, patiently awaiting attention.  I somehow did not feel like picking it up. It has not been a great book year for me, and maybe I wasn't ready for another disappointment. But after about two weeks, I decided to finally open the book and start reading. A mere five pages in, it showed the hint of a promise and seemed rem...

Social Media is eliminating the need for us to use words and form full sentences. We can just like an update or applaud an accomplishment without so much as uttering two words or worse thinking two words. Our reactions have become standard and templatized either in the form of emojis or a chatbot writing things for you and you just have to press send.  The Emoji-fication of our lives. Gone are the days when loved ones would write pages over pages to each other or coming back to reality, those irritating and long messages on WhatsApp. The weight of our expressions and responses is now carried by little yellow digital icons and a variety of ways to express them. They seem to be creeping into professional conversations as well.  Chatbots speaking to chatbots. In the realm of generative AI and omnipresent chatbots waiting eagerly to finish your sentences, much like a head-over-heels love couple during their honeymoon phase, we are soon going to forget how to write. I remember last...

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...