और हम सब, एक-दूसरे की राहों में बस यूँ ही नहीं आते।
कोई मिलता है तो हमारे अंदर बंद पड़ी किसी खिड़की को खोल देता है।
कोई चला जाता है, और जाते-जाते हमें हमारी ही ताक़त से मिलवा जाता है।
कुछ लोग मुट्ठी भर वक़्त लेकर आते हैं, मगर यादों की उम्र पूरी ज़िंदगी जितनी दे जाते हैं।
कुछ लोग हर सुबह की तरह होते हैं— चुपचाप आते हैं, और बिना कुछ कहे जीने की वजह बन जाते हैं।
शायद इसलिए अब मैं किसी से मिलने को इत्तफ़ाक़ नहीं मानती।
क्योंकि किस्मत रिश्ते नहीं भेजता, वह सबक भेजता है… मरहम भेजता है… आईना भेजता है… और कभी-कभी, अपना कोई अंश भेज देता है।
इसलिए, जो ठहर गए, उनका शुक्रिया।
जो बिछड़ गए, उनका भी…
क्योंकि हर मुसाफ़िर अपनी मंज़िल से पहले, किसी और की कहानी में एक वजह बनकर ही आता है।
Every Soul Leaves Something Behind
Life is a long journey…
And perhaps none of us crosses another’s path by accident.
Some people arrive only to open a window within us that we never knew had been closed.
Some leave, yet in their leaving, they introduce us to a strength we never knew we had.
There are those who stay for only a handful of moments, yet leave behind memories that outlive years.
And then there are those who are like the morning light— they quietly become a part of our days, asking for nothing, yet giving us countless reasons to keep going.
Maybe that’s why I no longer believe that meeting someone is mere coincidence.
Because fate doesn’t just send people.
It sends lessons. It sends healing. It sends mirrors that help us see ourselves more clearly.
And every once in a while, it sends someone who quietly changes the way we see life.
So, to those who stayed… thank you.
And to those who had to leave… thank you, too.
Because every traveller becomes a part of someone else’s story before continuing on their own journey.
And perhaps, that was the reason they were meant to cross our path.
“Travel the world.” “Own a beach house.” “Retire early.”
.
Meanwhile, I’m over here dreaming about finding my phone on the first try, remembering why I walked into the kitchen, and drinking one cup of hot chai before it turns into iced tea. The bar is surprisingly low these days. 😄
.
But jokes aside…
.
My biggest dream isn’t to become famous or collect followers like Pokémon cards.
.
It’s to build a life where my family feels safe, my heart feels light, and my creativity never packs its bags and leaves without notice.
.
I want to keep writing words that make someone smile on a difficult day, feel understood in a lonely moment, or simply pause and think, “Wait… did she just read my mind?”
.
Because if one stranger, somewhere in the world, finds comfort in something I wrote, that’s a far better reward than any trophy, trend, or algorithm.
.
After all, algorithms can be a lot like some relationships in life—they’ll put you on a pedestal when they need you, and the moment they don’t, they’ll quietly set you aside as if they never knew you at all.
.
I’ve also reached that age where my dream includes things that once sounded terribly boring:
A peaceful home. Good health. Laughter that comes easily. Plants that refuse to die. Wi-Fi that doesn’t buffer. And knees that don’t negotiate every staircase.
.
Turns out adulthood has a very strange way of editing our bucket list.
.
So no…
.
My biggest dream isn’t to be known by everyone.
.
It’s to leave behind words that quietly stay with someone long after they’ve forgotten my name.
What’s a promise you made to yourself that you’ve actually kept?
The promise to myself I never broke wasn’t about waking up at 5 a.m., sticking to every New Year’s resolution, or finally resisting the urge to buy “just one more” plant.
We make promises all the time.
“I’ll start on Monday.”
“I’ll sleep early.”
“I’ll stop buying plants because there’s no space left on the balcony.”
That last one? Let’s not discuss it.
But the promise to myself I never broke wasn’t about waking up at 5 a.m., drinking more water, or finally resisting the temptation to bring home “just one more” plant.
The truth is, the hardest promises aren’t the ones we make to other people. They’re the quiet little promises we whisper to ourselves when nobody is listening.
I’ve broken my fair share of them. Some lasted a week. Some didn’t even survive until lunch.
But a few… somehow stayed.
Not because I have extraordinary willpower. (I don’t.)
But because they quietly became a part of who I am.
Looking back, I realized the promise to myself I never broke wasn’t really one promise at all. It became a collection of little promises that slowly shaped the person I wanted to be.
The Promise to Myself I Never Broke Began with Curiosity
Age has tried very hard to convince me that I should now be an “expert.”
Curiosity had other plans.
I still Google random things at midnight.
I still wonder how flowers know exactly when they bloom.
I still fall into rabbit holes that begin with “I’ll just check one thing” and somehow end with ancient civilizations, octopuses, or why toast always lands butter-side down.
Grey hair may arrive without permission.
A curious mind, however, is entirely optional.
And I’d like to keep mine.
I Promised Myself I’d Keep Making Things
Not everything needs to become a masterpiece.
Sometimes a few written words are enough.
Sometimes it’s a sketch.
Sometimes it’s crochet.
Sometimes it’s watering a plant that stubbornly pretends it’s on vacation.
Creating reminds me that I exist for more than ticking boxes on a to-do list.
The world celebrates finished products.
I secretly celebrate beginnings.
I Promised Myself I’d Never Let Age Decide My Joy
Apparently, growing older comes with an invisible instruction manual.
“Act your age.”
Wear sensible shoes.
Don’t laugh too loudly.
Don’t dance in the kitchen.
Who wrote these rules?
Because I’d like a word.
If something makes me smile, I’m keeping it.
My knees occasionally file complaints.
My heart hasn’t submitted any.
I Promised Myself I’d Collect Memories, Not Perfect Moments
Perfect days are suspicious.
Real life spills tea.
People arrive late.
Photos blur.
Rain ruins plans.
Cake collapses.
Someone always blinks.
And years later…
Those are exactly the stories everyone laughs about.
Perfection is forgettable.
Memories never are.
I Promised Myself I’d Keep Showing Up
Not every day feels magical.
Some mornings, motivation doesn’t even bother sending a text.
Still…
You get up.
You write one paragraph.
Water one plant.
Read one page.
Smile once.
Tiny victories are terribly underrated.
Life isn’t won in giant dramatic scenes.
It’s quietly built in ordinary Tuesdays.
I Promised Myself I’d Keep a Little Corner of Childhood Alive
I still get excited over the first rain.
I still smile when I hear an old song.
I still stop to admire an unusually shaped cloud.
And don’t even get me started on books that smell like childhood.
Growing older is compulsory.
Growing boring?
That’s entirely negotiable.
I Promised Myself I’d Never Rush Through Beautiful Moments
Life keeps telling us to hurry.
Faster.
Quicker.
What’s next?
But some things refuse to bloom on our schedule.
A sunset.
A heartfelt conversation.
The fragrance of morning coffee.
A flower that opens only for a single magical night.
The best moments in life don’t ask us to speed up.
They quietly ask us to stay.
And I’ve learned that staying is sometimes the bravest thing we can do.
The Promise to Myself I Never Broke: A Collection of Small Promises
I’ve forgotten birthdays.
Missed deadlines.
Burnt toast.
Killed a few innocent houseplants.
(They deserved better.)
But the promise to myself I never broke has survived.
To stay curious.
To keep creating.
To laugh loudly.
To notice small wonders.
To make memories.
To show up.
To protect the tiny child inside me who still believes ordinary days can suddenly become extraordinary.
Because the day I stop doing those things…
I’ll still be growing older.
But I won’t really be living.
So if someone ever asks me about the promise to myself I never broke, my answer won’t be just one sentence.
It will be this way of living.
And that’s one promise I have no intention of breaking.
If you could have dinner with any fictional character, who would it be?
If I could have dinner with any fictional characters, I wouldn’t choose a wizard, a detective, or a king.
.
I would choose Nagraj and Super Commando Dhruva.
.
Not because they were superheroes.
.
But because they quietly became a part of my childhood.
.
For children growing up in the 80s and 90s, comics weren’t just something we read. They were an emotion. A new Raj Comics release could make an ordinary week feel extraordinary. There were no online stores, no instant deliveries, and certainly no digital copies waiting on our phones.
.
There was only hope… and patience.
.
Every visit to the stationery shop began with the same question, “Bhaiya, nayi comic aayi kya?” Sometimes he’d smile and hand us a fresh copy. Other times came the heartbreaking reply, “Kal aana.”
.
And somehow… we actually believed tomorrow would arrive faster.
.
Buying every comic wasn’t an option for most of us, so we created our own little library of friendships. We borrowed comics from cousins, exchanged them with neighbours, and waited our turn like it was the most important appointment in the world. If someone got the latest Nagraj before us, we practically counted the hours until they finished reading it.
.
Those comics travelled through many hands before reaching ours. The covers became soft, the corners folded, and sometimes a page carried someone’s name scribbled in blue ink. None of it mattered. The adventure inside was still as magical as ever.
.
Those fictional characters didn’t simply defeat villains. They defeated boring summer afternoons, power cuts, lazy Sundays, and endless holidays. Nagraj made impossible things seem possible. Dhruva proved that intelligence, courage, and compassion could be superpowers too.
.
I still remember reading under a blanket with a torch long after everyone thought I had gone to sleep. “Just one more page,” I’d promise myself. One page became ten, and before I knew it, the adventure was over… leaving me desperate for the next issue.
.
We argued over who was stronger. We imagined crossovers that never happened. We became heroes in our own games, saving imaginary worlds before dinner was served.
.
Looking back, I don’t miss just the comics.
I miss the waiting.
I miss the excitement of spotting a brand-new issue on the shelf.
I miss the joy of exchanging comics with friends as if we were trading priceless treasures.
.
Most of all, I miss that little child who believed every story with all her heart.
.
So if I could have dinner with any fictional characters, my table would have two extra chairs—one for Nagraj and one for Super Commando Dhruva.
.
Not because I want to know how they saved the world.
But because I want to thank them for making mine so unforgettable.
If someone asked me ten years ago, “What’s the best purchase you’ve ever made?” I probably would have said something sensible. Maybe jewellery. Maybe a good mixer grinder. (Let’s be honest, we all go through that phase.)
Today, my answer is surprisingly simple.
My iPad Pro.
Now, before you roll your eyes and think, “Oh great, another person obsessed with gadgets,” hear me out.
I didn’t buy it because I wanted to look cool. I bought it because I wanted to draw. Little did I know that this sleek piece of technology would quietly become my therapist, my sketchbook, my entertainment system, and occasionally, the reason for family arguments.
A few years ago, I was going through a difficult phase. I was quite unwell, and there were days when I didn’t feel like doing much of anything. When you’re sick for a long time, even your favourite hobbies begin to feel distant. That’s when my iPad stepped in.
Whenever I had a little energy, I picked up my Apple Pencil and started illustrating.
Something magical happened.
For those few hours, I wasn’t thinking about medicines, doctor’s appointments, or how miserable I felt. I was choosing colours, drawing outfits, creating faces, and getting completely lost in my own little world. It didn’t cure me, of course, but it certainly made the difficult days much easier to live through.
Even today, if someone in my family can’t find me, they don’t bother searching the entire house.
They simply look for the glowing rectangle.
There I am.
Drawing.
Experimenting with new brushes.
Or confidently telling myself, “Just five more minutes.”
We all know how that story ends.
Three hours later, I’m still sitting in exactly the same place.
My iPad has another important responsibility too.
It hosts our family Ludo matches.
Now, if you’ve never fought with your loved ones over someone sending your token back to the starting point, have you really experienced family bonding? We laugh, we argue, we accuse each other of cheating, and then we immediately start another game.
It’s become a family tradition.
Looking back, I realise I didn’t just buy a device.
I bought countless hours of creativity, laughter, distraction, and comfort.
Some purchases lose their excitement after a few weeks.
This one somehow became more valuable with time.
If I had to choose just one thing, my iPad Pro would always be the best purchase I ever made.
Without a doubt, my iPad Pro has been the best purchase I’ve ever made.
And yes… every other thing I’ve ever bought is probably feeling a little jealous.
What’s the funniest misunderstanding you’ve ever been part of?
Why Does This Always Happen to Me?
Why does this always happen to me? I honestly ask myself this question more often than I’d like to admit.
If misunderstandings were an Olympic sport, I’d probably have a lifetime achievement award by now.
Seriously…
Why does this always happen to me?
There are people who walk into a room and instantly recognize everyone.
They know names.
They remember faces.
They somehow even remember conversations from years ago.
And then there’s me…
Living life like I’m permanently in the middle of a social quiz that I never studied for.
The Wave That Was Never Meant for Me
It usually starts with someone looking in my direction.
They’re smiling.
They’re waving.
Now, you’d think experience would have taught me not to assume anything.
But no.
Every single time, my brain confidently whispers,
“She’s smiling at you… and waving at you.”
Never mind the fact that I’ve never seen her before.
Not once.
Not at school.
Not in the neighborhood.
Not anywhere.
But the moment someone smiles or waves in my direction, my brain immediately decides,
“Yes… she definitely knows you.”
So I smile back.
I wave back.
With complete confidence.
And then…
With absolutely perfect timing…
She walks right past me to greet the person standing behind me.
For a split second, I just stand there…
Still smiling.
Still waving.
Questioning every life decision that brought me to that exact moment.
I don’t even get embarrassed anymore.
I’ve become an expert at pretending I was simply stretching my arm… or admiring a tree… or looking at literally anything except the awkwardness I just created.
You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now.
I haven’t.
Motherhood Changed the Game
Just when I thought my accidental waving incidents couldn’t get any more embarrassing…
I became a mom.
That’s when a whole new category of misunderstandings entered my life.
Every now and then, another mom walks up to me with the warmth of an old friend.
“How have you been?”
“How are the kids?”
“I saw your post the other day.”
She remembers little details about my life.
She knows exactly who I am.
Meanwhile, my brain has already launched a full-scale investigation.
Who is she?
A school parent?
Someone from tuition?
A birthday party from years ago?
A school event?
Or have we simply spent years smiling at each other during pick-up and drop-off?
I search my memory for the tiniest clue.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Yet somehow, the conversation flows beautifully.
I smile.
I nod.
I laugh at all the right places.
I answer every question with complete confidence while silently praying she never asks,
“You do remember me… don’t you?”
Because that would be the exact moment my soul would quietly leave my body.
And that’s exactly when I find myself thinking…
Why Does This Always Happen to Me?
They seem to know everything about me…
…while I know almost nothing about them.
Maybe I’m terrible with faces.
Maybe motherhood introduces us to so many people that our brains simply run out of storage.
Or maybe this is just my life’s favorite prank.
Whatever the reason…
I still haven’t learned my lesson.
The next time someone smiles in my direction…
I’ll probably smile right back.
Because apparently, hope has a better memory than I do.
So tell me…
Why does this always happen to me?
Or am I not the only one?
Has someone ever waved at the person behind you while you happily waved back?
Or had a complete stranger walk up and start a conversation as if you’ve known each other forever… while your brain desperately searched for a clue?
Please tell me I’m not alone.
Because if this only happens to me…
I might actually start checking who’s standing behind me before I smile back.
My Screen Time Finally Grew Up. If someone had shown me my screen time report a few months ago, WhatsApp and Facebook would have been sitting comfortably at the top. These days, WordPress and Procreate have completely changed that story.
.
My screen time report has had quite the personality makeover.
.
Not too long ago, WhatsApp, Instagram and Facebook proudly competed for the top spot. There was always a message to reply to, a reel to watch, or a post to scroll past while pretending I was “just checking something.”
.
Now they’ve quietly stepped aside.
.
These days, WordPress and Procreate have taken over my screen.
.
WordPress has turned into that strict editor who is never fully satisfied. One moment I’m fixing a typo, the next I’m rewriting an entire paragraph because one sentence suddenly feels “not quite right.” Then comes SEO, categories, tags, featured images… somehow a five-minute edit becomes an hour-long adventure.
.
Procreate isn’t any better.
.
It lures me in with the promise of one tiny change. Just brighten that flower. Adjust one shadow. Make that line a little smoother. Before I know it, I’ve zoomed in so far that I’m perfecting details no one else will probably notice.
.
Together, these two apps have mastered the art of making time disappear.
.
Every Sunday, my screen time report arrives looking slightly judgmental, as if it’s waiting for me to feel guilty.
.
But honestly?
.
I don’t.
.
I still catch myself opening social media out of habit. Old habits don’t disappear overnight. But more often than not, I find myself returning to WordPress to polish another paragraph or opening Procreate to experiment with a new illustration. That’s a habit I’m actually happy to nurture.
.
Because this screen time isn’t leaving me with blurry memories of endless scrolling. It’s leaving me with blog posts I’m proud of, illustrations that make me smile, and ideas that once lived only in my head.
.
So yes, my screen time is still embarrassingly high.
It’s just no longer spent watching everyone else’s creativity.
.
It’s spent building my own.
.
And somehow, that feels like time very well spent.
Which outdated technology do you miss the most, and why?
Which outdated technology do I miss the most?
Outdated technology wasn’t always convenient. It tested our patience, refused to cooperate, and occasionally stopped working for no apparent reason. Yet somehow, it gave us something modern gadgets rarely do—stories worth telling.
The correct answer is…
Yes.
I miss all of it.
Please don’t make me choose. That’s like asking a grandmother which grandchild she loves the most.
Old technology wasn’t just technology.
It was a full-time family member.
Why Outdated Technology Was So Memorable
The landline had no concept of privacy.
If your friend called, the entire household knew before you did.
Someone would yell from another room…
“Phone! It’s for you!”
By the time you reached it, three people had already guessed who was calling and why.
Then there was the TV antenna.
One brave soul would climb onto the terrace while another stood inside giving directions that made absolutely no sense.
“A little left!”
“No… the OTHER left!”
“Perfect! Don’t move!”
The poor fellow became a human TV stand for the next two hours.
Cassette tapes had anger issues.
Every now and then they’d chew up your favourite song just because they could.
And who came to the rescue?
A pencil.
Imagine explaining to Gen Z that a stationery item once repaired music.
How Old Technology Taught Us Patience
Camera rolls taught us confidence.
You got 36 photos.
No previews.
No filters.
No deleting.
No “Let’s take one more.”
If your eyes were closed…
Congratulations.
That’s your face for the next twenty years.
The internet had a soundtrack.
That legendary dial-up noise.
Let It wasn’t pleasant.
It sounded like a fax machine arguing with an alien.
But hearing it meant adventure was about to begin…
…unless someone picked up the landline.
Game over.
Life Before Smartphones Was Beautifully Imperfect
Phone diaries were tiny books filled with numbers we actually remembered.
Today my phone remembers everyone.
I remember no one.
Streaming platforms gave us thousands of movies.
Video rental shops gave us happiness.
There’s a difference.
And television…
Television knew when to go home.
Late at night, the channel would simply end.
No endless autoplay.
No “Because you watched…”
Just a polite goodnight.
Why We Still Miss Outdated Technology
I don’t really miss outdated technology because it was better.
Half of it tested our patience.
The other half stopped working whenever it felt like it.
I miss it because it had limits.
It forced us to wait.
To fix things instead of replacing them.
To laugh when they didn’t work.
And, most importantly…
when technology switched off…
we switched on.
Maybe that’s the outdated feature I miss the most.
.
Maybe we don’t miss the gadgets. Maybe we miss the life we lived around them… and the people we were because of them.
