NihshabdBlog

Category: Nihshabd journal

  • The Places Where I Accidentally Disappear

    The Places Where I Accidentally Disappear

    What activities do you lose yourself in?

    .

    People often ask what activities make you lose yourself.

    As if it’s some neat little hobby list.

    Like:

    Reading.

    Painting.

    Yoga at sunrise.

    Very aesthetic. Very organised.

    Unfortunately, my mind does not operate like a well-labelled storage box.

    I don’t schedule losing myself.

    I simply… vanish.

    Sometimes it happens while writing.

    A sentence arrives quietly, like a shy guest, and before I know it, I am chasing words through paragraphs as if they are fireflies in the dark. One thought becomes another, then another, and suddenly an hour has passed.

    No warning.

    No permission taken.

    Illustrating does this too.

    When a blank digital canvas stares back at me, I tell myself I will “just add a small detail.”

    A line here.

    A shadow there.

    Next thing I know, I am zoomed in at 400%, arguing with a pixel.

    This pixel, apparently, holds the fate of the entire universe.

    Sometimes I disappear into thoughts instead.

    Not dramatic thoughts. Just the quiet wandering kind.

    The kind where a simple idea grows branches —

    What if…

    Why do we…

    Isn’t it strange that…

    And suddenly my mind is exploring philosophical forests when I was only supposed to be making tea.

    The tea, by the way, is usually cold by the time I return to reality.

    And then there are moments when nothing “productive” is happening at all.

    Just watching the sky change colours.

    Listening to a song too many times.

    Or staring at something ordinary until it quietly becomes beautiful.

    Those moments are dangerous.

    Because that’s when time slips away most politely.

    No drama.

    No announcements.

    Just a gentle disappearance.

    So if you ask me what activities make me lose myself…

    The honest answer is this:

    Anything that feels a little magical, a little curious, and slightly unnecessary to the practical world.

    Writing.

    Illustrating.

    Thinking too much about small things.

    Apparently, my favourite hobby is accidentally leaving reality for a while.

    And honestly?

    I’m not in a hurry to come back.

    .

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • The Awkward Truth About My “Favourite” TV Series

    The Awkward Truth About My “Favourite” TV Series

    What movies or TV series have you watched more than 5 times?

    The Shows I’ve Watched More Than 5 Times

    (Or… the shocking lack of them)

    .

    Some people have comfort shows.

    .

    You know the kind.

    The ones they’ve watched five times… ten times… sometimes so many times that they can quote entire scenes before the actors even open their mouths.

    .

    Ask them their favourite series and they’ll give you a list longer than a grocery receipt.

    .

    But me?

    .

    My answer is slightly… awkward.

    .

    Because the truth is —

    I’m not really a movies and TV series person.

    .

    Yes, I know.

    A rare species in the age of streaming platforms and “Just one more episode” promises that turn into 2 a.m. regret.

    .

    While people around me are discussing plot twists, character arcs, and season finales, I’m usually somewhere else entirely.

    .

    Most likely:

    .

    • reading a book

    • listening to songs

    • making something with my hands

    • or doing some craft work that looked “quick” on the internet but somehow took three hours.

    .

    If I do watch something occasionally, it’s usually an episode of Devon Ke Dev… Mahadev.

    .

    Not because I’m binge-watching it like a dramatic Netflix thriller.

    More like the way someone revisits a quiet temple.

    .

    No cliffhangers.

    No shocking betrayals.

    No characters suddenly turning evil in season five for “plot development.”

    .

    Just mythology, calm storytelling, and Lord Shiva being effortlessly majestic.

    .

    Honestly, that’s probably the closest thing I have to a “re-watch.”

    .

    Meanwhile, the idea of watching the same movie five times makes my brain ask a very practical question:

    .

    But there are so many books waiting to be read…

    .

    And if I have two free hours, my mind automatically votes for:

    Book ✔️

    Craft project ✔️

    Music ✔️

    .

    Movie…

    …maybe someday.

    .

    Or maybe not.

    But hey — everyone has their own version of entertainment.

    Some people binge-watch entire seasons in one weekend.

    And some of us binge-buy notebooks, start reading three books at once, and suddenly decide it’s the perfect time to reorganize craft supplies.

    Different hobbies.

    Different chaos.

    Same happiness.

    .

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • Between Logic and Lucky Charms

    Are you superstitious?

    Between Logic and Luck

    .

    “Are you superstitious?”

    Someone asked me once

    with that half-smile

    people wear

    when they already know

    they will judge the answer.

    .

    I thought for a moment.

    .

    Well…

    I don’t exactly believe in everything.

    .

    But also…

    I don’t exactly risk everything.

    .

    If a black cat crosses the road,

    I don’t panic —

    I just pause…

    you know…

    to let the cat finish its important meeting.

    .

    If someone sneezes

    just as I’m leaving the house,

    I don’t cancel my plans.

    I simply sit down again

    for thirty seconds

    like a very disciplined scientist

    waiting for the universe

    to reset itself.

    .

    And if someone says,

    “Don’t cut your nails at night,”

    I don’t argue with centuries of aunties.

    I quietly respect

    their mysterious research.

    .

    Do I know if any of it is true?

    .

    No.

    But here is the strange thing.

    .

    Some beliefs

    are not about logic.

    They are about memory.

    .

    They carry the voices

    of grandmothers,

    mothers,

    and the quiet instructions

    of childhood evenings.

    .

    Tiny rituals

    that followed us

    into adulthood

    without asking permission.

    .

    Maybe none of it changes fate.

    .

    Maybe the universe

    doesn’t care

    whether we step out

    with the right foot first.

    .

    But still…

    sometimes I do.

    .

    Because some habits

    are not about fear.

    .

    They are about comfort..

    .

    And honestly,

    if avoiding a ladder

    or knocking on wood

    gives my heart

    two extra seconds of peace—

    .

    why would I argue

    with peace?

    .

    So yes…

    maybe I am

    a little superstitious.

    .

    Not because I believe

    everything will go wrong

    if I don’t follow them.

    .

    But because life is uncertain enough

    already.

    .

    And if a tiny ritual

    makes me feel

    a little safer

    inside this chaotic universe….

    .

    I think

    I’ll keep it.

    .

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • Which Animal Am I? A Whole Wildlife Sanctuary

    Which Animal Am I? A Whole Wildlife Sanctuary

    Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

    Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

    .

    This question assumes a person can neatly fit into one animal.

    .

    I find that slightly ambitious.

    .

    Because if I’m being honest, my personality is less one animal and more… a mildly disorganized zoo.

    .

    Some days I have the stubborn determination of a cat that refuses to move from your laptop keyboard.

    Some days I carry the quiet patience of an elephant — remembering things I probably should have forgotten years ago.

    .

    There are days with the restless curiosity of a sparrow,

    and days when I simply want to disappear into the calm silence of a deer in the forest.

    .

    So no, I’m not one animal.

    .

    I’m a small, slightly chaotic wildlife sanctuary.

    .

    But if I must choose one to add to the list… it would be a butterfly.

    .

    Not because it knows it’s beautiful.

    Butterflies rarely pause to admire their own wings.

    .

    They simply move through the world, unaware of the colors they carry…

    while the rest of us stop and stare.

    .

    And maybe that’s the quiet truth about many of us.

    .

    We spend so much time noticing the dents in our wings…

    we forget someone else is busy admiring the colors.

    .

    Which means the real problem isn’t that we aren’t beautiful —

    it’s that we’re terrible at being our own audience.

    .

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • Dear 100-Year-Old Me, Did We Finally Become Her?

    Dear 100-Year-Old Me, Did We Finally Become Her?

    Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.

    Letter to My 100-Year-Old Self

    .

    Dear Hundred-Year-Old Me,

    .

    Well… look at you.

    .

    A whole century of living

    and you’re still here.

    .

    I hope you aged like good stories do —

    a little wrinkled,

    a little mysterious,

    and completely uninterested

    in nonsense.

    .

    First of all,

    I hope you finally learned

    that loving people is beautiful…

    .

    but chasing them

    is extremely bad cardio.

    .

    Please tell me you stopped

    trusting people blindly.

    .

    Eyes are for seeing, darling —

    not for closing

    while handing your heart away.

    .

    I hope by now

    you mastered the ancient art of saying:

    .

    “No.”

    Without an essay afterwards.

    .

    And I hope you kept

    that dangerous habit

    of respecting yourself

    even when the world preferred

    you smaller.

    .

    Some people call it selfish.

    .

    I call it

    excellent maintenance.

    .

    Tell me something.

    .

    Did you finally become

    that woman you kept imagining?

    .

    The one who walks into a room

    like she owns the silence

    before she even says a word.

    .

    Calm.

    Magnetic.

    Beautiful in the quiet way

    that storms are beautiful

    from a safe distance.

    .

    I hope you loved people deeply.

    .

    But I hope you also remembered

    a very important rule:

    .

    Love everyone if you wish…

    but if they don’t return it,

    .

    do not stand at their door

    like unpaid emotional staff.

    .

    Close the gate.

    .

    Water your own garden.

    .

    Flowers grow better

    without begging.

    .

    And please tell me

    you kept your humor.

    .

    Because life without sarcasm

    is basically

    a long motivational speech.

    .

    Also, dear ancient queen,

    .

    I hope you are still buying notebooks

    you absolutely don’t need.

    .

    Some habits

    should never be cured.

    .

    Most importantly,

    .

    I hope you became

    that beautiful woman

    who is calm not because life was easy,

    .

    but because she finally realized

    she is enough company

    for her own soul.

    .

    And if anyone ever doubted you—

    .

    I hope you smiled politely

    and continued being magnificent

    out of pure stubbornness.

    .

    With love,

    confidence,

    and a little dramatic flair,

    .

    Your younger self

    who is still learning

    how to become you.

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • Confessions of Someone Who Is Terrible at Shopping Sprees

    Where would you go on a shopping spree?

    Woman holding books and coffee in a warm bookstore with the title “Confessions of Someone Who Is Terrible at Shopping Sprees” and Nihshabd.

    .

    If someone handed me

    a card with no limit

    and said,

    “Go. Shop your heart out.”

    .

    I would panic first.

    .

    Because people like me

    don’t know how to shop our hearts out.

    .

    We know how to

    compare prices,

    close tabs,

    and say “maybe later.”

    .

    Shopping sprees belong

    to people who can walk into a store

    and say confidently,

    “I deserve this.”

    .

    Meanwhile I am in aisle three

    arguing with a ₹200 notebook.

    .

    Do I need it?

    No.

    .

    Do I want it?

    Yes.

    .

    Will I buy it?

    Let me walk around the store

    seven more times

    to emotionally prepare.

    .

    If I ever went on a shopping spree,

    it probably wouldn’t be in a mall.

    .

    You would find me

    in a quiet bookstore

    collecting stories like souvenirs.

    .

    Or standing too long

    in the stationery section

    touching notebooks

    as if inspiration comes

    with better paper quality.

    .

    Maybe a pen

    that writes smoother than my thoughts.

    .

    Maybe a candle

    that smells like peace.

    .

    Maybe a plant

    that I will accidentally over-love with water.

    .

    And somewhere between

    the books and the plants

    I will still whisper to myself .

    .

    “Okay but…

    do we really need this?”

    .

    Because old habits don’t leave easily.

    .

    Even with unlimited money

    I would probably leave the store

    with three small things

    and a mild sense of guilt.

    .

    But also a quiet happiness.

    .

    Which, honestly,

    feels like the only kind of shopping spree

    I know how to have.

    Not loud.

    .

    Not extravagant.

    Just a small bag of things

    that make life feel

    a little softer.

    Which, in my case,

    is the closest thing

    to a shopping spree.

    .

    –Rajeshwari 🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • The Space Between Her Names

    What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?

    .

    A woman looking out a window beside a notebook and coffee, symbolizing reflection and the hidden story between her names.
    The quiet story every woman carries within her name.

    .

    “What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning or significance?”

    .

    A curious little question.

    .

    But for many women, a middle name is rarely just a name.

    It is often a quiet inheritance.

    .

    Sometimes it carries a grandmother’s strength.

    Sometimes a mother’s unfinished dream.

    Sometimes a family’s hope that she will hold the world together… politely.

    .

    And sometimes it carries nothing anyone wrote down

    just the silent training that began very early:

    .

    be kind,

    be patient,

    be graceful,

    be smaller than your anger,

    bigger than everyone else’s expectations.

    .

    A middle name can be many things for a woman

    a blessing, a memory, a responsibility,

    or a soft reminder of who she was expected to become.

    .

    But the beautiful part?

    .

    Somewhere along the way, she starts writing her own meaning into it.

    .

    Not just with sacrifice,

    but with dignity.

    With quiet authority.

    With the gentle but undeniable varchasva of a woman who finally understands her worth.

    .

    So this little prompt about a middle name…

    is actually a very big question.

    .

    Because every woman carries a story between her first name and her last.

    .

    And that space

    that quiet space

    is where her real identity slowly begins to bloom.

    .

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • What Peace Taught Me 

    What is the last thing you learned?

    .

    Woman sitting by a calm lake at sunrise, reflecting in silence and peace.
    A quiet moment where peace finally speaks.

    .

    The last thing I learned

    did not arrive in a classroom,

    or a self-help book

    with a smiling author

    telling me to “manifest better energy.”

    .

    It arrived

    after I spent years

    trying to fix things

    that were not broken

    .

    just

    not meant for me.

    .

    For a long time

    I believed patience could solve anything.

    .

    Give it time.

    Give it love.

    Give it another conversation.

    .

    Give it one more chance.

    .

    Apparently,

    I was running an emotional charity

    no one applied for

    but everyone benefited from.

    .

    I believed if I tried harder

    people would understand me.

    .

    If I explained better

    things would change.

    .

    If I stayed longer

    something would finally click.

    .

    What finally clicked

    was something else entirely.

    .

    Peace.

    .

    Quiet, stubborn,

    unapologetic peace.

    .

    It showed up one day

    looked at the chaos around me

    and said,

    .

    “I’m not living here.”

    .

    That was the day

    I learned a new skill:

    .

    Letting go.

    .

    Not the dramatic

    movie-style goodbye.

    .

    Just a quiet

    mental unfollow.

    .

    Some people

    are chapters.

    .

    Some situations

    are footnotes.

    .

    And some things

    are simply drafts

    life decided not to publish.

    .

    So now

    I let go of what resists me.

    .

    I stop arguing with closed doors.

    I stop watering plastic plants.

    I stop auditioning for roles

    in stories that never had my name in them.

    .

    And honestly?

    .

    The silence afterwards

    is beautiful.

    .

    Because the last thing I learned

    is something surprisingly simple:

    .

    Peace is not something

    you find.

    .

    It is something

    you protect.

    .

    And once you taste it,

    you stop fighting

    for anything

    that disturbs it.

    .

    A small reminder to every woman reading this —

    we spend our lives keeping everyone happy,

    and somehow end up standing alone with our own storms.

    So give your peace a little importance too.

    At least a small share of calm in this life should belong to you.

    Protect your peace… the rest is manageable.

    .

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • The Question I Never Answer Properly

    What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.

    A candlelit writer’s desk by a window with an open notebook and tea, creating a magical mysterious mood with the title “The Question I Never Answer Properly” and Nihshabd.
    Unanswered Question

    There is a question

    people ask very casually.

    .

    Almost playfully.

    .

    As if they’re tossing a pebble

    into a quiet lake

    and expecting

    a very small ripple.

    .

    They never suspect

    the pebble reaches the bottom.

    .

    The funny thing is

    the question itself is simple.

    .

    Tiny, even.

    .

    Just a few harmless words

    floating politely in the air.

    .

    But somehow

    those words expect

    my entire day…

    my thoughts…

    my strange little routines…

    to stand in a neat line

    and introduce themselves.

    .

    And that is where

    things become difficult.

    .

    Because my days

    don’t stand in neat lines.

    .

    They wander.

    .

    Some mornings begin with tea

    and a thought that refuses to leave.

    Some afternoons disappear

    inside a sentence

    that is trying to become something.

    .

    Sometimes I read.

    Sometimes I stare at the sky

    like it forgot to finish a story.

    .

    Sometimes I watch people

    doing very important things

    very quickly

    for reasons

    nobody seems to remember.

    .

    And in the middle of all this

    someone eventually asks

    .

    “What do you do all day?”

    .

    Ah.

    .

    There it is.

    .

    The question.

    .

    The one that expects

    a tidy answer.

    .

    Doctor.

    Teacher.

    Engineer.

    Business.

    .

    Nice answers.

    Respectable answers.

    .

    But life rarely behaves

    that neatly.

    .

    So I smile.

    .

    I give a smaller answer

    than the truth deserves.

    .

    Because the real answer

    would take stories.

    .

    It would take wandering thoughts,

    curious observations,

    and a little bit of everyday magic.

    .

    The truth is

    .

    I spend my days

    noticing life.

    .

    Collecting its quiet moments.

    .

    Turning them over in my mind

    until they become words.

    .

    And honestly?

    .

    For something that sounds

    so difficult to explain…

    .

    I enjoy every minute of it. ✨

    .

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • When Eyes Forgot to Behave

    Two people crossing paths in soft light, sharing an intense, witty, unspoken eye-contact moment filled with quiet tension and almost-confession energy.
    Illustrated by © Rajeshwari

    Their eyes met

    quietly,

    almost shyly,

    .

    as if the moment itself

    didn’t want to draw attention

    to how much it held.

    .

    It felt harmless at first…

    the kind of glance people ignore

    when they’re pretending

    not to feel the warmth

    spreading anyway.

    .

    Her eyes murmured,

    “Don’t overthink it.”

    .

    His answered with a calm

    that gave everything away

    .

    “You already did.”

    .

    Something gentle drifted between them

    a confession too soft to announce,

    too honest to hide,

    too delicate to touch

    without changing it.

    .

    The moment stayed

    not loudly,

    not boldly

    .

    just with that tender insistence

    that asks for nothing

    yet means everything.

    .

    She looked away

    a graceful retreat,

    a small attempt

    to steady her breath.

    .

    He didn’t stop her;

    he simply held the silence

    with a smile

    that knew more

    than it claimed.

    .

    It was that beautiful in-between

    where affection disguises itself

    as composure,

    and the heart quietly reveals

    what the voice refuses to shape.

    .

    Of course it wasn’t love.

    Of course not.

    It was just…

    .

    a look

    .

    soft as dusk,

    light as a secret,

    .

    the kind that slips into memory

    before you even realize

    you’re keeping it.

    .

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved