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.
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I would choose Nagraj and Super Commando Dhruva.
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Not because they were superheroes.
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But because they quietly became a part of my childhood.
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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.
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There was only hope… and patience.
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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.”
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And somehow… we actually believed tomorrow would arrive faster.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Most of all, I miss that little child who believed every story with all her heart.
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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.
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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.
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My screen time report has had quite the personality makeover.
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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.”
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Now they’ve quietly stepped aside.
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These days, WordPress and Procreate have taken over my screen.
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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.
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Procreate isn’t any better.
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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.
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Together, these two apps have mastered the art of making time disappear.
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Every Sunday, my screen time report arrives looking slightly judgmental, as if it’s waiting for me to feel guilty.
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But honestly?
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I don’t.
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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.
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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.
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So yes, my screen time is still embarrassingly high.
It’s just no longer spent watching everyone else’s creativity.
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It’s spent building my own.
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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.
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Maybe we don’t miss the gadgets. Maybe we miss the life we lived around them… and the people we were because of them.
Do you think we’re shaped more by our experiences or by who we are?
I’ve seen this debate so many times that I wouldn’t be surprised if Life started it just to entertain itself.
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Are we shaped by our experiences… …or by who we already are?
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I think we’ve been asking the wrong question all along.
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We’re Built by Birth. Edited by Life.
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Everything that happens after that is simply another revision.
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When we’re born, life hands us a rough draft. A little courage. A little fear. A heart that trusts far too easily. An ego that occasionally believes it knows everything. No map. No instruction manual. No “Ctrl + Z.”
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Just a cheerful, “Good luck. You’ll figure it out.”
And then people happen.
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Some walk into our lives carrying sunshine. Some arrive looking like sunshine…
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until they quietly become a power cut. Some stay. Some leave. Some leave… while taking a piece of us with them. Life never really warns us which is which.
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It simply smiles and says, “Character development.”
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Life has terrible timing… but an annoyingly good eye for editing.
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I’ve often wondered…
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Do heartbreaks make us stronger… or do they simply introduce us to a version of ourselves we had never met before?
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Do betrayals make us suspicious… or were we always the kind of people who loved without checking the expiry date?
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Maybe experience isn’t the whole story. Maybe neither are we.
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Perhaps it’s never just about what happens to us… but also about what happens within us.
The same disappointment visits two people.
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One closes every door. The other learns which doors were never worth knocking on.
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The same criticism breaks one person. Another quietly thanks it years later.
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The same betrayal hardens one heart… and deepens another.
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Funny, isn’t it?
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Life gives the same exam… but we all write different answers.
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Maybe that’s why no two people come out of the same storm looking alike.
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Life writes the questions. Our choices write the answers.
I’ve met people who praised me in public… and edited my character in private.
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I’ve also met people who quietly stitched pieces of my confidence back together… without ever telling me they did.
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Life introduced me to both.
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Who I became after meeting them… that part was mine.
I don’t think experiences arrive to change us. I think they arrive to reveal us.
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Just like the tide. It doesn’t create the ocean.
It simply shows us how deep it has always been. The waves don’t ask permission. They come. They leave.
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And somehow…
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the shore is never quite the same. Neither are we.
Some experiences erase illusions. Some restore hope. Some teach us to walk away. Others remind us why staying is sometimes the braver choice.
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Every joy adds a sentence. Every loss strikes one out.
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Every unexpected kindness writes an entirely new paragraph. Without realizing it, we keep becoming newer editions of ourselves.
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Not perfect. Just… a little wiser than yesterday.
So… are we shaped more by our experiences… or by who we are?
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I still can’t choose.
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Because life may hold the editor’s pen… but it can only edit the pages we were born with.
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Perhaps that’s the quiet truth. We don’t become someone else.
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We slowly discover who was hiding beneath every revision. Still imperfect. Still learning. Still wonderfully unfinished. Built by Birth. Edited by Life.
If you had to be an animal for a week, which one would you be and why?
If I Had to Be an Animal for a Week…
A butterfly 🦋
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Not because she’s beautiful.
But because she has absolutely no idea that she is.
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She doesn’t fly past flowers thinking, “Good morning, everyone. Kindly admire my wings.”
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No.
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She simply wanders from bloom to bloom, living her tiny, colorful life without checking mirrors, without counting likes, without asking, “Do these wings make me look fat?”
(Imagine if butterflies had social media. “Just hatched. No filter.” 🦋)
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The funny part?
Nobody applauds the caterpillar.
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Let’s be honest.
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If a caterpillar applied for a beauty pageant, even the leaves would politely excuse themselves.
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But then comes the quiet miracle.
The waiting.
The breaking.
The transformation.
And suddenly… the same little creature that once crawled begins to fly.
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Gold becomes pure only after enduring fire.
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A butterfly becomes beautiful only after surviving its cocoon.
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Maybe we are not so different.
Most of us never realize how much we’ve grown.
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We keep showing up.
We keep loving.
We keep healing.
We keep surviving.
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We rarely notice the strength we’ve earned or the beauty that quietly settled into our souls.
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Someone else sees it long before we do.
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So today, this little butterfly is for everyone who still thinks they are “just a caterpillar.”
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your transformation is already happening.
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You don’t have to rush it.
You don’t even have to see your own wings yet.
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Just keep becoming.
One day you’ll look back and realize…
It was never the wings that made you beautiful.
It was everything you survived before you learned to fly.
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🦋 Before the Butterfly Flew…
So perhaps the butterfly’s greatest lesson is this:
Be Your Own Therapist is a heartfelt poem about self-healing, emotional strength, and finding peace within. Sometimes, the person who understands you best is your own heart.
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Be Your Own Therapist💗
Not every wound asks for witnesses. Some only long for your gentle touch. The heart doesn’t always need answers… Sometimes, it only needs acceptance.
Be Your Own Therapist: Self-Healing Begins Within
The world may hear your words, but only you can hear the silence between them. Sit with your pain. Listen without judgment. Be kind to the soul that has carried you this far.
Understand Yourself First
Not everyone will understand your battles, and that is perfectly alright. You don’t have to explain every scar to prove that it once hurt.
The strongest conversations are often the quiet ones you have with yourself.
Choose Yourself Every Day
Be your own safe place. Your own comfort. Your own reminder that healing isn’t loud— it blooms softly, just like the quietest flower after the longest storm.
When Silence Speaks
There will be days when your smile feels heavier than your tears, when your voice trembles even in the quiet of your own room.
On those days, don’t abandon yourself. Sit beside your broken heart the way you would sit beside someone you love.
Healing Is a Gentle Journey
Healing doesn’t arrive overnight. It comes in small moments— when you forgive yourself, when you stop chasing everyone’s approval, and when you finally realize that your peace is worth protecting.
Every gentle step you take toward yourself is a victory no one else can measure, but your soul will always remember.
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Sometimes healing is not about fixing yourself. It is about sitting quietly with your emotions, accepting every broken piece, and trusting that even the deepest wounds soften with time. The love you keep searching for outside often begins within your own heart.
Closing Thoughts
When the world cannot understand your heart, let your heart become the place where you are always understood.
