NihshabdBlog

Category: Woman for woman

  • 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

  • My Failures Did Something My Success Never Could

    How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?

    Man sitting on a rooftop at sunset reflecting on failure and success with the title “My Failures Did Something My Success Never Could”.
    Failure did the real work

    I once tried to win at life

    on the very first attempt

    because obviously,

    I thought destiny had prepared

    a red carpet for me.

    .

    Life laughed.

    Not politely.

    The full-volume kind.

    .

    Doors didn’t open.

    Plans collapsed like cheap furniture.

    My confidence packed a bag

    and quietly left the room.

    .

    Failure arrived instead

    uninvited,

    overdressed,

    and extremely comfortable

    staying longer than expected.

    .

    At first I hated it.

    Naturally.

    .

    Nobody throws a party

    for the day they discovered

    they were spectacularly wrong.

    .

    But failure has strange habits.

    .

    It sits beside you

    when the applause disappears.

    It points at your excuses

    like a strict teacher with a red pen.

    And it whispers,

    .

    “Try again.

    But this time

    maybe use your brain.”

    .

    So I did.

    .

    I learned how to fall

    without announcing it to the entire world.

    How to rebuild quietly.

    How to laugh at my own dramatic disasters.

    .

    Turns out,

    failure wasn’t the villain

    I thought it was.

    .

    It was the unpaid internship

    that secretly trained me

    for the job I wanted.

    .

    Because the truth is

    success didn’t arrive

    when everything went right.

    .

    It arrived much later,

    wearing the clothes

    my failures stitched for me.

    .

    And honestly?

    .

    Looking back,

    those failures did most of the work.

    .

    I just showed up

    for the success interview.

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • ✨Beautiful Mess✨

    ✨Beautiful Mess✨

    You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?

    “I didn’t ask for a dramatic life

    but apparently, I was cast as the main character anyway.”

    .

    No audition.

    No rehearsal.

    Just life handing me a script

    with seventeen plot twists

    and absolutely no instructions.

    .

    I try doing everything at once.

    Write something meaningful.

    Fix my future.

    Organize my chaos.

    And somehow remember

    why I walked into the room.

    .

    My brain is a busy marketplace

    ideas shouting,

    dreams bargaining,

    doubts offering discounts.

    .

    People say,

    “Take it slow.”

    .

    Slow?

    My thoughts run marathons

    while I’m still tying my shoes.

    .

    Some days I’m confident

    I’ll conquer the world.

    Other days I’m Googling

    “how to get life together in 5 easy steps.”

    .

    But here’s the secret:

    .

    Between the confusion,

    the unfinished plans,

    and the dramatic internal monologues,

    something beautiful keeps happening.

    .

    I grow.

    I learn.

    I try again.

    .

    So yes,

    maybe I didn’t ask for this role.

    .

    But if life insists

    I’m the main character…

    .

    I might as well

    play it well.

    .

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • My Survival Starter Pack🎧

    My Survival Starter Pack🎧

    What are three objects you couldn’t live without?

    .

    People chase enlightenment.

    Cute.

    I just need three things to stay functional:

    my phone, my iPad, and music that hugs my brain.

    .

    1. My Phone — my loyal, toxic soulmate

    .

    My phone is basically in a long-term relationship with me.

    It sees everything:

    my late-night chaos, my early-morning delusion,

    and every screenshot of people I pretend not to stalk.

    .

    It gives me red flags disguised as notifications

    and still acts shocked like,

    “Storage full? Babe, you did this.”

    .

    But honestly

    no one knows me the way my phone does.

    Not even me.

    .

    2. My iPad — where my sanity goes to detox

    .

    The moment I pick up my iPad,

    I transform into the artist version of myself

    that real life is clearly too scared to handle.

    .

    Brushes, layers, colors

    this is my therapy without the invoices.

    .

    It’s the only place where I make a mistake

    and the universe actually gives me an Undo button.

    (Real life should take notes.)

    ..

    3. Music — the mood-fixer, ego-booster, brain-therapist

    .

    Music isn’t background for me.

    It’s my entire emotional operating system.

    .

    Low energy?

    The beat slaps me like,

    “Get up, diva.”

    .

    Overthinking?

    The melody whispers,

    “Ssshh, babe… breathe. I got you.”

    .

    Feeling hot?

    Music switches on my main character syndrome

    without even asking for WiFi.

    .

    It’s the only thing that flirts with me daily and never gets blocked.

    .

    THE END (and also the truth)

    .

    So yes

    give me my phone, my iPad, and my music.

    Keep the rest of the world.

    People drain my battery,

    but these three?

    They charge me

    emotionally, mentally, and occasionally… literally.

  • The Beauty I Grew From♥️

    The Beauty I Grew From♥️

    What experiences in life helped you grow the most?

    .

    What helped me grow?

    Honestly… my habit of finding joy

    in places no one even checks.

    .

    I grew when life handed me small moments—

    a pretty sky,

    a good song,

    a silly conversation,

    a smile from someone who didn’t know

    they just made my day.

    .

    I grew because I laugh easily,

    love openly,

    and get excited over the tiniest things

    yes, even perfectly crispy dosa.

    .

    I grew when I realised

    life doesn’t have to be perfect

    to feel beautiful.

    Sometimes it’s just one good joke

    away from being amazing.

    .

    I grew when I loved someone

    with my whole, bright heart

    and loved myself

    with even more sparkle than that.

    .

    I grew through the “oops” moments,

    the “lol forget it” moments,

    and the “thank God nobody saw that” moments.

    .

    I grew by staying kind

    even when sarcasm deserved a trophy.

    And by staying soft

    even when the world tried to act tough.

    .

    Most of all

    I grew because I never stopped choosing happiness.

    Not fake-happy.

    Not show-off happy.

    But the honest, warm,

    “I’m grateful for my life” kind of happy.

    .

    So yes

    my growth came from joy.

    From dance-in-the-kitchen joy,

    laugh-with-your-friends joy,

    sit-in-silence-and-smile joy.

    .

    And from knowing that

    no matter what life brings…

    I’ll always find something beautiful in it. ✨

    .

    ✨The Support Behind My Smile♥️✨

    .

    And through it all,

    I grew because I was never alone.

    .

    Because my family held me

    no matter who I was becoming.

    Because my friends stayed close

    even from miles away.

    Because life kept sending

    small lessons wrapped in kindness.

    .

    If I shine today,

    it’s because of every heart

    that quietly walked with me. ✨

    .

    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved.

  • “A Step Together: Raising Voices, Protecting Women”

    “A Step Together: Raising Voices, Protecting Women”

    What could you do differently?

    What could I do differently?

    It’s a question so vast, so often unasked, yet today it landed in my lap, forcing me to pause, reflect, and feel.

    This blog is dedicated to women the brave, the unheard, the ones who carry battles hidden behind smiles and quiet steps. I want to be their voice. I want to speak about their safety, their privacy, their struggles, the judgment, disrespect, and injustices they face every day.

    What can one woman give to another? Perhaps nothing more than a promise to walk together, step by step, side by side. To stand as a strong shield against what is wrong.

    To echo their voices when the world silences them. To make them feel safe, seen, and valued.

    So many women live in a world that questions their choices, judges their words, and often diminishes their presence. The fear of betrayal, disrespect, and harm makes trust a luxury and safety a distant dream.

    I want this blog to remind every woman reading it that she is not alone. That even when the world feels heavy, there are shoulders beside her, voices supporting her, hearts beating in solidarity.

    It is our responsibility each of us to create spaces where women can feel truly safe. Spaces where no one has to second-guess their instincts before trusting, where they can stand tall without fear, and where the simple act of living does not require courage beyond measure.

    Every woman deserves to know that she is not walking alone, that she has someone to hold her hand, to match her steps, to fight alongside her against wrongs, to be the echo of her voice when the world refuses to listen.

    Together, through small gestures, shared empathy, and standing firm against injustice, we can build a society where women can breathe freely, move fearlessly, and live fully.

    One woman supporting another this is not just kindness, it is strength. This is not just compassion, it is revolution. And even in the quietest of moments, when no one is watching, it is these small, steadfast steps of solidarity that light the path toward a safer, kinder, more respectful world.

    As a woman, this is my small step for other women to say that I stand with you. It may not be the perfect answer to “What could you do differently?” but it is one honest step toward doing something differently. If these words make even one woman feel seen, heard, or less alone, then this effort has meaning. I hope this post resonates with you, in your own quiet way.

    And so, even in silence, we rise one woman becoming another’s voice, one step becoming a path, until safety is no longer a hope, but a lived truth.