NihshabdBlog

Category: Women

  • Me? Break the Law? Never. (Probably.) 🚦

    Me? Break the Law? Never. (Probably.) 🚦

    Have you ever unintentionally broken the law?

    Me? Break the Law? Never. (Probably.) 🚦

    .

    Me?

    Break the law?

    Please. 😌

    .

    I’m the kind of person

    who reads the instructions on a medicine strip 💊

    and thanks it for its service.

    .

    I have never broken the law.

    Knowingly? Absolutely not. 🙅🏻‍♀️

    Unknowingly?

    Let’s not investigate too deeply. 👀

    .

    Maybe I’ve treated a yellow traffic light 🚦

    like it was a motivational quote

    “Go for it.” ✨

    .

    Maybe I’ve clicked “I Agree”

    on Terms & Conditions 📱

    longer than my life story

    without reading a single word.

    If that’s a crime,

    I deserve a digital arrest warrant. 🚨

    .

    Maybe I returned a library book 📖

    one day late

    and lived 24 hours

    as an underground fugitive

    in my own head. 🕵🏻‍♀️

    .

    Maybe I crossed the road

    two steps away from the zebra crossing 🚶🏻‍♀️

    because my patience expired

    before the signal did. ⏳

    .

    I pay my taxes. 💼

    I stand in queues. 🧍🏻‍♀️

    I silently judge queue-breakers. 😏

    I even whisper “sorry”

    when I bump into a table. 🙈

    .

    Criminal mastermind?

    Hardly. 😇

    .

    My biggest illegal act

    is overthinking harmless things 🤯

    and sentencing myself

    to guilt

    without a trial. ⚖️

    .

    So yes

    if I’ve ever broken the law,

    I did it so politely

    so softly

    that even the law must’ve paused and said,

    .

    “Was that a violation…

    or just a slightly enthusiastic human?” 🤔

    .

    I’m not a lawbreaker.

    I’m just human.

    .

    And as far as I know,

    that’s still legal. 😉

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

  • “Currently Loading… Please Do Not Disturb.” 🔄

    “Currently Loading… Please Do Not Disturb.” 🔄

    If there were a biography about you, what would the title be?

    **If There Were a Biography About Me, It Would Be Titled:**

    “Currently Loading… Please Do Not Disturb.” 🔄

    Because I am not a finished personality.

    I am an update in progress. 📶

    This biography will not follow a timeline.

    It will follow mood swings. 🌪️

    Some pages will smell like filter coffee. ☕

    Some like burnt tadka. 🔥

    Some like ambition. 🚀

    Some like “why did I say that?” 😶

    I am the kind of person who:

    • Wants peace ✨

    • Chooses chaos 🤦🏻‍♀️

    • Complains softly 🤍

    • Handles loudly 💪

    • Says “leave it” 😌

    • And never leaves it 👀

    Consistency? Questionable.

    Commitment? Unmatched. 😎

    My biography would include footnotes like:

    1️⃣ She overthinks, but efficiently.

    2️⃣ She loves hard, but pretends she doesn’t.

    3️⃣ She says “I don’t care,” but remembers everything. 🧠

    There will be a section titled:

    “Why Am I Like This?” 🤷🏻‍♀️

    No answers.

    Just vibes. ✨

    I am not mysterious.

    I am just running multiple tabs in my brain. 🖥️

    And one of them is always playing background music. 🎶

    This is not a story of struggle.

    This is a story of range. 🎨

    Happy. 😄

    Annoyed. 😑

    Calm. 🧘🏻‍♀️

    Sarcastic. 😉

    Philosophical at 2 PM. 📖

    Hungry at 2:05 PM. 🍽️

    The last line?

    “She wasn’t dramatic.

    She was detailed.” ✍️

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

  • ✨They Built. We Are Becoming✨

    ✨They Built. We Are Becoming✨

    What were your parents doing at your age?

    This question sounds innocent.

    Very innocent.

    But the moment someone asks it, your mind panics like it just heard,

    “So… where do you see yourself in five years?”

    At my age, my parents were already married.

    With kids.

    With responsibilities.

    With zero time to sit and overthink life.

    And my mumma?

    She wasn’t just managing the house.

    She was working.

    Earning.

    Contributing.

    Holding two full-time roles without calling either of them a “struggle.”

    Office files in one hand,

    school notebooks in the other,

    and somehow — love everywhere.

    She came back from work, cooked meals that tasted like comfort,

    kept the house running,

    knew everyone’s schedule,

    and still had the energy to ask,

    “Sab theek hai na?”

    Honestly, I still don’t know where that energy came from.

    Probably the same place where she kept extra strength, patience, and magic.

    At my age, my mother didn’t chase balance.

    She created it — quietly, gracefully, daily.

    And my dad?

    He was right there.

    Working hard.

    Providing.

    Supporting.

    Being steady — the calm in the chaos.

    He wasn’t loud about it.

    He didn’t announce sacrifices.

    He just showed up.

    Every day.

    My parents were a team.

    Both earning.

    Both contributing.

    Both carrying responsibility — together.

    No long speeches about equality.

    No hashtags.

    Just daily practice.

    They didn’t discuss “sharing the load.”

    They simply shared it.

    They didn’t talk about burnout.

    They had tired eyes, aching backs — and still showed up.

    They didn’t say,

    “I need space.”

    They said,

    “Ho jayega.”

    And somehow… it did.

    They didn’t google,

    “Is it normal to feel lost?”

    They didn’t have the option to feel lost.

    Life had already handed them roles and deadlines.

    And us?

    We think.

    We overthink.

    We over-overthink.

    Then we google why we overthink.

    Then we’re tired.

    Our parents didn’t have therapy language.

    But they had emotional strength we’re still trying to decode.

    They didn’t talk about work-life balance.

    They lived it — imperfectly, honestly.

    And before we judge ourselves too harshly — let’s pause for a second.

    Because the truth is…

    I’m doing good too.

    Maybe not in the loud, trophy-holding way.

    But in the quiet, everyday way.

    I show up.

    I try.

    I learn.

    I fall.

    I get up — sometimes slowly, sometimes dramatically.

    I am handling pressures they never had.

    I am unlearning things they never had time to question.

    I am choosing awareness, even when ignorance would be easier.

    I may not have figured everything out —

    But I am figuring myself out.

    And that counts.

    A lot.

    But let’s be honest.

    They didn’t live in a world where everyone’s life update was in your pocket.

    They didn’t compare their reality to strangers before brushing their teeth.

    They weren’t expected to:

    earn well heal emotionally stay calm stay kind stay relevant

    All at the same time.

    So yes —

    They did a lot at our age.

    But so are we.

    They were busy surviving and building.

    We are busy understanding and becoming.

    They built homes together.

    We are trying to build peace — sometimes with coffee, sometimes with chaos.

    So the next time someone asks,

    “What were your parents doing at your age?”

    Smile.

    And think:

    They did their best — as a team.

    And I’m doing my best — in my own way.

    Different times.

    Same effort.

    And honestly?

    That’s more than enough. 😊💛

  • 💃 Why Every Woman Needs a Little Drama (The Good Kind)

    💃 Why Every Woman Needs a Little Drama (The Good Kind)

    Let’s clear something up.

    When we say “drama,” we don’t mean throwing plates, blocking numbers, or walking away in slow motion like a movie climax.

    We mean the good kind.

    The healthy, sparkly, slightly exaggerated kind that makes life feel alive.

    Because here’s the truth:

    Women are not dramatic.

    We are emotionally well-lit.

    We feel in HD.

    We react in surround sound.

    We live in full color.

    And sometimes, that means gasping over a message.

    Re-reading it.

    Analyzing the punctuation.

    Then pretending we didn’t care.

    Drama?

    No.

    Emotional research.

    A little drama is what makes us send that “Are you mad at me?” text…

    even when we know he’s just busy.

    It’s what makes us narrate our own life in our head.

    “Oh wow. Look at you. Growing. Healing. Slightly overreacting. But growing.”

    It’s what makes us stand in front of the mirror and say,

    “Why am I like this?”

    and then immediately answer,

    “Because I care too much. And that’s not a crime.”

    Good drama is not chaos.

    It’s expression.

    It’s the way we replay a conversation three times before sleeping.

    It’s the way we feel “fine” and “not fine” in the same sentence.

    It’s the way we can laugh and cry within five minutes

    and still show up to dinner like nothing happened.

    A little drama keeps the heart flexible.

    It keeps us from turning into robots who say “okay” to everything.

    Because a woman without a little drama?

    She’s not calm.

    She’s suppressing.

    And suppression is far more dangerous than dramatic eyeliner and deep sighs.

    We need that spark.

    That flare.

    That “excuse me, I felt something” energy.

    It reminds us we’re alive.

    So yes.

    We overthink.

    We react.

    We feel deeply.

    We narrate our own emotions like a limited series.

    And honestly?

    That little drama is not a flaw.

    It’s the glitter in our bloodstream.

  • My Dream Home (With My Feel, My Chaos, My Magic)

    My Dream Home (With My Feel, My Chaos, My Magic)

    Write about your dream home.

    A tiny house, hugging the earth, not trying to impress anyone

    just quietly saying, “Here I am. This is me.”

    In front, a garden. My garden.

    A tree with a swing. Sit, sway, swishhh…

    and suddenly, all tension? Gone. Just like that. Magic, right?

    Kids’ laughter everywhere. Random giggles, shrieks, little explosions of happiness.

    Birds gossip in the trees like they know all my secrets.

    Flowers perfume the air so strongly, I sometimes forget to breathe.

    Bees? Drama queens with tiny wings, buzzing like, “Yes, yes, we are busy, don’t bother us!”

    And the breeze… oh, that cheeky breeze… it plays with my hair,

    reminding me, “You belong here. Don’t forget it.”

    Evenings are chaos with Kiwi.

    She jumps, runs, zooms like the garden is her racetrack,

    while I dig in the soil planting vegetables, flowers, maybe my sanity somewhere too.

    Time? Who cares. Lost among petals, dirt, and laughter.

    My house… it’s heaven.

    Every corner has a story, a hug, a little secret.

    Guests feel at home… but secretly,

    I know, my mark is everywhere. My laughter, my chaos, my stories.

    There’s a secret nook where the sky leans in.

    We lie there, staring at stars, making constellations only we understand.

    Hours vanish, reality pauses, and my heart whispers:

    “This is exactly where we belong.”

    Another corner my arts and crafts kingdom.

    Tiny worlds of color, glitter, and chaos, all mine.

    Step in, and the world fades. Creativity takes over.

    Another nook music. My soundtrack, my secret spells,

    turning ordinary nights into magic, turning strangers’ dreams into friends.

    There’s a staircase that climbs up success steps, dream steps, maybe just look-at-how-high-I-can-go steps.

    And a tiny temple for me. Where I melt into Krishna’s presence,

    and the world can wait. Seriously, let it wait.

    Every corner bursts with joy, a sprinkle of mischief, a pinch of sarcasm, and tons of love.

    Blessings of elders, kids’ chaos, Kiwi’s energy full combo pack.

    And me? I sit, laugh, plant, dream, sing, play, and leave tiny footprints of magic everywhere.

    This is my home, my little heaven, my chaos, my music, my smell, my heartbeat.

    A place where laughter sticks, dreams float,

    and anyone who walks in… leaves smiling, thinking:

    “Wow… maybe such a home really exists.”

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

  • ✨ When Great News Arrives Wearing Fairy Wings ✨

    ✨ When Great News Arrives Wearing Fairy Wings ✨

    You get some great, amazingly fantastic news. What’s the first thing you do?

    The moment I get great news

    not gently,

    not politely,

    just BOOM💥

    straight from the universe

    like a shooting star💫

    that forgot to reduce speed…

    I freeze.

    Because joy always arrives

    like it’s running late

    for its own surprise party.🎉

    For a second,

    everything goes still

    even the wind pauses,

    as if it wants front-row seats.

    Then suddenly

    butterflies🦋 appear out of thin air,

    spinning around me

    like tiny, glittery cheerleaders

    who have been waiting

    for this exact plot twist.

    The sun☀️ tilts a little,

    giving me its golden nod of approval.

    Clouds ☁️ drift apart

    as if the sky wants

    a better view of my happiness.

    And the moment feels so magical

    that even reality seems confused.

    My first reaction?

    I try to act normal.

    A hopeless attempt, honestly.

    Because inside me,

    my inner drama queen👸

    is already doing cartwheels,🤸‍♀️

    screaming,😱

    Meanwhile,

    my over-smart inner voice

    adjusts its imaginary sunglasses😎 and mutters,

    “Great. Don’t faint.

    We don’t have a spare version of you.”

    And somehow,

    “Yesss, finally!”

    right between laughing😆

    and almost tearing up,🥹

    my heart♥️ whispers

    a tiny trembling “thank you”

    to something bigger than me

    the sky,

    luck,

    destiny,

    or maybe

    my own stubborn hope.

    But great news is never mine alone.

    It travels

    straight to the people

    whose joy rises and falls with mine.

    My little “gear wall” of humans

    the ones who cheer loudest,

    who keep my courage oiled,

    who celebrate my wins

    as if someone handed them the trophy🏆 .

    Family, friends, my constants

    their happiness echoes

    before mine even settles.

    Then comes that electric⚡️ moment

    when the news finally sinks in,

    and my whole world

    does a soft, silent fireworks🧨 explosion.

    A deep breath escapes

    the kind that feels like

    opening a window in your soul.

    And suddenly,

    every little thing

    the light, the breeze, the sky

    seems to celebrate with me.

    So what do I do

    when I get great news?

    I let myself smile😊.

    The honest, embarrassing,

    can’t-hide-it kind.

    The smile that starts small

    and then spreads

    like a butterfly🦋 discovering its wings🪽

    Because good news 🗞️

    doesn’t just arrive

    it blooms.

    Inside the chest.

    Across the face.

    All over the moment.

    And somewhere far beyond that

    in the hearts💕 of the people

    who love me.

    And I stand there, glowing,

    whispering to life,

    “If this is how magic feels…

    send more.”

    —Rajeshwari💕🧿

  • ✨ When I Believed the Sky Was Taking Attendance ✨

    ✨ When I Believed the Sky Was Taking Attendance ✨

    Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?

    There was a time

    when the road looked less like asphalt

    and more like a magic carpet

    that forgot to fly.

    And I?

    I rode my bicycle

    as if two wheels were enough

    to negotiate with the universe.

    Butterflies floated beside me

    not flying,

    flexing.

    Showing off their glitter wings

    like they were the fashion icons

    of the botanical world.

    And I chased them

    with the confidence of someone

    who truly believed

    speed was a personality trait.

    The sun was my spotlight,

    sprinkling warm gold on my face

    like a friendly aunty

    throwing blessings at a wedding.

    Clouds drifted lazily above,

    those soft, spoiled creatures

    with zero deadlines

    and too much attitude.

    Every time the wind

    whipped past my ears,

    I felt it gossiping,

    “Look at her…

    thinking she’s faster than me.”

    So obviously,

    I pedaled harder

    because childhood egos

    are the safest to lose.

    The road was full of bumps,

    twists, loose stones

    basically nature’s way of saying,

    “If you fall,

    I’ll give you a story.”

    And it did.

    Scraped knees,

    dramatic pauses,

    and that tiny moment

    between the fall and the rise

    where even the dust whispered,

    “Go again…

    this scene can be improved.”

    There were days

    I truly believed

    my shadow was trying to keep up.

    Days I felt the sky

    lean in closer

    as if taking attendance:

    “Present!” I’d shout silently,

    racing with dreams

    I didn’t even know

    were dreams yet.

    Those rides weren’t about speed.

    They were about that bold, silly hope

    that maybe just maybe

    the world was small enough

    for me to explore

    before lunch.

    And now?

    Life has turned into

    traffic, to-do lists,

    and grown-up sighs.

    But sometimes the wind

    brushed against my arm

    in that old familiar way,

    or a butterfly zigzags past

    like a sign I once understood…

    And suddenly,

    the road inside me wakes up

    stretching, sparkling,

    smelling faintly of sunshine

    and scraped knees.

    Maybe I don’t ride every day.

    Maybe the bicycle waits longer.

    But that childhood version of me

    the wild one,

    the sky-toucher,

    the wind-challenger

    she still flutters inside me

    like a stubborn butterfly

    who refuses to retire.

    And honestly?

    I think one morning,

    when the breeze gets a little naughty

    and the sun looks exactly

    like an old friend trying not to smile,

    I’ll push those pedals again

    wobbly, excited,

    heart beating like a small drum.

    Because some roads

    don’t forget you.

    They just wait.

    And some dreams?

    They grow wings

    the moment you stop doubting

    you had them all along.

  • Pocketful of Candies, Heartful of Memories

    Pocketful of Candies, Heartful of Memories

    What’s your favorite candy?

    What is my favourite candy?

    I never liked eating candies much

    strange child, I know.

    I liked collecting them instead,

    like tiny treasures

    meant to be admired, not finished.

    Just Jelly, Alpenliebe, Pulse

    safe in my pockets,

    safe in my plans,

    until Mumma found them

    and turned my collection

    into happiness for

    the little kids next door.

    I’d pretend to complain,

    but secretly smile

    because watching them enjoy

    felt sweeter

    than eating one myself.

    Funny how some of us

    don’t love the taste as much

    as the joy it creates.

    Maybe that’s why, even today,

    candies remind me

    not of sugar,

    but of sharing,

    small joys,

    and a childhood

    that smiled quietly. 🍬

  • Do I Need a Break… or a Rewrite?

    Do I Need a Break… or a Rewrite?

    Do you need a break? From what?

    Do You Need a Break? From What?

    Life begins quietly

    and before we can ask questions,

    roles arrive

    folded neatly,

    handed gently,

    as if they were gifts.

    Love happens somewhere in between,

    taught differently, felt differently

    one learns to wait,

    the other learns to move on,

    both calling it understanding

    because that’s what we were told to call it.

    Suspense hides in everyday things

    in unread messages,

    in pauses that stretch too long,

    in silence that means everything

    and still pretends to mean nothing.

    Some are taught to fill the gaps,

    some are taught gaps are normal.

    We grow up collecting expectations

    like invisible luggage

    carry this, adjust that,

    be strong, be calm,

    don’t react too much,

    don’t feel too little.

    Funny how balance is always

    someone else’s responsibility.

    Love, meanwhile,

    tries its best.

    It arrives late,

    leaves early,

    returns when it can,

    hoping effort will be mistaken for enough.

    Wisdom doesn’t come with age,

    it comes with exhaustion

    when smiling feels like work,

    when explaining feels heavier than silence,

    when being “understanding”

    starts sounding like self-erasure.

    So we joke.

    We laugh at our plans,

    call tiredness maturity,

    call compromise love,

    call survival a sense of humor.

    Intelligent comedy characters,

    playing our parts so well

    we forget they were written for us.

    And somewhere between

    doing too much,

    asking for too little,

    being called strong,

    and feeling invisible

    a thought appears, almost shy:

    Do I need a break?

    From work? From people? From love?

    Or from the quiet habit

    of becoming who I’m expected to be?

    Maybe the break isn’t escape.

    Maybe it’s a pause

    to sit with myself,

    untie these roles gently,

    and ask again, honestly,

    Do I need a break?

    From what?

  • Confessions of a Procrastinator: Why Chaos is My Best Friend

    Confessions of a Procrastinator: Why Chaos is My Best Friend

    The most important invention in your lifetime is…

    The most important invention in my lifetime is… procrastination.

    Yes, I know what you’re thinking: “Really? That’s your big pick?”

    But stick with me it’s a masterpiece.

    Without procrastination:

    • I’d finish work on time. (Boring. Soul-crushing. Snooze.)

    • Missed deadlines would never have revealed my hidden talent: panic-fueled genius.

    • I wouldn’t have discovered the thrill of doing 3 things at once… badly, but with style.

    • And let’s be honest, my 2 AM existential crises? Pure procrastination magic.

    Procrastination is not a flaw.

    It’s an art.

    A life coach.

    A free therapist.

    It teaches you that:

    • “Just five more minutes” is basically a life mantra.

    • Chaos is not the enemy it’s inspiration in disguise.

    • Last-minute adrenaline is more powerful than coffee.

    So here’s to procrastination:

    The invention that makes me question time, respect naps, panic creatively, and occasionally save the world… at 11:59 PM. 🫠

    Because let’s be real without it, life would be efficient, predictable, and tragically boring.

    And honestly, procrastination isn’t just about putting things off.

    It’s about discovering that your brain works best when it’s panicking, your creativity peaks at midnight, and somehow miraculously you survive the chaos with a smile.

    So next time someone calls you lazy, just tell them: “I’m not lazy. I’m strategically optimizing my genius under pressure.”

    —Rajeshwari 💕🧿