Tag: nostalgia

Childhood Memories I Had Forgotten

Daily writing prompt
What’s a moment in your life that felt like it was straight out of a movie?
View all responses

“What’s a moment in your life that felt like it was straight out of a movie?”

Some of my most cherished childhood memories are tangled up with a cousin who spent his vacation doing little more than annoying me.

If someone had told my younger self that one day I’d be writing fondly about those few chaotic days of teasing, silly games, and endless arguments, I would have laughed in disbelief. Back then, I was convinced he had made it his personal mission to test my patience.

Yet years later, those ordinary moments would return in the most unexpected way.

For me, it wasn’t a dramatic adventure.

There was no rain-soaked confession, no missed train, and certainly no slow-motion scene with emotional music playing in the background.

Instead, it began years ago when a far-off cousin came to stay at our house for a few days.

At least, that was the plan.

Those few days felt much longer because he seemed to have only one goal—to annoy me whenever possible.

If we played a game, he turned it into a competition.

If I said something, he found a way to tease me about it.

If I got irritated, he considered it a personal victory.

Naturally, the rest of the family found all of this hilarious.

Every little argument became a source of entertainment.

Everyone laughed.

Everyone enjoyed the show.

Everyone except me.

The Childhood Memories That Slowly Faded

Eventually, he went back home and life moved on.

As it always does.

School happened.

Exams happened.

Responsibilities happened.

Some friendships faded, new ones appeared, and without realizing it, I grew up.

Those few days became one of many memories stored somewhere in the back of my mind.

Not forgotten.

Just buried beneath years of newer experiences.

Like old photographs sitting quietly in a dusty box.

You know they’re there.

You just don’t think about them very often.

And honestly, if someone had asked me about that time, I probably would have remembered only the broad outline of the story.

A cousin.

Some games.

A lot of teasing.

The end.

Or so I thought.

The Conversation That Felt Like a Movie Scene

Many years later, we met again.

We started talking about old times.

Nothing unusual.

Just one of those conversations where people casually wander into the past.

Then something unexpected happened.

He started recalling things.

Tiny things.

The games we used to play.

The silly arguments we had.

The ridiculous things we fought about.

The funny habits I had back then.

One memory followed another.

Then another.

Then another.

Meanwhile, I sat there wondering if he had secretly maintained an archive of my childhood.

Because I barely remembered half of what he was talking about.

Yet he recalled those moments as if they had happened yesterday.

And that was when it happened.

The movie moment.

Not outside.

Inside my head.

It felt as though someone had switched on an old projector hidden in a forgotten corner of my mind.

One dusty scene after another flickered back to life.

The house.

The laughter.

The endless teasing.

The games with rules nobody remembers anymore.

The arguments that seemed incredibly important when we were children and completely ridiculous now.

For a few minutes, the years disappeared.

And I wasn’t remembering a story.

I was stepping back into it.

Why the Smallest Memories Stay

What surprised me wasn’t that he remembered those moments.

It was realizing how many of them I had forgotten.

As children, we think the important memories will be birthdays, celebrations, and major milestones.

But years later, it is often the smallest things that survive.

The inside jokes.

The silly nicknames.

The pointless arguments.

The games invented on lazy afternoons.

The people who drove us absolutely crazy.

Somehow, those are the memories that quietly stay behind.

Waiting.

Final Thoughts

When people imagine moments that feel straight out of a movie, they often think of grand events and dramatic turning points.

But I think the most cinematic moments are sometimes the quietest ones.

A conversation.

A forgotten memory.

A sudden glimpse of a version of yourself you haven’t seen in years.

I remembered my cousin as the expert who never missed an opportunity to annoy me.

What I didn’t realize was that he remembered a childhood I had quietly begun to forget.

And for a little while, it felt as though someone had dusted off an old reel of film and pressed play.

Maybe the most cinematic moments aren’t the dramatic ones. Sometimes they’re the moments when someone unexpectedly hands you a piece of your own childhood and says, “Remember this?” ✨

Do you have someone like that in your life? Someone who remembers old stories, forgotten jokes, or pieces of your childhood that you had almost lost? I’d love to hear about your own movie moment in the comments. 💭✨

With love,
— Rajeshwari 🧿💕

© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

June 2, 2026
Where Time Still Sits✨

Daily writing prompt
Go on a walk today and share a photo of something that catches your eye.
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The Bench

I pass by that old bench almost every day.

It stands there quietly,
as if it has been waiting for me all this time—
never impatient,
never demanding,
just there.

So many times I have told myself,
“Maybe today I’ll sit for a while.”

Just for a few moments.
Just long enough to let time slow down
and revisit the days that now live only in memory.

The days when a bench was never just a bench.

It was a meeting place,
a storyteller,
a witness.

We sat for hours with friends,
laughing until our stomachs hurt,
arguing over the smallest things,
walking away in anger,
only to return and make peace again.

We shared dreams there.
We shared heartbreak there.

Sometimes we celebrated victories.
Sometimes we quietly wiped away tears,
hoping no one would notice.

And through it all,
the bench listened.

It listened without judgment.
It kept every secret.
It held every story.

How many friendships has it watched grow?
How many promises has it heard?
How many hearts has it seen break and heal again?

I wonder.

The funny thing is,
the bench is still there.

It hasn’t changed.

We have.

Once, we had all the time in the world
and nowhere important to be.

Now we have endless responsibilities,
endless destinations,
and somehow,
no time to simply sit.

When did that happen?

When did we become so busy
that pausing for a moment
started to feel like a luxury?

Perhaps that is what growing up means—
not losing our memories,
but forgetting to revisit them.

Yet I think life’s greatest treasures
are not hidden in grand achievements
or distant destinations.

They live in the pauses.

In the quiet moments.

In the places that ask nothing from us
except our presence.

So if you ever pass an old bench,
take a seat.

Stay a little longer than you planned.

Listen to the silence.

You may find an old version of yourself waiting there—
the one who laughed more freely,
dreamed more boldly,
and carried a lighter heart.

Because some benches are not made of wood and iron alone.

They are built from conversations,
friendships,
tears,
laughter,
and time itself.

And while time moves on,
the memories it leaves behind
remain seated,
waiting patiently for us to return.

Sometimes life doesn’t ask us to run faster. Sometimes it places a quiet bench along the way, reminding us that resting is not falling behind—it is part of the journey. 🌿🪑✨

.

Where time moved on, but the memories stayed. ✨ 🌿

—Rajeshwari 🧿💕

© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

June 1, 2026
Back When Memories Weren’t Stored in Cloud Storage

Do you remember life before the internet?

Life before the internet was wild honestly.

.

We used to disappear for six hours
and nobody thought we were kidnapped.

.

People knocked on doors directly.
DIRECTLY.
No “hey are you home?” text.
Just sudden human appearance.
Terrifying times.

.

Phone numbers lived inside our brains.
Now I forget OTPs
while still reading them.

.

If someone used the landline too long,
the whole family became emotionally involved.

.

And downloading?
There was no downloading.
Either the song came on the radio
or destiny said no.

.

We had one computer in the house
kept in the most public area possible
like it was under government surveillance.

.

Google wasn’t there,
so confident wrong answers survived for years.
One uncle could lie peacefully forever.

.

Summer vacations felt endless then.
We drank Rasna,
came home before streetlights,
and thought the moon followed our scooter.

.

Cartoons arrived once a day
and missing them felt like heartbreak.

.

We waited for birthday cards,
shared one earphone like it was true love,
and rewound cassette tapes with pencils
like unpaid interns.

.

Photos were blurry,
candids were accidental,
and nobody stopped eating
to take pictures of the food first.

.

Also…
we met people without stalking them first.
No bio.
No highlights.
No “link in profile.”
Just pure risk and bad judgment.

.

And somehow friendships felt longer,
conversations felt slower,
and evenings felt bigger.

.

People laughed louder,
visited more,
sat together without checking notifications every seven seconds,
and love felt less performative somehow.

.

Now we have high-speed internet,
low battery anxiety,
three passwords forgotten daily,
and the attention span of a confused mosquito.

.

But honestly…
for a world with no Wi-Fi,
it connected people surprisingly well. ✨

.

Back when memories lived in hearts, not storage space. ✨

—Rajeshwari🧿💕

© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

May 27, 2026
कुछ बातें अब भी अधूरी हैं ♡

Who would you like to talk to soon?

कभी-कभी सोचती हूँ,
दोस्ती आखिर होती क्या है…?

क्या रोज़ बात करना दोस्ती है?
हर तस्वीर में साथ दिखना दोस्ती है?
या फिर हर वक़्त एक-दूसरे के पास रहना…?

अगर ऐसा होता,
तो शायद कई रिश्ते कब के ख़त्म हो चुके होते।

मेरे लिए दोस्ती वह रिश्ता है
जो वक़्त की धूल जम जाने के बाद भी
दिल में चमकता रहता है। ✨

कुछ लोग हमारी ज़िंदगी में
बहुत शोर के साथ नहीं आते,
वे धीरे-धीरे आदत बन जाते हैं।
सुबह की चाय जैसे,
पुरानी किताबों की खुशबू जैसे,
या उस गीत जैसे
जिसे सुने बिना मन पूरा नहीं होता। ♡

फिर एक दिन ज़िंदगी
सबको अलग-अलग दिशाओं में बाँट देती है।
किसी के हिस्से नौकरी आती है,
किसी के हिस्से परिवार,
किसी के हिस्से ज़िम्मेदारियाँ…
और देखते ही देखते
वे लोग, जिनके बिना एक दिन नहीं गुजरता था,
अब महीनों तक सिर्फ़ यादों में मिलते हैं।

लेकिन अजीब बात यह है—
दूरी कभी उस अपनापन को कम नहीं कर पाती।

आज भी जब कोई बात दिल दुखाती है,
तो सबसे पहले वही पुराने दोस्त याद आते हैं।
जिनसे अब उतनी बात नहीं होती,
पर जिनके सामने कभी ख़ुद को समझाना नहीं पड़ता था।

कुछ रिश्तों की सबसे खूबसूरत बात यही होती है
कि वे हिसाब नहीं माँगते।
वे यह नहीं पूछते
कि “इतने दिन कहाँ थे?”
वे बस वहीं से अपनापन शुरू कर देते हैं
जहाँ आख़िरी बार छोड़ा था। 🤍

कभी किसी सड़क पर चलते हुए
अचानक कोई पुरानी हँसी याद आ जाती है।
किसी दुकान के बाहर खड़े होकर
वो बेवजह की बातें याद आने लगती हैं।
और फिर दिल बहुत चुपके से मान लेता है
कि कुछ लोग अब साथ नहीं हैं…
पर उनसे जुड़ी मोहब्बत आज भी वहीं है।

शायद इसी का नाम दोस्ती है—
एक ऐसा रिश्ता
जो दूरी से नहीं टूटता,
बस यादों में और गहरा उतर जाता है। ✨

और सच कहूँ यार…
तेरे साथ बिताए हुए वो छोटे-छोटे पल
आज भी मेरी ज़िंदगी के सबसे खूबसूरत हिस्सों में आते हैं।

क्योंकि कुछ लोग
ज़िंदगी में देर तक साथ रहें या नहीं,
दिल में हमेशा रह जाते हैं… ♡

Sometimes I wonder what friendship truly means…

Is it talking every single day?
Being present in every photograph together?
Or always staying close to each other…?

If that were true,
then many beautiful friendships would have ended long ago.

To me, friendship is the kind of bond
that still shines in the heart
even after time has covered it with dust. ✨

Some people do not enter our lives loudly.
They slowly become a part of us.
Like morning tea,
like the scent of old books,
or like that one song
the heart never gets tired of hearing. ♡

And then one day, life quietly pulls everyone
towards different directions.
Some get busy chasing dreams,
some become wrapped in responsibilities,
and some are simply trying to survive their own battles.

Before we realize it,
the people we once spoke to every day
begin meeting us only in memories.

And yet, strangely,
distance never really lessens the love.

Even today, whenever something hurts deeply,
those old friends are the first ones I remember.
The ones I may not speak to often anymore,
but the ones before whom
I never had to explain myself. 🤍

That is perhaps the most beautiful thing about certain relationships —
they do not ask for explanations.
They do not complain about the silence.
They simply continue from the same warmth
where everything was once left behind.

Sometimes while walking down a familiar road,
an old laugh suddenly returns to my ears.
Sometimes a random memory
brings back an entire version of life I thought was gone.

And in those quiet moments,
the heart softly accepts
that some people may no longer walk beside us…
but the love attached to them never truly leaves. ✨

Maybe that is what friendship really is —
a bond that distance cannot break,
a connection that quietly grows deeper inside memories.

And honestly, my friend…
the little moments I spent with you
still remain among the most beautiful parts of my life. ♡

Because some people,
whether they stay for long or not,
find a forever home inside the heart.

कुछ रिश्ते ख़ामोश होकर भी दिल में हमेशा ज़िंदा रहते हैं… ♡

—Rajeshwari 🧿💕

© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

May 24, 2026
From Stamps to Memories ✨

Do you have any collections?

Do You Have Any Collections?

I used to collect stamps once.
Tiny rectangles carrying countries I had never seen,
languages I could not read,
and kings, birds, flowers, mountains, and histories I knew nothing about.

Then came coins.

Old coins. Shiny coins. Foreign coins.
Coins with holes in them.
Coins that looked more valuable than my entire personality in school.

Back then, finding one unusual coin felt like discovering treasure.
Now I lose ₹10 coins inside sofa cushions and emotionally move on.

Somewhere between growing up and paying bills,
my collections disappeared quietly.

The albums are gone.
The little plastic folders vanished.
Even the excitement of asking relatives,
“Do you have any old stamps?”
has retired respectfully.

But maybe we never really stop collecting things.

We simply change what we collect.

Now I collect screenshots I’ll never revisit.
Saved reels I’ll never watch again.
Travel tickets folded inside books.
Receipts from cafés because “the paper looked aesthetic.”
Unread books.
Half-finished notebooks.
Memories from random rainy evenings.
And conversations that should have meant less… but didn’t.

Adulthood is honestly just becoming a curator of emotionally unnecessary things.

And somehow, the weirdest collections are always invisible.

We collect people’s words.
Certain songs.
Specific smells from childhood.
Tiny heartbreaks.
Almost-confessions.
Moments where we laughed too hard in the middle of ordinary days.

No shelf displays them.
Yet they occupy the most space.

And maybe that’s why old collections feel so precious today —
because they remind us of a version of ourselves
who found magic in tiny things.

A coin.
A stamp.
A sticker.
A postcard.

Little objects… carrying entire worlds.

✦ Poem ✦

I once kept stamps in careful rows,
like little doors to distant roads;
and coins inside a velvet tin,
as if they held the world within.

Now drawers are filled with stranger things —
old movie tickets, broken rings,
receipts from cafés, faded notes,
and passwords nobody even wrote.

We grow, and so our collections do;
less about objects, more about who.
A laugh, a face, a fleeting day,
the kind that never fully fades away.

And isn’t it funny, strange, yet true —
the older we get, the more we pursue
small little moments we cannot hold…
while missing the treasures we once called gold. ✨

.

Some collections leave albums…some stay in the heart forever. ✨

.

With love,

—Rajeshwari 🧿💕

© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

May 22, 2026
Some Things Refuse to Age✨

What’s the oldest things you’re wearing today?

The oldest thing I’m wearing today
is the way I still fall in love with tiny things. 🌸

.

Tiny joys.
Tiny moments.
Tiny unnecessary happiness that serves absolutely no purpose except making life feel softer.

.

I still look at the moon like she personally came to visit me.
I still pause for orange skies, old songs playing from another room, cold pillows, and the smell of books I had no intention of buying.

.

Some people became cooler with age.
I became the kind of person who whispers “the sky looks so pretty today” like it’s confidential information.🫣

.

I still listen to songs older than me like they’re personal memories.
I still open cupboards just to touch my mother’s old sarees sometimes
soft with time, carrying the quiet fragrance of another generation.
And somehow, certain fabrics don’t just hold threads,
they hold festivals, old conversations, familiar laughter, entire versions of home.

.

And honestly, I think that’s the oldest part of me.

.

Not my habits.
Not my memories.
Not even the emotional damage carefully marinated over the years.

.

Just this stubborn little ability to be delighted by life.

.

And truthfully, I wasn’t always like this.
There was a time I thought happiness had to arrive loudly
as achievements, big moments, big plans, big miracles.

.

But the last few years quietly taught me otherwise.

.

Now I think life mostly happens in smaller ways.

.

In warm tea.
In window seats.
In hearing your favorite song unexpectedly.
In someone remembering how you take your chai.☕️
In old songs drifting through another room while the evening slowly settles around you.

.

Maybe growing up was never supposed to mean becoming less amazed.✨
Maybe the real tragedy is how many people stopped noticing the softness around them.

.

Meanwhile, I’m still out here treating fairy lights like a spiritual experience and old sarees like heirlooms from another universe.

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And frankly?
I hope that part of me never ages. ✨
Someone has to keep reacting to flowers and clouds like they’re celebrity sightings. ☺️

Some softness never really leaves us. 🌸

With Love,

—Rajeshwari 🧿💕

© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

May 16, 2026
I Don’t Read… I Disappear Into Stories✨🌙

What book could you read over and over again?

.

I don’t reread books…

not because I don’t love them

but because once a story gives away all its secrets,

it stops playing with me.

.

And I like it when stories play back.

.

Because somewhere between the lines,

there’s always something hiding

something that doesn’t reveal itself easily…

something that makes me lean in a little closer.

.

And I…

I crave that first spark.

.

The moment I open a new book,

something inside me shifts

like a window suddenly opening,

and in rush

a thousand restless, mischievous thoughts.

.

Dragonflies skim across my mind,

light and fleeting…

Fireflies glow softly in hidden corners,

like tiny secrets waiting to be found…

and clouds

they don’t stay still either.

.

They change, they drift, they play,

painting my thoughts

in colors I didn’t know I carried within me.

.

I don’t read…

I run after them.

.

I try to hold onto a moment,

but it slips away laughing

playful, untamed

and somehow, I end up smiling too.

.

And then…

everything softens.

.

Like time slows down,

like I’ve stepped into a place

where imagination runs free

careless, curious, alive.

.

Books, for me, are never just stories.

They are worlds

and I don’t visit them,

I dissolve into them.

.

My thoughts don’t stay still there…

they wander, they chase, they tumble,

they turn into colors, into laughter, into quiet wonder

like a piece of childhood

that never really left,

just hid between the pages.

.

Maybe that’s why I don’t read the same book twice

because I’m not looking to remember a story…

.

I’m looking to lose myself

in a new one,

again and again. 🌙

.

Stories don’t stay on pages… they linger inside me. 🌙

.

—Rajeshwari 🧿💕

© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

April 8, 2026
When “Being Big” Was the Only Plan

When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?

When I was five,

I didn’t want to be something…

I wanted to be everything

(with zero effort, obviously).

.

Doctor

because I owned a plastic stethoscope

and confidence levels higher than actual doctors.

.

Teacher

just to say,

“Silence!”

to people who weren’t even talking.

.

Pilot

because I thought waving hands

could control air traffic.

(Still think that sometimes in traffic jams.)

.

And sometimes…

I just wanted to be my mother.

.

Wearing her saree,

standing in front of the mirror,

fixing pleats that never stayed,

pretending I had somewhere important to go.

.

No job title.

No big dream.

.

Just… her.

.

Then came the real ambition

to be “older.”

Not successful.

Not happy.

Just… older.

.

Because older people

had no homework,

no bedtime,

and unlimited authority

to say “because I said so.”

.

Scam of the century, honestly.

.

I also wanted to be rich

so I could buy

all the chocolates in the world…

and still cry over the wrong toy.

.

Priorities were clear.

Logic was not required.

.

Funny thing is

nobody asked,

“What will you actually become?”

.

Because at five,

dreams didn’t need backup plans,

or Excel sheets,

or self-doubt.

.

They just needed

a random Tuesday afternoon

and a little imagination.

.

Now people ask me that question

with deadlines in their eyes.

.

“What do you want to be?”

.

And I almost say

five again.

.

Because back then,

I wasn’t confused…

.

I was just

limitless without pressure.

.

Now I’m focused…

.

…on pretending I know

what I’m doing.

.

—Rajeshwari 🧿💕

© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

March 28, 2026
Almost There…

Name an attraction or town close to home that you still haven’t got around to visiting.

There’s a park three lanes away

with a swing that still creaks politely,

waiting for someone who isn’t in a hurry.

I’ve never sat there.

I pass it daily,

like an unread message.

An empty swing waiting in stillness—like a pause life keeps offering.

The tiny tea stall near the signal

the one with chipped cups and heroic ginger

I always say next time.

Next time has excellent attendance,

but never shows up.

A small tea stall and its quiet warmth—always close, always postponed.

A bookshop hiding behind the stationery store,

smelling of dust and old afternoons.

I know it exists.

I just don’t know it personally,

There’s a temple, a bakery, a quiet bench,

a road that bends instead of rushing straight

all close enough to wave at me,

far enough to be postponed.

“A place I know exists… just not personally.”

Weekends arrive like they’ve grown wings,

Saturday yawns, Sunday sprints,

and suddenly it’s Monday again,

asking what I did with all that freedom.

Life keeps happening in the big, loud things

alarms, lists, groceries, deadlines

while the small places sit patiently,

unbothered by my excuses.

Maybe one day

I’ll take the long way home

just to meet them.

Not as a plan.

Just as a pause.

—Rajeshwari💕

January 24, 2026