Tag: Personal Musings

  • Some Things Refuse to Age✨

    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.

    .

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

    Warm nostalgic artwork with old sarees, books, tea, and the title Some Things Refuse to Age ✨
    Some softness never really leaves us. 🌸

    With Love,

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • What Do I Complain About the Most?

    What do you complain about the most?

    A young woman sits at a cluttered desk, looking overwhelmed as thought bubbles, clocks, notes, and reminders swirl around her. Above her, the title “What Do I Complain About the Most?” is written, and “Nihshabd” appears at the bottom. The illustration reflects overthinking, expectations, and everyday frustrations in a warm, expressive art style.
    “Me vs. my expectations… guess who wins every time?”

    What Do I Complain About the Most?

    I complain.
    A lot.
    About everything.
    Sometimes even about things
    I secretly enjoy complaining about.

    I complain about life
    because it doesn’t follow my plans,
    my timelines,
    or my very detailed imaginary scripts.

    I complain about people
    when they talk too much,
    when they talk too little,
    and especially
    when they don’t read my mind
    after knowing me for years.

    I complain about love
    when it’s late,
    when it’s confusing,
    and even when it’s peaceful
    because peace, honestly,
    feels suspicious.

    I complain about small things
    “Why didn’t they reply?”
    “Why did they reply like that?”
    “Why did they forget?”
    And sometimes
    “Why do I remember everything?”

    Funny thing is
    most people I complain about
    are already doing their best.
    But their best comes
    in a language
    my expectations refuse to learn.

    So I call it less.
    Life calls it different.

    I say,
    “You didn’t do enough,”
    when what I really mean is,
    “You didn’t do it the way
    I wanted…
    and on time…
    and with a little magic.”

    And let’s be honest
    even if life gave me everything,
    I’d still complain about
    the delivery system.

    But somewhere between
    all this complaining,
    I laugh.
    I realise.
    I soften.

    Because most complaints
    are not anger
    they’re love without instructions.

    They’re expectations
    wearing humour,
    frustration,
    and a little drama.

    So yes
    I complain about almost everything.

    But if I look closely,
    behind every complaint
    is someone I care about,
    something I value,
    or a life I’m still deeply involved in.

    And maybe…
    complaining is just proof
    that I haven’t checked out yet.

    That I’m still here.
    Feeling.
    Living.
    Trying.

    And honestly?
    That’s not such a bad thing. 🙂

    —Rajeshwari 💕