we aren't telling enough stories for all the amazing things happening around us

whoever thought having a flybrary was a great idea at ranchi airport, kudos… but who exactly is reading this

every single time I’ve gotten my prescription glasses, I’ve always lost it in transit atp, why am i even trying to have eyes

out of all the sexism that i have ever questioned, one that raised its head recently was when i had to get our car towed to the nearest workshop... apparently, you have to have a male figure accompany it with the towing vehicle. doesn't matter if you are a lone woman driving with elderly. produce a male heir to all your problems, regardless

chat, what are the products you really love but wish their marketing team did better to spread the word of mouth?

how peaceful to not have to share any opinion whatsoever, especially on slack there’s no world war iii awaiting the planet, the rivers flow without rage and the glaciers forget to melt

crossing roads with adults is alright; they'll figure it out even if you don't walk on their right or hold their hands to safety but when a kid trusts you, keeping their hand in yours, depending on you blindly to keep them safe — im not sure how to live with that sort of absolute faith yes, i'll be watching out for you come what may

i had some good wins last week, mostly academic, some health, but good ones in a long, long time... was tight-lipped until today, and then i blurted it out to my sister. earned an extra hour of sleep while the kids had to go to school at 6 in the morning... in your face, world!

atp, coworking with human is much more easier than working with claude ffs

sorry, this should have been... mother is mothering lol

elder sister throwing belan at her kids… peak cinema

im [technically] home for the past couple of days, and have been hogging all the meals that my mother is making. nothing fancy, just the staples i have grown up eating, with the flavours retained as is. something that i've never been able to replicate since i learnt cooking on my own. i have had karela by choice. i mixed dal with curd before pouring it over rice, just like my father used to do when we used to share a plate [which is every time btw] for lunch when i would go back. the only difference now is that im eating with my own hands, something that i'd never do whenever around my parents... i was a busy kid through it all to keep up with the meals, or at least that was the excuse. i was fed with care and annoyance and love. the kid is perhaps grown up and craves home, except only half of it is now left, that too on a distant land.

the boon of my existence… loml

not a good fit is always a good starting point

i should be working on a launch right now, i cannot... im busy bawling my eyes out for about an hour listening to somebody who lost both her parents in the nepal floods during the kailash mansarovar yatra... i thought i had processed the loss of my father well enough by now. it's been some 300 days after all and yes, i have counted. i have not. im still angry. so angry. he shouldn't have been taken away so soon. it was his time to live, to experience things that he worked so hard for. he deserved better. he deserved a better standard of life that im now capable of giving him. i couldn't. and it'll remain the only regret that i'd have to live with. something that i carry to my bed every single night. i just cannot sleep well since, wondering how i could have been a better daughter. im still not, far from it. he was supposed to travel in december, finally. i had saved for his trip that he wanted to take my mother along on. i had saved for his dentures, we were to start the process. he was supposed to see me start my mba. i took away that chance when i abruptly pulled out of one. one that he was so very proud of [i only discovered that in a voicemail months later that he didn't know was getting recorded]. im very angry with myself since. everything that im privileged to have, i can trace it to him. my education, this language that i can type in despite coming from the place that i do. the choices i get to make, the live i get to live... what not? it's difficult to imagine that he built it all in one generation with no educational trace prior in my genealogy. what have i done so far? existed perhaps? so much for being the independent young woman i thought i was. and he never stopped egging me on. i didnt meet him for the last 10 months of his life, i was working... felt like work really was everything, like it mattered. i... what has given me some sort of respite is knowing that i was held with love and would be held the same way if we are to meet someday again... like a two-year-old against the wide expanse of his chest, worryless about this whole world that doesn't make sense since. i just don't want to meet him half-done. he wouldn't question me, perhaps just hug me hard, but that's the least he deserves. i have stolen his sweater that i wore when lighting his pyre. and a shirt that i can never let go off. his degrees that must have been so hard to earn, considering where he came from. there's a picture of us in my phone cover, where i have inscribed some promises made in private. i worry about losing my phone, where his unintentionally left voicemails reside. i carry his watch everywhere i go. i tend to the plants that he taught me how to raise growing up. yes, life is damningly short and unfair and there's nothing i can control about that. but i can live knowing that i do my best everyday being his daughter. let this serve as a reminder of that. every day. i'll be here, paa. and i will do better.

on working remotely, what was once thinking out loud is now typing out loud... helppppp!

arrrghhhhh... wrote so much after so long

been sleeping in this 50 rupee shirt from sarojini that was thrifted some four years ago... and damn, it's so soft to lounge in — never letting go

nahi ho paega ye daily runs on orr... mujhe kheti karni hai

lost kid on the floor, terribly lost