29th August 2026,
2:30 p.m.

I leave for my friend’s birthday party.

I haven’t seen her in two years.

We still keep in contact, of course. Different cities had made meeting difficult, but summer vacation had finally brought all of us back to our hometown at the same time.

For once, our plans aligned.

3:30 p.m.

I’m ready.

A brown midi dress. Brown heels. Gold earrings. A gold bracelet. Makeup.

I look at myself once before leaving.

Party-ready enough.

I walk towards the metro station.

There is a woman walking in front of me, probably in her twenties. She is wearing a casual T-shirt and jeans. Nothing particularly remarkable.

And yet, there is something about her.

Something that makes you look twice.

I look at her and immediately think:

I wish I looked like that.

I enter the metro and a woman sits in front of me.

She looks like she’s in her forties. A blue sari. White blouse. Wired earphones.

She’s humming.

I don’t know the song because I have my own earphones in, but I can tell she likes it.

There are a few strands of white hair at the very front of her head.

They suit her.

I look away.

I have white hair too.

I’m still young.

Why does everything look better on everyone else?

4:45 p.m.

I get off the metro.

Ten minutes of walking later, I reach the restaurant.

A waitress guides me towards our table.

She is wearing a bold red lipstick.

It suits her perfectly.

I immediately take out the tiny mirror from my purse.

I look at my own lipstick.

Brown.

Does this look stupid?

I put the mirror away.

Everyone is already sitting down and talking.

Then Shanaya sees me.

She gets up.

She looks beautiful.

She has always been pretty, but tonight there is something different about her. The white maxi dress. The silver hoops. The soft makeup.

For a second, she looks almost unreal.

Like an angel who accidentally walked into a restaurant.

She hugs me and says something.

I don’t remember what.

I was too busy looking at her.

I sit down.

Everyone looks happy.

Everyone looks comfortable.

Everyone looks like they’ve somehow grown into versions of themselves that I haven’t caught up to.

I wonder when I became the odd one out.

7:00 p.m.

The party is over.

It was fun.

At least, everyone else seemed to have fun.

I didn’t hate it.

I just couldn’t stop comparing myself to everyone around me.

On the way back to the metro station, I notice something strange.

A telephone booth.

An actual telephone booth.

I haven’t seen one in years.

I don’t know why, but I walk inside.

There is a small note beside the telephone.

It says:

BEFORE CALLING ANYONE, DIAL 0 3 7 1 1 0 TO GUIDE YOU.

I stare at the number.

What a strange combination.

I dial it.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Someone picks up.

“Hello, Anya.”

I freeze.

“How do you know my name?”

There is a pause.

Then a voice says:

“Welcome to the Museum”
"Museum of what?
”Of your life”

A violent gust of wind tears through the booth.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

And then

silence.

I open them.

A notice hangs in front of me.

YEAR: 2010
AGE: 4
PURPOSE: FIRST MEMORY

I’m standing in a playground.

And there I am.

Four years old.

I’m on a swing with a girl.

We’re laughing.

Neither of us seems to care where we’re going or how long we’ve been there.

We just swing.

Higher.

Lower.

Higher.

I watch my younger self get down.

A girl walks over.

“Hi, I’m Sonia.”

“Hi. I’m Anya.”

She looks at me.

“You’re so pretty. I love your cheeks. They’re so cute.”

I laugh.

“No, you’re pretty. Your hair is so thick and long. How is that even possible?”

She laughs too.

And just like that, we’re friends.

Sonia.

She’s still in my friend group.

The wind comes again.

Hard.

I close my eyes.

Silence.

I open them.

YEAR: 2015
AGE: 9
PURPOSE: FIRST COMPLIMENT FROM A BOY

I’m on a football field with my classmates.

I’m laughing.

Running.

Playing.

I loved sports then.

I still do.

When the game ends, one of the boys walks over.

“You play so cool,” he says. “I love the way you play. You look really cool.”

I stare at him.

It is the first time a boy has ever said something like that to me so confidently.

The wind comes again.

My eyes close.

Silence.

YEAR: 2017
AGE: 11
PURPOSE: FIRST CONFESSION

I’m getting off the school bus.

Two boys and a girl are with me.

It’s Monday.

A boy walks towards me.

“Hey, Anya.”

“Hey.”

“You’re really my type. I really like you. I love the way you look.”

He hesitates.

“Will you date me?”

I smile awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, Madhav. I don’t see you that way. But... thank you for having the courage to tell me.”

He nods.

I remember that day differently.

I remember feeling insecure.

I remember looking around at other girls and wondering why I didn’t look like them.

But watching it now, from outside myself, I notice something else.

He meant it.

He really liked me.

The wind comes.

Harder this time.

I close my eyes.

YEAR: 2023
AGE: 17
PURPOSE: A MEMORY I WISH I HAD FORGOTTEN

A boy from my old tuition class walks towards me with his friends.

“Long time no see, Anya.”

“Yeah. How are you?”

“Good.”

He looks at me for a moment.

“You’ve changed so much.”

I smile politely.

Then he says something I don’t want to remember.

He tells me that he hadn’t thought much of me before.

That he didn’t think I looked good.

That now, apparently, I do.

I stare at him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

The wind comes before he can answer.

I close my eyes.

For some reason, this time the silence feels longer.

YEAR: 2024
AGE: 18
PURPOSE: A FRIEND CORRECTS ME

I’m sitting with two new friends.

They’re talking.

I’m listening.

Somehow, the conversation turns towards appearances.

I say it casually.

“I don’t think I’m pretty.”

One of them immediately looks at me.

“Girl. Shut the fuck up.”

I laugh.

“No, seriously.”

She shakes her head.

“You don’t get to decide that you’re ugly and expect the rest of us to agree with you.”

I stare at her.

She continues.

“You’re genuinely one of the prettiest people I’ve met this year.”

I don’t know what to say.

The wind comes.

I close my eyes.

YEAR: 2025
AGE: 19
PURPOSE: MEETING MY LONG-DISTANCE BEST FRIEND AFTER YEARS

My best friend is coming back from Australia.

She moved there when I was twelve.

We stayed in touch.

Video calls.

Messages.

Birthdays.

Random conversations at impossible hours.

But this is the first time I’m seeing her in person again.

I pick her up from the airport.

She walks towards me.

For a moment, I just stare.

She looks so happy.

So familiar.

And somehow, completely different.

I hug her.

“My God, Priya. You look gorgeous.”

She pulls away and looks at me.

“Anya.”

“What?”

“You look stunning.”

I laugh.

“It’s literally morning.”

“So?”

“I don’t look good.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Shut up.”

I laugh.

“No, you look amazing.”

“I know I look good,” she says, completely seriously.

Then she points at me.

“But I also know you look good.”

The memory freezes.

Not literally.

But somehow, I know it’s time to leave.

The wind comes again.

YEAR: 2026
AGE: 20
PURPOSE: SHANAYA’S BIRTHDAY PARTY

I’m back at the restaurant.

Back in the brown dress.

Back at the table.

Back at the moment when I hugged Shanaya.

I hear my own voice.

“You look so, so pretty.”

And then hers.

“Girl, I love your dress.”

I look at her.

She points at my earrings.

“And your jewelry.”

Then she smiles.

“And that lipstick? It looks so good with your dress.”

I look down at myself.

Brown dress.

Brown lipstick.

Gold jewelry.

Exactly what I had been questioning earlier.

Shanaya takes my hand.

“I really think you look so pretty.”

She pulls me towards the table.

“Come. Sit next to me.”

The memory fades.

The wind comes.

Hard.

Harder than before.

I close my eyes.

For the first time, I don’t know what memory comes next.

There is no sound.

No voice.

No footsteps.

Nothing.

Then

silence.

I open my eyes.

I’m sitting on my sofa.

My sister is beside me, watching television.

I’m still wearing my brown dress.

My earrings.

My bracelet.

My lipstick.

Everything is exactly as it was before.

Except the telephone is gone.

I look around.

The room is my room.

The television is playing.

My sister is sitting beside me as if nothing unusual has happened.

I look at the time.

11:11 p.m.

I stare at her.

“WHEN did I reach home?”

She doesn’t look away from the television.

“Just now.”

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To the one that holds my heart, 

The first time I saw you, 
Sitting on the branch of the tree,
Playing the flute that is painted blue,
The melodies that flow O’ so free

The long straight brown hair, 
The white dupatta,
Both flowing by the wind,
It is so free yet so aligned,
The beautiful sonata, 
How can this be fair?

I try to imagine your eyes, 
What colour could it be ?
I was standing right in front of you,
Admiring everything you do,
I know you did not see me
Since your eyes were closed, focusing on the melodies, your mind found ease

Now I am trapped by your presence
But you don’t know me
My memories are filled with your essence
If this was meant to be, why the cruelty?
- by Ana ☆

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9th of August, 
The day the sand is black
The day the moon is red
I look at the view and remember what I lost

The moon was full and bright,
Pooled in the hollows of her skin, pale as skimmed milk
She was the only one in sight
I wonder, at that time, what did she think?

The sand matched her tone
Footprints filled with ink-black shadow
Was she that lone?
To think the sea will give her the warmth and glow

Was home so unknown,
That she made the sea her own

As she went to her new home
The sea.

The sand became black
The moon became red.

9th of August.
- by Ana ☆

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It’s waiting 
Sitting on a chair
Beside the ocean shore 
Waiting 

We don’t know for who,
For what, 
For how long,
and why,
We just know its waiting 

It has decayed to the point
We can’t differentiate its gender
Is it a boy or a girl?
We don’t know
All we know is that it’s waiting 
For years long

We do respect it
The resilience,
The patience,
The silence,
The vigilance,
The expectance,
The acceptance, 
We sure hope it was worth it.  
- by Ana ☆

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If you’ve been on Indian social media recently, you’ve probably seen the viral “₹370 biryani” clip.

The story came from a stand-up comedy show where a man described spending ₹370 on biryani for a woman. Later, when she asked him to drop her home, he joked that he hadn’t yet “recovered” the money he had spent. The audience laughed. The comedian called it “peak Gurgaon content.” The clip spread rapidly online and sparked a debate about dating culture, consent, and entitlement. The joke wasn’t really about splitting a bill; it was about the assumption that spending money on a woman creates some kind of obligation in return.

Now, some people insist that everyone is “overreacting.”

I disagree.

Because the most disturbing part of that clip wasn’t the joke. It was the fact that so many people instantly understood the implication and laughed.

Let’s be honest about what made the audience laugh.

Nobody was laughing because a man wanted a UPI refund. Nobody was laughing because he was worried about petrol prices. The joke worked because everyone understood the unspoken transaction being suggested: I spent money on you, therefore I deserve something back.

And that is exactly the problem. The amount doesn’t matter. It could have been ₹370. It could have been ₹3,700. It could have been a five-star dinner, concert tickets, flowers, or a luxury vacation. The principle remains the same. The moment someone believes that money spent on another person creates entitlement to their affection, attention, romance, or body, they have fundamentally misunderstood what consent is.

Consent is not a receipt. Consent is not a cashback offer. Consent is not a reward point system where enough spending unlocks access to another human being.

Yet somehow, this idea keeps surviving.

There is a strange contradiction in the way some people talk about dating. They claim they are being exploited whenever they spend money on a woman. But in the same breath, they reveal that they never viewed the money as a gift, generosity, or even a shared experience. They viewed it as an investment and investments, in their minds, must generate returns.

That’s not dating. That’s a transaction pretending to be romance.

What frustrates me most is how casually this mindset gets packaged as humor. The internet often treats these moments as harmless jokes, but jokes do not exist in a vacuum. Humor reveals assumptions. It exposes beliefs people are comfortable expressing when they can hide behind laughter. When a room erupts in applause at the suggestion that buying someone biryani should lead to some form of “recovery,” what we’re witnessing isn’t just comedy. We’re witnessing the normalization of entitlement.

The defense is always the same: “It’s just a joke.” Fine. Then explain the joke. What exactly is funny?

And before anyone rushes to say “not all men,” of course it isn’t all men. But it is difficult to ignore that conversations like these almost always involve men feeling entitled to something in return for their money, time, or attention. The issue is not men as a group. The issue is a mindset that treats women as investments and relationships as transactions.

Everyone in that room played a part in normalizing it. The man who made the comment. The host who laughed and called it “peak Gurgaon content.” The audience that joined in. None of them questioned the assumption behind the joke because, for a moment, it felt normal enough to laugh at and maybe that’s what unsettles me the most. Not the man who said it. Not even the people who laughed. But the realization that people who think this way do not walk around announcing it. They are classmates, coworkers, friends, dates, and sometimes people we genuinely like.

That is why this incident lingered in my mind long after I scrolled past it.

I’m currently talking to a guy. He seems sweet. We text, we flirt, and we have a great time. Under normal circumstances, that would simply be exciting. But after watching that clip and seeing the reaction to it, I caught myself wondering something I wish I never had to wonder.

What if he agrees with it?

What if, beneath all the kindness and charm, he sees dating through the same transactional lens?

What if he believes that effort, money, or attention automatically entitle him to something in return?

We haven’t gone a date yet and now instead of looking forward to it, I find myself hesitating. Not because he has done anything or has given me a reason to doubt him. But because of incidents like this, it makes me question his intentions, his thoughts and his mindset. It made me realize I don’t know him completely. What if he has the same mentality? What if he sees the date as an investment rather than opportunity to know me?
These thoughts are unfair to us both but I can’t stop to question it because incidents like these keep coming repeatedly and shows how much women still have to be careful and mindful and not simply just enjoy a date.

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Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis (CIPA) is a rare neurological disorder in which a person cannot feel physical pain and is unable to sweat due to nerve dysfunction. Pain, which normally acts as the body’s warning system, is absent, turning everyday life into a series of unseen risks and unnoticed injuries. What appears to be a gift often becomes a burden, as survival depends not on instinct but on constant awareness. Beyond the medical reality lies a quieter struggle: living in a body that does not signal harm, where suffering exists without sensation, and fear replaces feeling. This poem reflects that paradox—being alive, unhurt, and yet constantly endangered by the absence of pain.

CIPA

Physical pain.
External pain.
Internal pain.
All body pain.

I can’t feel it
this body pain.
Might sound like a heaven’s gift,
but it makes me go insane.

I want to feel me.
I want to feel my body.
I want to feel free.
I want to feel less gaudy.

It’s a painless hell,
because I don’t know my issue,
the torture I always dwell on,
knowing there is no one to rescue.

So I have to protect myself.
This hell I can’t escape
continues and repeats itself.
This is me, painless, but a killing shape
-by Ana ☆

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Let me start with something we all relate to: comfort feels good. It feels safe, familiar, and predictable. Our comfort zone is the space where we know the rules, where we make fewer mistakes, and where fear stays quiet. And because of that, we naturally try to stay there. But here’s the truth: everything we want in life exists just outside that zone.

Think about the things people desire the most: success, confidence, meaningful relationships, or even self-respect. None of these are born out of comfort. Speaking in front of others, taking responsibility, starting something new, or choosing discipline over ease, all of these feel uncomfortable at first. Yet, they are exactly what lead to growth. What we desire often lies on the other side of fear, not familiarity.

Coming out of your comfort zone is hard because the human brain is designed to protect you, not to help you grow. Anything unfamiliar is automatically labeled as a threat. That’s why trying something new feels uncomfortable even when it’s good for us. We fear failure, judgment, and embarrassment. We fear not being good enough. And often, we confuse comfort with happiness, even when comfort is slowly turning into stagnation.

Growth does not happen in comfort. Growth happens when you are challenged. The moment you step into unfamiliar territory, you are forced to adapt, learn, and evolve. Every time you push past discomfort, whether it’s speaking up, trying something new, or taking responsibility. You expand your limits. What once felt impossible slowly becomes normal.

And here’s something important to understand: once we achieve what we want, it eventually becomes comfortable. The success, the skill, the confidence, it all starts to feel normal over time. But getting there is never comfortable. The process demands effort, patience, and struggle. Anything truly valuable has to be earned, and earning it means facing discomfort head-on. There is no shortcut to growth without challenge.

So yes, stepping out of your comfort zone is uncomfortable. It challenges you. It tests you. But it is also necessary. Comfort keeps you safe, but courage moves you forward. And when you accept discomfort as part of the journey, rather than something to avoid, you begin to gain things that truly matter.

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We all have that phase
when we suddenly start feeling attracted
to that one person and begin to chase.
The side effects are just too effective.

Suddenly, you like everything—
their eyes, nose, ears, and lips.
Their beautiful features,
just thinking of them makes you feel tipsy.

Your mind is no longer yours; it’s theirs,
slowly and slowly liking them inside.
Their personality is just so amazing,
and you can no longer hide
that cute, foolish feeling.

You just hope they are happy.
Laughing and achieving their desires
is just how much you fancy,
and just how much you admire
their whole existence.

Since it’s your first time, you drove
and forgot the distance.
Just know, 
it’s your first love.
-by Ana ☆

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Recently, a friend told me that my life must be “boring”. According to them, I don’t date, I don’t flirt with boys, I don’t drink or smoke, and I don’t get caught up in drama. On the surface, I can see why someone might think that, but to me, my life is far from boring. It is peaceful, intentional, and mine.

Apart from these, I already have enough set of challenges and problems that demand my attention and energy. Why would I willingly invite chaos when I am already dealing with the complexities that already exist? To me, solitude is not emptiness, but a space to think, grow, and understand myself. I will admit, the life of parties, dating, and drama does tempt me. I do want the experience of thrill, rush, and excitement. But right now, it is not my priority. It is just a desire, not a necessity. I can always explore these temptations when timing feels right.

This does not mean I am indifferent to joy and adventure. It simply means that this kind of joy isn’t my kind, at least not right now. I find joy in music, literature, movies, feeding and petting cats, having long, comfortable calls with my best friends, and lastly, sitting with my makeup spread out, creating something just for myself.

This isn’t about being better than anyone else or judging the way others choose to live. It’s simply an understanding that everyone, including me, finds joy in different places, and those places can change with time. What excites someone today may not hold the same meaning tomorrow, and it is very valid. What matters is allowing ourselves the freedom to choose the joy and adventure we want, because in the end, this is our life.

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Running away from predator

Hiding from predator

Escaping the predator

Hurting the predator

Letting go of the predator

Loving past the predator

Is Brave

The predator can be of any form

They disguise themselves to harm

But saving yourself is not foolish

It is brave and good selfish

Saving yourself is brave

You are brave

-By Ana ☆