Sometimes I think of ways to break the cast of this curse.

They saw me once when I was at my best. Maybe I was smiling more, speaking better, marks better, dressed better,expressing better. And now they remember only that version of me and expect the same.

So I wake up everyday trying to match that girl. Even when I don't have the energy to be her. I want to be tired, I want to be lazy at times,I wanna be quiet. But am not allowed. I am bound by the fear of "I should" as if am hard working.They think all we want is acceptance. No, we want much more. We want us to be "us".

The craving for satisfaction is what makes us do all of this.

But at times I don't wanna pretend. Maybe am tired, maybe i need a break, maybe i don't wanna talk, maybe am lazy, maybe I WANNA CHOOSE MYSELF and for that they called me "selfish" "arrogant" "egoistic".

Now what ,I am the worst person in their story despite being the "good girl" all along?

It's okay, it's not always about the sun, it's about the moon too. But if the sun had not hidden, would we be able to see the moon!?

Think of it, sometimes absence is what helps something new to rise. The reality is we forget to live. Instead we become performers of our own best moments. The level of discomfort we hold when we say "it's okay" when it was really not okay, just so they don't think you changed.

And then there's is the greatest lie that we tell. "We are trying to be perfect". Are we? We are trying to be perfect so that they don't leave. We got brain fed that , if we show tired, messy, low-battery version of us, they will be disappointed.

This is time where you break this curse. Let me break it down. Accept it, population.

I am not a best-seller everyday. Some days I am just a rough draft with spelling mistakes. And rough drafts also deserved to be read with love, care and gentleness.

It's okay to not to be okay all the time. And it's okay if some people only liked the best version of you. They liked a scene, not the whole film. Be you, where you are right now. Feeling low, be low. And then slowly get up from it. You are human, not a robot.

Dear lovely readers,

You don't have to shrink and stretch to fit in a frame they clicked for you once. Be as you are today. Quiet? Be quiet. Not perfect? Be real. The right one's always stay excited for all the seasons. Not just the spring.

Love yaa ~♡!

The lonely stars kept me awake

Through the night I couldn't sleep

Knowing that nobody could be it

Better than you..

Maybe I'll heal

Maybe I'll learn

But today let me just think of you.

They see me sitting on fire

Guessing I was fine!

Until they knew that I was dead

For so long.

I said I was fine,

But the nights they don't lie.

Keep me burning into ashes

So that I can finally fly.

The heart that loved once

The soul that danced once

It's all in vain,

It's all long dead to me.

The empty road of my life

I still hope I find a ray,

Not to love, not to trust

But maybe to stay alive till death picks me up.

It's time to shake this dumb economy who created the most overrated narrow minded thoughts and teachings like getting degrees and education done and dusted by 22, getting a job by 23, getting married in late 20s, becoming parents by 30s etc.

And what are supposed to do after that?

Dig our graves or what?

Nobody warns you that climbing the ladder means stepping over your own childhood. What if 25 was for failing at pottery. What if 32 was for your first solo trip. What if 40 was for falling in love for the first time and not apologizing for it. We treat 30 like an expiry date and wonder why we're all rotting inside.

They taught us to build resumes and not how to build a life. They told us burnout was a badge. Nobody mentioned it was a receipt proof we traded our 20s for a LinkedIn update and an unexpected panic attack at 2 am.

You know what hurts more?

Imagine waking up at 25 and not having a favourite song anymore?

We have to learn to take our life slow. It's not a rush and we are not gonna get anywhere with these stresses and panic attacks.

I mean, bruh what's wrong with getting married in 40s? What's wrong with having one more degree in your 30s?

20s and 30s are our prime which we are supposed to enjoy the nature, life and everything more.

But look at us now. Working 12 hr shifts, forgetting to breathe, rushing to live a day, emotionally unstable and it goes on.

What if 22 was for getting it wrong. For quitting the degree you hate and trying something else. For falling in love with wrong person amd learning your own name anyway. What if 30 was your debut, not your deadline. Your first art class. What if 40 was it when you finally started? Married or not. Parent or not. You, but without the 20 year hangover of " I should have".

What if we measured life in moments you felt like kid again, not in promotions you can't remember. What if success was how often we laughed without checking the time.

Just to think of, we are that generation of parents that makes sure our children are safe and their dreams are not restricted. Choosing gentle parenting and being with them as their best friend.

So why not we think of, taking our life little slower and steady with 0 rush.

I believe if we were taught this earlier and was practised like this, so many among us would have been still alive. We are forced to forget the child in us by 20s and become the grandparents we don't deserve. Let me clear this up,

How many of you took a moment today to pause your life and understand how far we've come and appreciate ourselves? How many of you sat freely for 10 mins straight with 0 thoughts and worries?

And all of this to own that little place in cemetery? Was it really worth it, killing yourselves at this young age and trying not to be ourselves?

So go, breathe, take that break.

You might not need it, but the child in you does.

Peace ✌️.

The ceiling that saw the panics

The pillow that wiped the tears

The heart that didn't cheat

The blanket that hugged me

People never stayed

But they did.

Life felt promising in objects and humans

Than it felt in humans.

The darkness I was afraid of,

Is now my comfort zone.

The pain I cried over

Had become my inspiration.

Every minutes, every seconds

My thoughts betrays my mind.

The beauty of efforts is faded

So is my expectations.

Acceptance is my new primer

The base for whatever life holds ahead.

The stories lied to us.

And we are grieving a love that never existed.

We were raised on love stories and not for love.

I grew up on a lie on how love feels cuz I learned it from screens.

I've always thought love is picking up at front door, getting flowers on a random thursday, being carried in arms when your feet hurts, dancing in the rain because the moment felt bigger than the weather, the eye never lies combo and fighting for each other like the world was watching and probably ended up in a wedding.

Until I realized, that's the sentence where the movie ends. Until I realized it is acting "It's fine" in busy terms.

It's choosing fight over peace because peace felt like losing.

It's sometimes having to forget who we really are just to keep the house quiet.

It's swallowing the "I need you" because they are already drowning in their own life.

It's calling exhaustion"stability" and distance "maturity".

The movies ended at wedding because they were never meant to be seen after that. They got drowned by the waves of busy sedentary life.

Have you noticed?

Nobody warns you that hardest breakup is with a fantasy.

You don't cry over the person. You cry over the front door pickup that never happened.

You grieve the flowers you bought yourself.

You mourn for the part of you who got shattered from the efforts.

Vanishing fictional love doesn't explode, it evaporates.

In the unanswered text. In the "I'm too busy" that becomes permanent.

We mourned for a fiction and shamelessly called ourselves unlovable for not finding it.

Vanishing fictional love hurts like hell. Probably because the world taught us what real love is in this world and how fools we were to wait for someone just like in the screens.

Because you're are not losing a story. You're losing the proof that you were ever worth the movie version.

But here's the ugly truth they don't put on screens:

Real love is uglier,quieter. It's "I made extra rice" instead of dancing in train.

It's "I'm sorry I was short, my day was shit" instead of grand speeches.

It's not being carried, It's someone asking " Do you wanna lean?".

It's choosing to stay when 3 kids are screaming and the bills are due and nobody looks like the poster anymore.

We were sold a love that doesn't pay bills or change the diaper or apologize first.

And we called ourselves broken for not finding it.

Damn!!! We were not broken, we were just reading the wrong book..

And maybe that's not Cinematic.

But it's real and pretty.

And the real doesn't vanish when life gets busy. Real stays, even when it's messy. Even when it's tired. Even when it's just "we'll figure it out" whispered at 2 AM

The fiction vanished for good. Let it.

Now we have room for something that doesn't need a wedding to end.

Because it doesn't.

The kind that stays.

The kind that's real.

Maybe that's the only love story worth writing.

♡♡♡

:- Mindtalks (Ann)

You think the worst prison have bars? No, just "what people will say" and "think of the children".

Crazy how the world literally marked the men and women with extreme weights and had the audacity to call it "love".

The ideology is so scary that people still believe marriage as just "man the provider and woman the altruist" and not "PARTNERSHIP".

The marriage storms as business deals and not as process of great beginning.

The "She" tales

The quiet violence doesn't sound like headlines but are the kind that wears a bindi and calls itself "care". Women are shrunk into the others necessities and comforts while her's is rotting in hell. The way she had to stop thinking about herself to fit into the reality of 4 or 5 humans called family. Dreams are not faded, she had to fold it into pieces which would never be unfolded.

Love was the cage. Duty was the lock. Sacrifice was what they named her so she doesn't sound like prisoner. The world taught the girl about filling the stomachs but never taught that she had one too. They never say "NO". But said "good girls don't...." so she had to built the cage for herself. She was taught to fast for his life. But he was never taught to ask about hers.

Yes, she has a 40 yrs of story to tell. But still known as "wife of" and "mother of" and not by her name. Freedom for her is still scheduled. After the laundry, after the in-laws, after dinner.

There was no slap. No blood. No police report.

Just a women who stopped painting because "who would look after children and parents if you look at brushes", just a women who stopped crocheting because "who will cook if you don't", just a women who said "i wanna travel" and got "after marriage, if your husband allows it", just a mother who never slept past 5 am because good wife wakes up first.

No bruises, no blood.

Just a life slowly traded for everyone else's comfort at it's own expense.

We just don't name it "violence" because it wears a mangalsutra!

I wonder if you are reading this stirring, cooking or whatever - it was never your fault.

The "He" tales

"Real Men don't cry" has become the official judgement statement as if they are not supposed to express their emotions until they have paid the bills first. It's so lame how society have marked them as the only providers who are supposed to work hard, earn, take care and many more. Life for him has become the salary and a place where he doesn't have his own personality.

It have always been "Don't cry, real men earn and provide". Wasn't it supposed to be "You are a human too. Easy and feel life". He wasn't raised to be a husband but a paycheck with legs. We always blame him for being present instead of asking him how his job description started and ended with "provide or you're worthless". His love language became overtime. Because that's the only thing that we taught him was acceptable.

I think the pain of men has always been measured against each other instead of seeing it as it's own.

And cheers to the stinking society, we don't call this violence because they spent their lives to care.

This isn't about who had it worse but about how we both were called to bleed mercilessly and they call it "duty". Her silent voice was disappearing in the stove. His silent voice was performing until it was broke.

Ask a women when was the last time she did something for herself,the last time she chose herself.

Ask a men when was it, where he last felt allowed to fail.

If both of them flinch, then you know.

The Silent Violence never picked a gender. It just picked different weapons.

The cage is painted gold and luxurious and we've been calling the wounds "love","duty" for generations.

If this found you in kitchen or at your desk at 11pm, remember you are not alone in the cage and you're are not crazy for wanting the door.

It is because “ WE ARE HUMANS”.

People called it adjustment but it's definitely not. I know it by the name 'surviving skill'. It's, choosing textbooks over lunch even when you know knowledge alone doesn't fill your stomach. It's the lame "already ate"excuse when stomach is eating itself along with the mind calculation. To be frank I've become a calculator with legs.

Yes, and they think it's just adjustment! but in my accent it is the Sacrificial Surviving Instinct.

The lie they tell you

---------------

One day I was travelling back to my hometown in a general compartment having lays or call it my lunch. A family of mother, father and a son sat right next to me. By the look on their face I understood that they were tired. I only had the one pack that I was having. The little guy was muttering that he was hungry.

I offered him my chips. At first he ignored, but then he had to look at his father's face for the"pride approval”.

The father just nodded once with the eyes down. The son offered a chips to his parents but they happily refused saying "we are not hungry, beta". I could read his face only because I knew what it felt like.

Yes, sometimes the lie that we spit are not the ones to deceive someone. But those are the ones that we are trying to accept as our truth because there is nothing that can be done.

The talents we bury

---------------

My talents didn't die, they starved. There's a difference.

Talents overflowed, enough to create waves of changes, talents that might even change the world. But nobody knows that it needs peace, time, wifi and many more things that no-one speaks about.

Yes.

Everyone's different. We got differentiated so bad that we don't even know how others survive, while some people just live and exist.

"Walking off" stage isn't a failure if you know. It's a strategy. Strategy that we learn from fighting the wars against the world and money.

Not calling home, isn't pride. But it's protection not for us,but for them.

Because home for us have always been: "let them have it" ,"let them enjoy","don't let them know" and more and more "let them"s. That's not adjustment. That's the Sacrificial Surviving Instinct I am talking about.

Who are the we?

Incase if you wonder:

We- are not poor enough for pity but not rich enough for safety. Yes, we exist, we survive.

And with deep pride I would say that "We are experts of stretching nothing into something".

They say "It must be easy for you, because you are talented".

Yes, I am talented and my talents and I am stuck in 4 walls, 200 rupees and no charger, with hope of conquering the world. And one day I will.

Surviving isn't just a word sometime. It's a war that people have to face daily to meet the moon at the end.We never know what anyone has to go through. Every win, every success is a sacrifice.

Let the world know one day what we were really.

Fight for what we have today and not for something that we don't know would stay. Fight for making yourself better. Take the very small steps,

just like how we learnt to walk.

" LIVE SURVIVE AND BREATHE TODAY".

George Bernard Shaw once said:"I have to live for others and not for myself; that's middle-class morality"

He was right. But remember he didn't had to choose between busfare and road..

Thank you so much for your support. Let's create a community where we talk about our lives.

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I have always believed that luck was something that a person was born with. But as life grew past our memories I figured out that :

" Luck is not something real. But they are the

-rare chances- that come to us".

Rare chances don't come to us like movies with violins, but as inconvenience that sounds like " ugh!! Not again".

They are the borrowed time for us, where we decide what has to be done and how. And if, we take the right decision we call it luck, and take the wrong and believe unlucky or cursed.

The Railway station Rare Chance

___________________

I was killing time, walking up and down the platform. That’s when I saw her. She was sitting on the bench near the tea stall. School bag on her lap. Rubbing her face hard, like she was angry at her own tears. Not the quiet crying type. The angry, frustrated, _don’t-you-dare-fall_ type.

People walked past. I almost did too. But she looked... desperate. Not for help. For air.

I went to the stall. Bought two water bottles. No plan. Just thought, if I’m going to sit near a stranger, I should have something to offer besides awkwardness.

I sat one seat away from her. Didn’t look at her directly. Opened my bottle. I kept the second one between us.

She noticed. Didn’t touch it.

Her phone was in her hand. She kept pressing call. _Mom_ flashed on the screen. Ring, ring, ring. Voicemail. She cancelled it. Tried again. Each time her shoulders got tighter.

That’s what broke me. Not the tears. The way she kept hoping the next ring would be different.

I pushed the bottle an inch closer. “You okay?”

She flinched. Looked at me like I was about to sell her insurance. For a second I thought she’d get up and leave. But she didn’t. She just grabbed the bottle. Didn’t open it. Just held it. Like it was an anchor.

We didn’t speak. Vendors shouted. A family was fighting over the luggage. And we just sat there. Two strangers with a Bisleri between us.

The silence got heavy. So I filled it.

I told a story about me, getting cheated over and over, depressed, getting therapy and how strong I am right now.

She didn’t look at me. But her grip on the bottle loosened.

“I called my mom 8 times that day” I said. “She was busy. Never picked up. I remember thinking, if she just says ‘it’s okay’, I can breathe again.”

That’s when I heard it. A small sniff. Not a sob. Just... air going back in.

Her train came. She stood up. Still didn’t say anything. Drank the water.

But before she got on, she turned. Gave me a smile. Didn’t thank me but...nodded, once.

Then she was gone.I sat there for another minute.

I thought I sat down for her. But I think I needed to tell that story out loud. To remember I survived that day behind the doors. And she’ll survive this one on Platform 2.

Rare chances don’t always look like saving someone. Sometimes they look like two bottles, one nod, and a story you didn’t know you needed to tell.

Next time you see someone rubbing tears off their face angrily, check your watch. If you have 10 minutes, you have a rare chance.

To be someone's luck.

Life teaches us about the various type of adaptation cycles that even people haven't discovered about.

Just like being someone's rare chance. Every luck and unluck is an action of what we have chosen long back.

There's still time to choose your life the way you want it to be.

Thank you for reading!.

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It wasn't a year back when I lost everything that I could possibly think of, leaving me broken.

Today I am ready to share the journey of a girl who bottled up her dreams, inspirations and goals hoping to find the light ahead of her life. And to the good part she found herself again, in the nature, in the words, in the other girl’s “wanna be's”.

Success is not about winning or fame. It's a power that you earn from consistency, a lesson that you learn from failures and a personality that you own for being confident. It took me, my whole life to figure this out and yet here I am breaking this key idea to you, my fellow readers in seconds. I have always known that “used to be” and “could be” are mere excuses that we humans recite to refuse the present existence. Embrace the present situation by just being you. Accept that you are a human and not a machine that process only datas and not emotions. It can get worse or worser but I believe as long as you breathe in and out it's all gonna fall into places eventually.

In my theory, I have always believed that there are 3 ways, people approach to a problem.

1. People who take problems very seriously. They get worked up for nothing. All they do is worry their brains out and act without thinking and proper analysis. There are 70% chances that, their impulsive decisions makes things even worse. Mostly, humans who only use the brain.

2. People who literally does nothing about a situation. They just black out, get depressed or turns their brain into “switch off” mode. They wait for the days to get better by itself, literally doing nothing. Mostly these are people who use only mind.

3. People who actively uses brain and mind together to find the root cause of a problem and try to draw an effective solution for it. They find it easier to spot the triggering cause since they use the mind and instead of going down, uses the brain logically to sought out things.

Yes, it is evident that we tend to stress over little things that are actually not worth of our time. Think of the amazing moments you had in your life. I am a firm believer of ‘RARE CHANCES OF LIFE” which I'll be writing in detail in my upcoming article.

So here's a shout out to my fellow readers out there, trust the process of life. Nothing is gained if something hasn't lost. If you need an example: “Our success is always someone's failure”

Learn from life,

Thank you!!