I honestly haven’t been able to think about much else since the CJP protests began. The past two weeks have left me feeling anxious, but also quite hopeful. I’ve been glued to my phone, endlessly scrolling through reels and news for updates. My heart was at Jantar Mantar throughout the protests, and with everyone out there protesting <3

But before you dive into this week’s listicle, here’s a little ritual for you:

Pick a book you’re currently reading, or simply the one nearest to you. Turn to page 75 and read the first line. That’s your reading for the day. Make of it what you will. But don’t forget to share the name of the book and the line you got in the comments with me. I’d love to see what everyone discovers!

The book I picked was The Only City, and the line I got was:

I bought it; a lie, I realized, while holding my notebook whose edges had been smudged so thoroughly, all my framed thoughts were now a blur—and my hands under this bag, holding his wrist, guiding his speed, then floating my fingers through the air, trying to reach his pants.

And on that note, let’s begin this week’s listicle.

1. What Protests Leave Behind: The Gen Z protests may not have been historic or unprecedented. Yet they felt unmistakably different, and significant, didn’t they? What was it about these young protesters, armed with little more than their phones and an irreverent sense of humour, that seemed to unsettle the government so deeply? And what is it about protests that transforms them into such powerful sites of hope and solidarity? This essay is my attempt to answer those questions. But not by measuring protests through the governments they topple or the policies they change. Instead, by looking at the quieter, more enduring change they leave behind in the people who show up. You can read the piece here. Would love to know what you think :)

   

2. Why Are Butterfly Names So Cool? – Butterflies seem to have the best names in the animal kingdom. The Wizard, Crimson Rose, Autumn Leaf, Common Nawab, Commander, and Emperor… Their common names are often inspired by their colours, wing patterns, behaviour, mythology, or even ranks and titles. Here’s something I found fascinating though: the word butterfly is believed to have originated because many of the butterflies commonly seen in Europe were pale buttery yellow, literally making them “butter-coloured flies.” Another theory comes from medieval European folklore, where people believed witches transformed themselves into butterflies so they could steal butter and cream from village homes!

   

   Did you know there are over 20,000 known butterfly species in the world, and India is home to around 1,500 of them? Sikkim alone boasts an astonishing 753 species, which is more than half of all the butterfly species recorded in India! Of these, 61% are found in the Dzongu region alone. The state’s official butterfly is the Blue Duke (Bassarona durga), whose striking blue and white markings are said to represent Sikkim’s clear skies and snow-capped Himalayan peaks. If you’d like to learn more about the butterflies in Sikkim, this book is a wonderful place to begin.

   

3. Enola Holmes 3 - This wasn't quite as delightful as the first two films, but as a fan of Nancy Springer's endearing character and Millie Bobby Brown's portrayal of her, I still enjoyed it. This time, the story takes Enola to Malta, where she's about to marry Tewkesbury when something goes terribly wrong...

4. Neem Ka Patta Kadwa Hai - A new normal drops in this country everyday. The bar is now so low that even Shawty, with her apple bottom jeans and the boots with the fur, can’t compete. In the aftermath of the CJP protests, BJP and its supporters declared war on “gender-demeaning profanities” and began policing the language and behaviour of young girls. So the message we are being given is this: Young women cannot swear at the government, but the police can speak the language of lathis against them. Seema Chishti’s piece in The Wire breaks down the politics behind this sudden concern over language.

5. Murder Mindfully - This absurd German crime comedy follows a burnt-out mafia lawyer who turns to mindfulness in search of inner peace... and ends up using those very lessons to justify murdering the people causing him stress. (Yes, you read that right.)

6. Ami Chai by Kabir Suman - This is what I've been listening to all week. Released in 1994 on his album Gaanola, Ami Chai is Kabir Suman's utopian anthem, imagining a world that is kinder, more empathetic, and free of borders. The line that I really like is this:

   “Ami chai BJP netar Salma Khatun putrobodhu / Ami chai dhormo bolte manush bujhe manush shudhu.”
   (I want a BJP leader’s daughter-in-law to be Salma Khatun / I want people to understand that religion simply means humanity.)

7. Drollery - Wonderfully strange drawings found in the margins of medieval manuscripts. They range from rabbits jousting with knights and armies of battling snails to hybrid creatures and mischievous monkeys. Often humorous, they carry satire, social commentary, and sometimes even erotic themes.

8. Orange harvest in Jaffa, Palestine by Marwa Al-Najjar - This beautiful painting depicts Palestinian women harvesting oranges in the famous groves of Jaffa, where citrus cultivation has long been woven into the region's history and identity. Through rich colours and scenes of everyday life, artist Marwa Al-Najjar celebrates memory, land, and the quiet resilience of ordinary people.

   

9. General, Your Tank Is a Powerful Vehicle - I rediscovered this poem by German playwright Bertolt Brecht amidst the protests and couldn't help but share it:

   “General, your tank is a powerful vehicle
   It smashes down forests and crushes a hundred men.
   But it has one defect:
   It needs a driver.
   
   General, your bomber is powerful.
   It flies faster than a storm and carries more than an elephant.
   But it has one defect:
   It needs a mechanic.
   
   General, man is very useful.
   He can fly and he can kill.
   But he has one defect:
   He can think.”

10. Word of the Week - Polyphony: Many independent voices speaking together.

    There is something deeply hopeful about polyphony. Perhaps it is the idea that harmony doesn’t require everyone to sing the same note... This week has reminded me that change requires a polyphony of ordinary citizens refusing to be silent.

The anti-rape protests in Delhi come to mind for how they were led by a generation of angry women demanding accountability from the State, (“We want justice”) the right to safer cities and a change in patriarchal attitudes (“Change the mindset, not our clothes”).

The farmer’s protests in 2020 were iconic. It is not everyday that you get to witness farmers from Punjab, Haryana and Uttar Pradesh storm Delhi in their tractors (“Delhi Chalo”) assert their rights (“No Farmers, No Food”) and challenge the Prime Minister (“Narendra Modi Kisan Virodhi”).

Then came the the CAA-NRC protests that brought together all sections of society to stand with Muslims, and reclaimed the idea of a secular India. The streets were alive with resistance poetry and slogans like Rahat Induri’s “Kisi ke baap ka Hindustan thodi hai,” or Pash’s “Main toh ghaas hoon, har cheez pe ugg jaonga” or Varun Grover’s “Hum kagaz nahin dikhayenge” and my favourite Aamir Aziz poem “Sab yaad rakha jayega”.

I remember feeling hopeful during those protests, marching with my friends, carrying placards and chanting slogans, taking photographs, posting stories, writing about them, but also wondering whether any of them would yield any results or change anything at all…

While the protests undoubtedly put immense pressure on the government to reform, they also did something subtler, and perhaps even more important. They created spaces, both online and offline, where strangers living in the same country could discover one another. Spaces that became playgrounds for solidarity.

What I remember most about Shaheen Bagh isn’t a speech or a slogan, though there were many unforgettable ones. What I remember is the warm cup of chai someone handed me, without asking who I was, or where I had come from, or what I believed in. I do not remember how and when the protests ended (those are mere facts). But I do remember the taste of cardamom in that cup of chai. Sweet, fragrant and generous, just like the people around me, and the country we were fighting for.

But if there is one protest that will forever live inside me, it is my first.

It was the winter of 2013. I was barely 19, in college. The One Billion Rising, a global campaign to end violence against women, was organizing its first demonstration in Delhi. On Valentine’s Day. Love was in the air, and I was excited to be there with my friends.

We marched through the city wearing pink ribbons around our arms and carrying candles to remember Jyoti Singh Pandey, who had been brutally raped and murdered just a year earlier in the capital. But while we grieved, we also held hands and sang songs of solidarity. We read The Vagina Monologues. We raised azadi slogans with Kamla Bhasin. We shared stories of resilience. And we danced on Parliament Street till our feet gave way.

For the first time, the streets felt like they belonged to us again.

And the city became a witness to our shared dreams.

For a few hours, it felt as though we had nothing to fear. Nothing to lose. Only our freedoms to discover. And having tasted that freedom, I was irrevocably changed. We were all irrevocably changed.

There was no going back.

As I watched the Gen Z protests this year, I found myself returning to that 19 year old girl on Parliament Street.

Unlike most political protests or movements of my generation, what made Gen Z led protests refreshing is that they did not carry the baggage of any identity, ideology, historical guilt or whataboutery. Their politics felt playful and rooted in the present, lighthearted but not lightweight. What held them together was less a common goal, and more a shared refusal to accept things as they were.

What began with paper leaks and a broken education system soon grew into something much larger…

People from all walks of life and age groups joined in. Parents marched alongside their children. Blue-collar workers stood beside professionals. Farmers joined students. Even fence-sitters, the proudly apolitical, and a fair number of bhakts found themselves on the streets.

If you looked at the drone footage from Jantar Mantar, you could not see Hindus and Muslims, Savarnas and Dalits, urban students and rural workers, Gen Z baddies and millennial uncles. Rather, you could simply see a sea of people without a beginning or an end…

People who had spent years being taught to fear one another now stood shoulder to shoulder, chanting Inquilab Zindabad, Bharat Mata Ki Jai and Jai Bhim in the same breath.

While the police spoke the language of lathis, the streets were ablaze with resistance: Jab jab Modi darta hai, police ko aage karta hai! Jab jab Modi darta hai, Hindu-Muslim karta hai!

And the posters were filled with humour:

Gil Scott-Heron was right.

The revolution was not televised.

It was Instagrammed.

It unfolded through GRWM videos before heading to a protest. Through Subway Surfers: Delhi Police edition. Through protesters thanking the police for their cardio. Through strangers singing the national anthem together, painting police barricades with graffiti, and asking the police with a straight face what time the lathi charge was scheduled to begin.

From Gandhi to Spiderman, dinosaurs to King Kong, everyone made an appearance. There were political raps, patriotic Bollywood songs, a DJ party at Jantar Mantar, and even dancing in the middle of a water cannon assault. Gig workers ferried food and water to hungry protesters, while Godi media was heckled and chased away.

One reel showed a young man quietly unlatching a police van so those detained could slip away before the police noticed. Another captured a young woman cheerfully mocking the officers trying to disperse the crowd. In yet another, a group of young men ran away with a barricade, laughing as they skidded on it.

Gen Z discovered something previous generations had not fully embraced: humour could be a political language. Every meme, every reel and every placard made the protests more accessible. Laughter became another way of recognising one another, and expressing solidarity.

Since 2014, I have never seen so many people openly mock ‘Godi’ media, question Prime Minister Modi’s integrity, or call out the police for what it is: a colonial institution that continues to serve the State before it serves its citizens.

The young protestors also reminded us that this is not just the India of the BJP and RSS. But also the India of Ambedkar and Bhagat Singh. The India of Swades and Shah Rukh Khan. The India of Hindu-Muslim solidarity, of gurdwaras opening their doors to strangers, of the Bhim Army, and of ordinary people who continue to choose love even when their government incentivizes them to choose hate.

For years, Indian politics has revolved around a single question: If not Modi, then who? These protests replaced it with another: Modi, when?

With that, they broke this government’s aura of inevitability.

The spell is over.

The emperor is naked.

But perhaps this is still not the biggest win of these protests…

I still remember the taste of cardamom in that cup of chai at Shaheen Bagh. I still remember being 19 and dancing on Parliament Street. I still remember what it felt like, during the CAA-NRC protests, to believe that another India was possible.

Somewhere out there, another 19 year old girl is walking back home after her first protest. She does not know it yet. But there is no going back.

Years from now, she will not remember every speech that was made that day. She may not remember which leader resigned. She may not even remember how the protest ended.

What she will remember instead is the stranger who smiled at her. The warm cup of tea someone placed in her hands. The song everyone sang together. The quiet certainty that, for one extraordinary afternoon, another India seemed possible.

That is what protests leave behind.

It’s been a wonderful week. I feel inspired and energised to write more and work on new pieces for The Blahcksheep. I wrote a new personal essay on mothers and daughters, and I’d be delighted if you gave it a read :)

But before we deep-dive into this week’s listicle, I wanted to begin with a little ritual. You can think of it as guidance, a writing prompt, or just a fun thing to do.

Here’s how it works: Pick a book you’re currently reading, or simply the one nearest to you. Turn to page 99 and read the first line. That’s your reading for the day. Make of it what you will. Don’t forget to share the name of the book and the line you got in the comments with me. I’d love to see what everyone discovers!

The book I picked was Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar, and the line I got was:

“you’re not wasting your dying, you know? you’re here doing this thing, and so your dying actually means something.”

And on that note, let’s begin this week’s listicle.

1. On Mothers and Daughters - I've been thinking a lot about mothers and daughters lately. What makes this relationship so different from that of mothers and sons? And why is it so difficult to capture in films and books? I explore these questions through The Shape of Momo by Tribeny Rai and Kanchhi by Weena Pun. I'd love for you to read it here and tell me what you think :)

   

2. English Biscoff -I'm a big fan of Biscoff in waffles and cheesecake, so naturally I was thrilled when I spotted an English Biscoff flavour at my favourite ice cream shop in Gangtok, Buzza Scoopa. I'm happy to report that it has made my week infinitely better. After coconut and matcha, Biscoff has officially become one of my favourite ice cream flavours.

   

3. A Fool For You by Shau Evans is what I’ve been listening to this week.

4. Zodiac Erasers by Doms - I found these adorable erasers featuring zodiac signs at a local stationery shop. Aren't they cute?

   

5. Diamante and Visual Poetry – Italian for “diamond,” a diamante is a seven-line poem whose lines expand and contract to create the shape of a diamond. That led me to the wonderful world of concrete and visual poetry, a looser, more playful form where the arrangement of words on the page becomes part of the poem’s meaning, often echoing or reflecting its subject. One of my favourite discoveries is Obligations by Layli Long Soldier. Though not a traditional diamante, its striking visual structure invites the reader to navigate multiple paths through the text. You can read through the centre, follow the edges, or weave between both. I absolutely love how adventurous it is with form.

6. Chore Bagan Art Studio, Calcutta - This pioneering lithography studio, established by students of the Government Art School in late 19th century Calcutta, helped make art accessible to ordinary people through affordable, mass-produced prints. A friend recently gifted me one of their iconic Kali prints, and it completely made my day. In this version, Kali is seen slaying British officials as well, transforming the goddess into a powerful symbol of anti-colonial resistance.

   I’ve always loved the story behind Kali’s tongue. According to the legend, after defeating the demon Raktabija, whose every drop of blood gave rise to another demon, Kali became consumed by battle and continued her destructive dance. Unable to stop her, the gods turned to Shiva. He lay down in her path, and when Kali accidentally stepped on him, she stuck out her tongue in shock and embarrassment, bringing her rage to an end.

   Fun fact: The Rolling Stones’ famous tongue and lips logo, designed by John Pasche, is inspired by Kali’s iconic imagery.

   

7. Janice Chae - A Korean-American artist exploring memory and identity through AI-assisted digital paintings. Her work draws inspiration from minhwa, a traditional Korean folk painting style known for its vibrant colours and symbolic imagery, and toile de Jouy, an 18th century French printed fabric featuring intricate pastoral scenes. Chae brings these visual traditions together to create dreamlike monochromatic worlds where Joseon-era figures, tigers, mountains, and modern Seoul dissolve into one another.

   

   

8. Avatar: The Last Airbender - I’m finally watching the animated series, and I’m completely hooked. It follows the journey of Aang, the last Airbender and Avatar, as he learns to master all four elements in order to restore balance to a world ravaged by the Fire Nation’s war.

9. The World’s First Talking Stamps – Bhutan has always delighted stamp collectors with its wonderful postal history. During the 1960s and 70s, the country released the world’s first 3D stamps, scented stamps, and even “talking stamps,” tiny vinyl records that could actually be played on a turntable, featuring the national anthem, folk songs, and stories about Bhutan. Much of this innovation came from American entrepreneur Burt Todd, who worked with Bhutan to design stamps that would introduce the Himalayan kingdom to the rest of the world while generating much-needed foreign income.

   

10. Word of the Week - Novaturient: desiring or seeking powerful change in one's life.

    I've been feeling particularly novaturient lately. Perhaps that's why I've been noticing more things around me and writing more. I guess every good story begins with someone feeling a little novaturient…

Until next week, take care, and happy discovering!

When we think of mothers, why is it that the first image that instinctively comes to mind is that of a Bollywood mother?

Think Jaya Bachchan in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, standing with a welcoming aarti thali at the door, her motherly intuition telling her that her son is nearing home.

“Hey Ma, mere aane se pehle tumhein hamesha kaise pata chal jata hai?”

Or Nirupa Roy in Deewar, the symbol of ultimate morality, playing ping pong between her two sons fighting for her approval.

Vijay: “Aaj mere paas bangla hai, gaadi hai, bank balance hai... kya hai tumhare paas?”

Ravi: “Mere paas Maa hai.”

Even when she reprimands Vijay (and she does that quite a bit), she does it from the moral high ground of motherhood:

“Tu abhi itna ameer nahi hua beta, ki apni maa ko kharid sake.”

Or Rakhee in Karan Arjun who is sure as hell that her sons will return someday to avenge their father’s gruesome death and take care of her.

“Mere Karan Arjun aayenge!”

Or Nargis in Mother India, the sacrificial mother whose entire existence is devoted to honour and sacrifice for her family and the community.

“Main beta de sakti hoon, laaj nahi de sakti.”

Do you notice something? All of these stories are about mothers and sons.

But why can’t I remember any iconic story with a mother and daughter at its centre?

Do they not exist? Of course they do.

I can recollect the supportive and loving mother of Babita and Geeta in Dangal, or Amrita’s mother in Thappad, played by Ratna Pathak Shah, who acts as a mirror for her daughter’s life. Then there is the encouraging Najma in Secret Superstar who moves worlds to fuel her Insia’s musical dreams. And of course, there is Chanda in Nil Battey Sannata who goes back to school to fight her daughter’s hopelessness.

But somehow mother-daughter stories don’t seem to stand out the way mother-son stories do and occupy the same mythical space in our collective memory.

A simple reason for this could be that most of these Bollywood stories are written by and are about men. So they seem to focus on the devotional and sacrificial mother as a symbol to anchor the son’s emotional journey.

But I think there is a deeper reason. Mother-daughter stories are quieter. These are not stories where love is expressed through dramatic reunions or immortal dialogue. Rather, it is expressed through patience, waiting, and long silences. Through the painful act of letting go.

Because unlike sons, daughters don’t return home. They leave home carrying possibilities.

Sons return, daughters leave.

Think about how Bollywood imagines its heroes. The son leaves home. He becomes angry. He becomes a gangster, or a businessman, or a fugitive. Sometimes he even becomes estranged. He eventually fights the world.

And then he returns.

Home.

The emotional climax is his reunion with his mother. It is the same in K3G, in Deewar, in Karan Arjun, and in Mother India.

Socially, sons are considered a part of the natal family, and they remain so. They are free to wander as far as they’d like but their return is expected, even celebrated.

Daughters inherit a different script. They are considered paraya dhan (part of someone else’s family) and are raised as such. From the day a daughter is born, a mother is inwardly preparing the daughter and herself for her grand departure: marriage. A mother-daughter relationship rests uneasily on this hinge.

Maybe that’s why mother-daughter stories do not centre around reunion.

Instead, they rest on the act of letting go.

A mother of a daughter learns to love her in her absence. Her emotional climax is not the certainty of return but the uncertainty of waiting. She knows what it means to raise and love a child who may never belong entirely to her home again. She knows how to miss her without ever asking her to come back.

These emotions are less cinematic, but they are definitely more truthful.

I did not fully understand this until I read Kanchhi by Weena Pun.

It took a novel set in rural Nepal to make me realise something about my own mother, who packed my bags in July, sixteen years ago, and sent me to Delhi because she wanted me to have the education and life she never could. Hold that thought, I will return to it in a minute.

A 16 year old headstrong Kanchhi wants what teenage girls are not allowed to want: a decent education, friendship with boys, personal freedom, and an outlet to rebel against the life set out for her.

When Kanchhi disappears one day, the novel seems to ask us: Will her rebellion be celebrated, paving the way for others? Or will she be punished for daring to want more?

Despite this central question, the novel’s deepest ache does not belong to Kanchhi. It belongs to her Maiju.

A single mother whose love is constantly at odds with her fears. A lonely figure who bears the brunt of her daughter’s rebellion. Maiju does not always approve of her daughter’s choices. Nor does she understand her reasons. But she does what mothers of daughters always do: shield her from the consequences of her actions.

As Nepal is pulled into civil war, all Maiju does is pray for her daughter’s safety and wait for her to return someday. Every evening she lights a lamp for Kanchhi.

Maiju’s motherhood is not sacrificial in the grand, cinematic sense. Instead, it is about enduring uncertainty, about waking up every day and choosing hope over despair. It is about loving someone enough to let her go, even if she were to become a person the world may never return to you.

Similarly, in Shape of Momo, Bishnu, like Kanchhi, is suffocated by the invisible architecture of patriarchy that shapes every decision in her village. She refuses to marry a mediocre, sexist man simply because it is time. She refuses to spend her life proving her worth through perfectly shaped momo and performed femininity.

She cannot understand why her mother leans on the man she is seeing simply because he is a man. Why does she bow before the panchayat? Why does she let neighbours, tenants and labourers speak to her the way they do? Why does she swallow insults instead of throwing them back at people?

Bishnu wants to build a business with her mother. She wants a more independent life in the village for herself and her mother.

Her mother Pashupati Rai, on the other hand, wants only one thing: peace.

But her daughter’s anger, ambition and impatience with the world, seems to threaten her peace that she has so painfully bartered for herself.

The tragedy of the film is that neither woman is wrong.

By the end of the film, the mother asks her daughter to leave for Delhi.

Not because she doesn’t love her.

But precisely because she does.

She knows the village will not change quickly enough for her daughter to breathe inside it. She knows that if her daughter stays, resentment will consume them both. Distance, painful as it is, becomes the only way to preserve their love, and save their strained relationship.

I was the first girl in my family to leave home for an education.

When I announced I wanted to move away to study law, my relatives and extended family expressed their doubts immediately.

How will she manage?

She’s been brought up in such a protected environment.

How will she live alone in a city where she knows no one?

It was my mother who answered every question before I ever had to.

She stood between me and the world like a shield, insisting that I was capable enough to manage. That I needed to leave home if I was ever going to become independent.

I got into ILS Law College in Pune and left behind the only life I had ever known.

Within weeks, I knew I was unhappy. Having grown up in a multicultural environment, I could not fit into the Marathi campus.

Then came an incident at my girls PG that I still struggle to remember clearly. There was loud banging on my door late one night. Before I knew it, I found myself standing in the middle of a dark room full of strangers. There was a mix of sweat and harshness in the air. I remember being scared. I remember being given an option: dance or strip. I do not know what I did, or how I got out of there. But I do remember feeling stripped of my agency. Feeling hollow, as though the world had suddenly become too heavy for me to carry.

I must have called my mother that night.

Because the next morning, at six am, there she was, standing outside my door like an angel armed with some food and a hug. She asked me no questions. She offered no advice.

All she said was,

“Pack your bags. We’re going home. You need to sleep.”

I slept through that entire week.

Only after I had begun to feel like myself again did she sit beside me and ask,

“What would you like to do now?”

“You can go back to Pune and continue studying law.”

“Or...”

“You can go to LSR.”

I stared at her, my confusion growing by the second.

“I never applied to LSR.”

“I did,” she replied.

She had secretly filled out the DU application on my behalf before I left for Pune.

“I had a feeling you might not like it there.”

I had been accepted at LSR.

She had even written to the college, telling them I was unwell and would be joining late.

Call it my mother’s love or her Piscean intuition, that quiet act changed my life.

Delhi gave me professors who taught me to think for myself, friends who became family, and a version of myself I didn’t know was waiting to emerge. Looking back, it feels as though my life can be neatly divided into two parts: before Delhi and after Delhi.

But every time I think about Delhi, I think of my mother.

About the woman who packed my bags twice. Once for Pune. And then again for Delhi.

She travelled with me, settled me into my hostel, made sure I was smiling again before she returned home.

Sometimes I wonder who I would have become if she had not arrived outside my door that morning in Pune. Who knows what that scared 18 year girl would have done?

Perhaps I would still have become a lawyer.

But would I have been happy?

Would I have ever become the version of me that I am so comfortable being now?

Once I left for Delhi, I never really looked back. I stayed on for my master’s degree, then for work. Home became somewhere I visited for vacations rather than somewhere I belonged.

My mother never complained about it. She smiled every time she dropped me at the airport. She smiled every time she came to pick me up.

She missed me deeply, but she never asked me to stay longer. Never made me feel guilty for leaving and building a new life away from her. One that had less and less room for her…

Instead, she defended my choices against the prying eyes of the world. Against relatives, neighbours, suitors. Against anyone who thought her daughter’s freedom needed explaining. That is a remarkable burden to carry.

We often talk about women fighting patriarchy as though we are all fighting the same battle. But mothers and daughters are fighting different wars.

The daughter wants to rebel. She wants to demolish all the walls.

The mother wants peace, so she learns how to survive and thrive within those walls.

From the outside, it can look like they are fighting each other. But they are not. They are both fighting the patriarchy, in their own ways. The real conflict is over strategy: How does a woman choose to survive?

Patriarchy assigns mothers an impossible role. They are expected to protect their daughters while also preparing them for the very world that will cut down their wings the moment they learn to fly. They must teach them obedience even when they secretly wish for rebellion themselves. But mothers, they cannot openly rebel. So they pass on their rebellion to their daughters…

We often celebrate daughters who refuse to settle, and we absolutely should. But Kanchhi, Shape of Momo and my mother have taught me that rebellion rarely belongs to daughters alone.

A mother who lets her daughter leave home, study elsewhere, remain unmarried, choose differently, divorce, or build a life she herself never imagined is also breaking with the world that raised her.

She may never call herself a feminist, or speak the language of liberation. But every freedom her daughter inherits stands lovingly on her broad, sturdy shoulders.

When we celebrate daughters who leave, we should also be celebrating the mothers who stayed behind to pack their bags.

It was the oppressive summer of 2016. The government had declared a war on JNU. The campus was under siege, and some student activists were put in jail for being “anti-nationals”.

I was in Karol Bagh, living in a stuffy room that came with pigeon poop all over the attached balcony, doing what any young person renting a room in Karol Bagh does: preparing for the UPSC Exam.

Like many middle-class Indian children, I too was coaxed by my parents to participate in the National Youth Festival. The reputed coaching centre I had enrolled in assured me I could clear the exam if I was willing to give it “five dedicated years of my life”.

All I had to do was cram facts for Prelims; scan The Hindu as though it were the gospel truth, and churn out “balanced” answers in record time for Mains; and cultivate a “pleasing personality” for the interview.

I understood the drill. Surely, I could give it a few attempts and see where it goes. With a Master’s in Political Science from JNU, UPSC can’t be that hard, right? I thought to myself.

All it took was a 15 marks question to prove me wrong and throw me off my prep:

“What started as a protracted struggle for the rights and interests of the marginalized landless people, the Naxal movement seems to have degenerated into an industry of extortion, kidnapping and violence. Do you agree? Substantiate.” (15 Marks)

Do I agree?

How do I respond to this with the detached neutrality the exam demanded, especially when my batchmates, Kanhaiya Kumar and Umar Khalid, had just been arrested for “anti-national activities”? They were among the most vocal students on campus speaking about the woes of landless farmers, adivasi rights and state violence.

I couldn’t stop asking myself uncomfortable questions. Why do some of the poorest people in the country take up arms? What does the State do in tribal areas? How was I supposed to compress all that into a “balanced” answer?

The exam promised me a brighter future. It guaranteed me a seat at the table.

But will it let me speak my mind?

Will it let me stand with my friends when it mattered?

Will it let me fight for the rights and interests of the marginalized landless people affected by the State’s own development agenda and violence?

It is the cherry blossom summer of 2026. I am at a cafe in Gangtok listening to a popular artist talk about their life and what inspired them to make art.

“I come from a small village in Sikkim. There is not much to do there. I always wanted to be an artist because I wanted power. You see, artists have immense power to do things they want to do.”

The statement struck me as odd at first, then made me feel deeply uncomfortable. Is not art supposed to interrogate power rather than seek it?

Perhaps what they really meant was that after what felt like a lifetime of powerlessness, they wanted access and a way out because that feels like a breath of fresh air, that feels liberating…

But is liberation and power the same thing?

What about those who don’t have power?

Can they never be liberated?

Can they never be free?

This is my main beef with the UPSC exam: The social imagination around it mistakes power for personal liberation.

Being a civil servant, as the name suggests, is fundamentally about serving the country and its people. It is about shouldering responsibility. Sadly, in a deeply hierarchical country like India, the exam has come to represent something else entirely: the promise of power, prestige and ultimately, liberation .

We have made clearing the exam more aspirational than the work itself. As a result, the aspiration is less about service and welfare, and more about securing a seat at the table.

And when power becomes the end goal rather than the means, it further perpetuates the status quo and resists any kind of reform. The new recruits no longer want to transform the institutions they join. Instead, institutions reshape them and their thinking. Even well-intentioned individuals who may have joined the services to do good often find themselves adapting to the incentives and hierarchies they once hoped to change, turning into someone they no longer recognise…

Few films have captured this restlessness better than Ardh Satya.

Om Puri plays Anant, an honest police officer who is slowly consumed by the very system he hopes to reform. The film’s emotional centre arrives when Jyotsna, a college lecturer and his girlfriend (played by Smita Patil) asks him to read Dilip Chitre’s poem Ardh Satya. While reading the poem, Anant realizes that the system he serves is a chakravyuh (trap), a labyrinth that transforms those who enter it even if they eventually manage to escape it:

Chakravyuh mein ghusne se pehle,
kaun tha mein aur kaisa tha,
yeh mujhe yaad hi na rahega.

Chakravyuh mein ghusne ke baad,
mere aur chakravyuh ke beech,
sirf ek jaanleva nikat’ta thi,
iska mujhe pata hi na chalega.

Chakravyuh se nikalne ke baad,
main mukt ho jaoon bhale hi,
phir bhi chakravyuh ki rachna mein
farq hi na padega.

There is a need to question the political imagination that the UPSC dream produces.

The real question is not why lakhs of young people aspire to become civil servants. It is abundantly clear that many are driven by the promise of stability, security, and power. This for them may be the only way out, like the artist from Sikkim.

Rather, we should be asking ourselves what it says about us as a society if wielding institutional power is the only way we can collectively imagine a meaningful and successful life, especially for young people from marginalised communities.

When we tell a young person from a tribal community that their liberation lies in occupying an institution, we stop asking why those institutions exist in the first place and whether they themselves need to be transformed.

We celebrate representation, but rarely ask what these institutions demand of the people who enter them, whose interests do they ultimately serve, and whether individual ascent can change the conditions of the community the individual comes from.

When power becomes the only credible route to dignity, we begin to confuse occupying institutions with transforming them.

Our collective obsession with power dilutes the spirit of civil service. It also makes it harder to see that there are other ways of living meaningful lives, lives rooted in community, care and solidarity rather than state-sanctioned status and authority.

Perhaps what we need is to critically examine the notion of power, and to stop treating it as the only route to liberation. Only then can the UPSC become one path among many, rather than the pinnacle of success we have made it out to be.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have looked like if I had stayed. If I had learned to write “balanced” answers. If I had compromised with my conscience just enough to clear the exam.

Perhaps I would have had more influence.

Perhaps I would have wielded more power.

But I don’t think I would have had more freedom.

Mera Naam Mohammad Deepak Hai (new personal essay alert📢) - I haven't been able to stop thinking about Mohammad Deepak ever since he stood up for a 70 year old Muslim shopkeeper, Vakil Ahmed, and found himself at the centre of a national conversation.

What makes someone a hero? Is it courage? Is it greatness? Or is it something quieter than that? And when the time comes, could I ever be one?

I found myself wrestling with these questions in this personal essay. Along the way, I also pay tribute to some of the people who continue to inspire me to choose kindness and decency despite the chaos and bleakness around us. I’d love for you to give it a read. :)

French Comic Artist Emma - I've long been a fan of her political and feminist comics. I recently rediscovered her brilliant comic on the "mental load", where she illustrates how the invisible work of planning, remembering, and organising a household so often falls on women. Here's a small excerpt:

Bharat Bluff - My friend Soumya Gupta, a brilliant finance and tech journalist with over 12 years of experience, has written this insightful book about online scams in India, and I really enjoyed reading it. She groups scams into three broad categories: those that exploit fear, those that prey on greed, and perhaps the trickiest of all, those that manipulate our beliefs. From digital arrest scams and crypto fraud to pump and dump schemes, predatory loan apps, and scams carried out in the name of religion and charity, she breaks down how scammers operate and why people fall for them. More importantly, she offers practical ways to protect ourselves online and fight back.

Until next week, take care, and happy discovering!

It was a gloomy evening in Gangtok, and I was reading Hannah Arendt’s Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil, when I first heard about Mohammad Deepak. The gym trainer from Uttarakhand who swooped in to save an elderly Muslim shopkeeper from a Bajrang Dal mob.

When the mob questioned his role and identity, Deepak Kumar defiantly replied: "Mera naam Mohammad Deepak hai.”

Mohammad. Deepak.

Two names that, when put together, seemed to short circuit the mob’s hate-filled brains. I remember being struck by how cool that name was. An instant throwback to the secular era I grew up in, the India of Amar, Akbar and Anthony. An era that now feels oddly distant…

Instead of feeling hopeful though something about this incident made me feel anxious. I could not stop wondering about what I would do if I were ever faced with a similar situation.

Would I ever risk my life like (Mohammad) Deepak Kumar and stand up for a neighbour?

When faced with a crisis, could I ever be a hero?

As a child I thought heroes were made of courage.

Or let me put it this way: I thought they were made of something I lacked: an absence of fear. That was how I viewed the young activists and comrades at JNU, who would not for a moment hesitate to lock eyes with the Delhi police at Jantar Mantar, as they marched ahead raising loud slogans despite being told not to. In the handful of protests I joined while I was studying in JNU, I could never bring myself to stand in the front. I always chose the safe middle or tail-end, so I could make a quick escape in case things went south.

Years later, I asked a comrade turned friend who often led these protests where she got her heroic courage from.

“Alcohol,” she jokingly replied.

Then as an afterthought, she added, “The fearless hero is a myth. The firefighter fears the flames. The soldier fears torture. The activist fears prison. And yet, we’d choose to do nothing else but that, over and over again.”

“Is it some sort of addiction then?”

“Any high wears off the moment a lathi strikes you,” she said, taking a sip of her old monk, neat. “There’s no courage left then...”

No courage left.

That sentence stayed with me. Because if heroes feel scared too, then what makes them different from us?

Is it greatness then that makes heroes?

Perhaps some people are just born special. Cut from a different cloth, destined for greatness. This is exactly what the 'Great Man' theory of history by Thomas Carlyle states: that history is shaped by exceptional, heroic individuals. We see the same idea echoed in countless myths and stories, from Hercules to Harry Potter.

But after working a decade in the development sector, I have become deeply suspicious of such narratives.

A few years ago, I was working on a policy report for a prominent Delhi NGO. During its launch, ministers, CEOs, and renowned experts stood on stage discussing it. Their names appeared on the cover. They were quoted in newspapers and invited to speak on panels.

But what remained invisible was the ecosystem that had made the report possible: field investigators conducting surveys in the summer heat, translators transcribing interviews, researchers cleaning data, programme staff facilitating community meetings, editors shaping drafts late into the night, and office assistants keeping the entire operation running. The “author” was the least interesting part of the story!

Development work taught me that impact is rarely individual. It takes a village to raise a hero. Or to paraphrase Simone de Beauvoir: one is not born, but rather becomes, a hero.

And yet, this only complicates the matter further…

If heroes are not free from fear, and if they are not born special, then what makes a hero? What compels an ordinary person to step forward when everyone else steps back? Where does this fire come from?

Could the answer, I wonder, lie in Manipur?

On 5 November 2000, a 28 year old woman named Irom Chanu Sharmila sat under a shelter in Malom, Imphal, and announced an indefinite hunger strike against the draconian law AFSPA.

The response was hardly the stuff of legend. "It was like a street show or a circus," she later recalled. People gathered to gossip, laugh, and criticise her. For years, she remained largely invisible to the rest of the country, even Manipur.

It was the murder of Thangjam Manorama in 2004 that brought Sharmila back into the spotlight as a hero, and she became the face of Manipur's resistance overnight. Yet despite all the international recognition and awards, she often felt unheard and disillusioned with the movement. "I was isolated and idolised," she said, "living on a pedestal, without voice, without feeling."

And yet she endured.

For sixteen years.

When asked how she sustained the world's longest hunger strike, Irom Sharmila gave a surprisingly simple answer, “I really loved life. Just because of that love, those long years of endurance were possible.”

I really loved life.

Love.

Similarly, in his essay Vishwa Prem (Universal Love), Bhagat Singh wrote, “He who loveth Humanity loveth God. God is love and love is God”.

He who loveth Humanity…

Love. Again.

Interestingly, even Mohammad Deepak echoed this sentiment in an Instagram video he shared after the incident: “I am not a Hindu, I am not a Muslim, I am not a Sikh, I am not a Christian. First and foremost, I am a human being.”

Despite the threats he received, he insists that if faced with a similar situation in the future, he would do the same thing again.

The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that it is love that lies at the beating heart of heroism. Love for the people. Love for the places one grew up in. Love for nature, poetry, beauty, truth, justice, or life itself, as Irom Sharmila puts it.

Love is the fuel by which courage burns.

Love is what makes individuals great.

This is why one of my favourite heroes in the Lord of the Rings is not Aragorn, the reluctant king destined to save Middle Earth, nor Frodo, but Samwise Gamgee, a humble gardener from the Shire! Sam is not the brightest bulb in the room nor is he the strongest. But what he does possess is a loyal, unwavering love for his friend Frodo. A love that goes beyond duty and all other trappings of a quid pro quo. It is this love that keeps Frodo on track and ultimately saves Middle Earth.

Unlike other epic characters, the Hobbits, we follow are driven by their love for simpler things. Like their home, their beautiful gardens, their love for good food and most importantly, each other. It isn’t ‘heroism’ in the way we’re used to seeing it. And yet, it’s precisely this simple, uncomplicated love that makes them the ultimate shield against Sauron’s grand, industrial evil.

Frodo might be ‘the chosen one’ or the courageous bearer of the One Ring, but it is Samwise Gamgee who through his simple and selfless love shows us what is takes to be a real hero.

In a way, this brings me back to Hannah Arendt.

If Arendt taught us that radical evil can be frighteningly ordinary, perhaps the opposite can be true as well. Maybe radical goodness can be equally ordinary… Perhaps heroism is not purely the domain of great kings and courageous knights, but instead of neighbours, students, gardeners and office assistants who, despite everything, approach the world with love.

The Profundity of Love, as it were, to invert Arendt for a moment.

Maybe this is why heroes inspire us so deeply. Not because they possess qualities we lack, but because they remind us that ordinary people are capable of extraordinary things when animated by the simple, yet profound, act of love.

That gives me hope, knowing that there is a Mohammad Deepak lying dormant in all of us. All I, all we, have to do is find what we truly love and give ourselves to it. Find what we love enough to risk our lives for. The rest, when the time comes, will follow.

Sorry for the radio silence. I’ve been meaning to write to you sooner, but life as we know it (health emergencies, travel, deadlines) got in the way, sigh.

But the good news is that I’m back and alive! And I come bearing a fresh batch of fun and exciting things to share with you. Dive in!

1. Shape of Momo - If you haven’t seen the film yet, go watch it right away! It is definitely one of my favouroite films of 2026. Tribeny Rai captures so beautifully the frustration and suffocation of living in a mountain village, and what it does to a thirty-something woman who returns home only to realize she has outgrown it. There’s also something about the relationship between mothers and daughters in this film… that tender love which can feel both nurturing and strangling at the same time, yet somehow also paves the way for freedom.

   The film reminded me of a short film my partner, Terence-Hari Fernandes, made during the lockdown. It’s called Doori. You can check it out on Youtube!

2. Vajra Cinema, Gangtok - I went to watch Shape of Momo in one of Gangtok’s oldest film theatres and it turned out to be pure nostalgia! I am told the theatre has been around since the 80s, with the Dilip Kumar and Manoj Kumar starrer Kranti, being the first film to be screened there. The theatre has since been renovated and expanded to two screens, but that old-world charm still remains. Good old non-fussy popcorn, handmade coffee, and a food stall serving amazing beef kofta, shaphaley, and my personal all-time favoyrite aloo chop!

   It reminded me so much of growing up in Calcutta, watching films at the Lighthouse, Hind, Priya, Metro and of course, Nandan (government owned theatre known for screening art house, indie films)! Single-screen theatres were so much more than places to watch films. They were cultural hubs where people from all walks of life and economic backgrounds congregated.

   Some of my fondest memories of Nandan are this amazing Bengali woman selling the best fish cutlets and nembu cha (lemon tea) at the theatre. Because of this, I have for long associated fish with cinema! Sounds fishy? I know. But it’s true! Vajra definitely scratched an itch I didn’t even know I had. And I look forward to many more beef koftas and aloo chops there!

   

3. Blossoms Shanghai - So Wong Kar Wai made a TV show and it’s currently streaming on MUBI. Need I say more? Set against the economic boom of 1990s Shanghai, it follows trader Ah Bao and his band of formidable friends as their fortunes rise and fall at the Stock Exchange. The beautiful cinematography aside, what really stood out to me was how well the women characters are written. Every single one of them feels ambitious, complicated, and entirely her own person.

4. White coffee from Ipoh, Malaysia -I tried this famous Malaysian style coffee that comes from the historic town of Ipoh, and I absolutely loved it!

   Despite its name, the beans aren’t actually white. The term comes from a Chinese phrase where “white” means pure or unadulterated. The beans are roasted slowly at a lower temperature with palm oil margarine instead of sugar and wheat, producing an incredibly smooth brew. The final drink is mixed generously with condensed and evaporated milk, resulting in a rich, velvety coffee that feels more like a dessert than a beverage.

   Fun fact: White coffee was developed by Hainanese Chinese immigrants who arrived during Ipoh’s booming tin-mining era. Unaccustomed to the harsh bitterness of Western coffee, they adapted the brew by slow-roasting the beans in palm-oil margarine!

5. A Kingdom Remembered by Jackie Hiltz - This book offers a fascinating account of Sikkim’s personal and political history, but most importantly it raises questions about the collective amnesia that lies at the heart of the state’s transition from a Buddhist Kingdom to its merger with India. My friend Raman Mohora, a brilliant scholar and one of the coolest people I know, has done a great review of the book for The Wire. You can read it here, and order your copy from Rachna Books. This is the third and final instalment in their Sikkim history trilogy, and it’s a truly rewarding read!

6. Shampoo Bottle and City of My Heart by Rubhi is what I’ve been listening to all week. I went for her gig recently, and she was an absolute treat to watch! There’s something wonderfully surreal, dreamy, and unfiltered about her music, and I really enjoy it!

   

7. Did you know horses sleep by lying down? Thanks to a Nate Bargatze stand-up, I learned this fact that has completely rearranged my brain. Apparently horses doze while standing to stay alert to predators, but they must lie down for at least 30-60 minutes to enter REM sleep and get proper rest. This deep sleep is crucial for their physical recovery and brain function. Which means horses are just like us: eventually, even the strongest among us need a proper nap! You can watch the entire Nate Bargatze special here.

8. Angels Trumpet (Brugmansia) - Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the striking trumpet-shaped flowers growing in my backyard belong to the nightshade family (Solanaceae)! Yes, the same nightshade family as belladonna, henbane, and datura that are used as murder weapons in Agatha Christie novels! Fun fact: All parts of the plant are highly toxic. Even touching your face after handling it can lead to blurred vision, headaches, hallucinations, or severe poisoning.

9. Plastic Pooja - Issued in public interest, especially for all the other Poojas out there. You can thank me later!

   

10. Word of the week - Protopia: Coined by futurist Kevin Kelly (who also originated the 1,000 true fans theory) it encapsulates an optimistic vision of the future based on incremental progress. It is neither a utopia where everything is perfect nor a dystopia where everything is terrible. Rather, it is a world that is slightly better over time, through persistent prototyping and effort. Honestly, I love this idea.

    By sleeping on time and drinking more water, I am officially declaring myself a protopia!
    My sourdough bread finally rose, marking another delicious milestone for my kitchen protopia!

As promised, before I begin the listicle, here are some pictures from my Gangtok photo walk. Hope you have a wonderful, fun week!

1. Deadloch S2 - Dulcie and Eddie are back, investigating crime and chasing crocodiles in sticky, sweaty Barra Creek, Australia! I really enjoy the profane humour and chaotic setups, especially the metaphors they use, they really crack me up! For instance, when asked to ride Frank’s scooter, Dulcie says it would make her look like “a Soviet circus bear”! The casting is excellent, and the show is easily one of the most entertaining crime dramas out there. 10/10 would recommend.

2. Sikkim Coffee - Their hand-pulled keema noodles are to die for. Perfectly spiced for a good emotional release. You know what I mean?

3. Rooster - An immensely watchable series set on a college campus. Steve Carell does a great job as a writer trying to blend in with the college crowd while mending his relationship with his daughter. It feels a tad bit like Ted Lasso meets Shrinking, both shows I really enjoyed watching!

4. Spotlight - This film is based on the true story of The Boston Globe’s Pulitzer Prize-winning investigation into systemic child sexual abuse within the Catholic Church. It shows how the newspaper’s “Spotlight” team exposed a massive cover-up by Boston’s religious, legal institutions in 2002. Here are some memorable quotes from the film that stayed with me:

   Attorney Mitchell Garabedian (representing the victims, played by Stanley Tucci): This city, these people... making the rest of us feel like we don’t belong, but they’re no better than us. Look at how they treat their children. Mark my words, Mr. Rezendes: if it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one.
   

   Cardinal Law (the Archbishop of Boston, played by Len Cariou): If I can be of any help, Marty, don’t hesitate to ask. I find that the city flourishes when its great institutions work together.

   Marty Baron (the former editor of The Boston Globe played by Liev Schreiber): Thank you. Personally, I’m of the opinion that for a paper to best perform its function, it really needs to stand alone.

5. Quote of the Week - “To find a new world maybe you have to have lost one. Maybe you have to be lost.” - Ursula K. Le Guin. The last few years have been a bit of a rollercoaster, and this quote really spoke to me!

6. Jeri Swari - I came across this delightful sweet in Rishi Amatya’s Radha: Wrath of the Meju and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since! A popular breakfast item in Nepal, it consists of deep-fried, sugar-coated batter called jeri (basically a jalebi). It’s often paired with swari, a soft, flaky flatbread (like a thicker puri) that balances out the sweetness.

7. Between Flowers by OAFF is what I’ve been listening to all week!

8. Pangden - These are traditional, colourful aprons worn by women across the Tibetan-speaking world and much of the Himalayas. Made from thick, handwoven wool, they were historically worn by married women as a marker of marital status. Today, they’re worn by women of all ages, married or unmarried, as part of the formal dress. They look so pretty!

   

9. Woodland Shoes (my first pair of boots!) - If you’ve been following this listicle for a while, you know I’m not into clothes, shoes, or make-up. I rarely talk about it. About 80% of my wardrobe is hand-me-downs or gifts from generous family and friends.

   So consider this is a major personal update: I bought a pair of boots (my first!) after what feels like ages. It was an emergency purchase after my sneakers succumbed to the rains in Gangtok. Fun fact: I ended up buying them from the men’s section because the women’s section at Woodland started at 15k (yeah, why are women’s boots so expensive?). Anyways, I got these at half the price.

   And yet, I must confess, I felt a bit guilty about buying them at first (my partner diagnosed it as buyer’s remorse). It did dampen my mood for a bit, but I’ve made my peace with it now. I love how they feel and I can’t stop showing them off :)

10. Word of the Week - Sprezzatura (Italian): Effortless grace, making something difficult look easy, or maintaining a nonchalant demeanor.

    She walked into the meeting with sprezzatura… Nobody could tell she had spent all night preparing the presentation.

    The pianist played with such sprezzatura that the audience forgot the immense skill required for the complex piece!

It’s been an amazing week, full of learning and fun! I went on a heritage photo walk in Gangtok (photos in next week’s listicle), worked on a new piece for The Blahcksheep, and attended an interesting symposium. How has your week been? What new things have you discovered? As always, I look forward to hearing from you!

1. Project Hail Mary - Such a wonderful, funny film this is! I went through a rollercoaster of emotions while watching it. There are no IMAX screens in Gangtok, but I still enjoyed it without that experience. I really wish more people went to watch this in theatres instead of Dhurandhar. For Project Hail Mary is truly the kind of film that brings people together. And Ryan Gosling is brilliant, as always.

2. Brain Rot Songs - I worked on this super fun piece with writer Lungmying Lepcha from Sikkim and ended up going down a rabbit hole of brain rot songs! Here’s an excerpt from the piece:

   “Yes brain rot songs are annoying and sometimes even distasteful. But given the grim context in which the music industry operates today, I think these songs are pure genius… Perfectly designed for today’s internet, they use repetition and catchy beats to get our attention. And they deserve to be engaged with rather than outrightly dismissed and frowned upon.”

   Lungmying has also written another wonderful piece for The Blahcksheep on her grandmother, Farasey Lepcha, and her Buddhist funeral in Pakyong, the first funeral she ever witnessed. It beautifully captures the rites and rituals, and is definitely worth checking out!

3. Great Women in the Himalayas - A three day symposium and exhibition celebrating the life and work of French writer and explorer Alexandra David Néel, who travelled to Sikkim and Tibet in the early 1900s and carried Buddhist philosophy and teachings to the West. The sessions also explored the lives of other remarkable women from Sikkim, Bhutan, and Tibet, and their contributions to social reform and spirituality. One of my favourite sessions was on women yak herders in Bhutan, and how their daily lives are rooted in ecological knowledge, guided by mountain deities and dreams. You can learn more about the sessions here.

4. Thought of the week (inspired by the symposium) - We often interpret information in ways that make us look good or support what we already believe, instead of sitting with its full complexity. Even historians sometimes do this, shaping narratives to fit an agenda rather than holding space for nuance. People contain multitudes. Someone can be celebrated for their work and still be a prick to be around. But we often smooth over these contradictions because the truth is either too messy or doesn’t fit the version we want to believe in or present to the world.

5. Jero -A traditional snack from Sikkim, especially popular among the Bhutia community during Losoong and Namsoong festivals. Made from rice flour, the batter is fried in hot oil to achieve its light, crisp texture. You’ll also find jero at weddings and special occasions as it’s become a favourite across communities now.

   

6. Radha, Wrath of the Maeju - Currently reading this fantasy novel by Rishi Amatya, set in Patan, Nepal. Blending folklore with history and culture, the book follows Radha’s journey to overcome her own doubts and discover what it means to be a god.

7. Luo Li Rong- A Chinese artist who creates stunning life size sculptures of women, drawing from Renaissance and Baroque techniques. There’s something incredibly fluid and alive about her work, and I’m all here for it!

8. Red Pandas are the OG pandas- Did you know the name “panda” is believed to come from the Nepali word ponya, meaning bamboo or plant-eating animal! Here’s another fun fact: The adorable red pandas, which are Sikkim’s state animal, were actually discovered before the giant panda, yes, they’re the OG pandas!

   Despite the name, they’re not closely related to giant pandas and belong to a family of their own (they’re closer to raccoons than pandas). They’re shy, tree-dwelling creatures that spend most of their time eating bamboo, and have “false thumbs” to help them grip branches.

9. Hum Gunahgar Aurtein - An iconic poem by Pakistani poet Kishwar Naheed. Written in the late 1960s, it continues to resonate as a powerful anthem for women across South Asia:

   ये हम गुनाहगार औरतें हैं
   जो अहले जुब्बा की तमकनत से
   न रौब खाएं न जान बेचें
   न सर झुकाएं, न हाथ जोडें
   
   ये हम गुनाहगार औरतें हैं,
   के जिनके जिस्मों की फसल बेचें जो लोग
   वे सरफराज ठहरे न्याबतें इम्तियाज ठहरें
   वो दावर-ए-अहल-ए-साज ठहरें
   
   ये हम गुनाहगार औरतें हैं
   के सच के पचरम उठा के निकले
   तो झूठ से शाहराहें अटी मिले हैं
   जो बोल सकती थीं वो जबाने कटी मिली हैं
   हर एक दहलीज पर सजाओं की दास्तानें रखी मिले हैं
   
   ये हम गुनाहगार औरतें हैं
   के अब तअक्कुब में रात भी आए
   तो ये आंखे नहीं बुझेंगी
   के अब जो दीवार गिर चुकी है
   इसे उठाने की जिद न करना
   ये हम गुनाहगार औरतें हैं
   जो अहले जुब्बा की तमकनत से
   न रौब खाएं न जान बेचें
   न सर झुकाएं, न हाथ जोडें

10. Word of the Week - Gondogol (Bengali) that means chaos, trouble, a bit of a mess!

    Every group chat eventually descends into gondogol.

    I didn’t start the gondogol, but I definitely didn’t stop it.

Hope you’ve had a great week! And are consuming and creating fun, interesting things! I’m quite overwhelmed by your response to last week’s listicle. Thank you so much for taking the time to read it and write to me with your wonderful thoughts. It truly made my day, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it ❤️

I always look forward to hearing from you and learning what you’ve been up to, so please keep those messages coming! The whole point of this listicle is to spread a little joy in this otherwise depressing world and keep the inspiration and ideas flowing. Fighting the algorithm, one recommendation at a time!

Before I dive into this week’s listicle, here’s my week in pictures:

1. Dhokbu: The Keeper - There are films, and then there are indie films like Dhokbu that hit you out of nowhere and make you fall in love with cinema (not just films, but cinema… you get it, right?) all over again. Made by Dawa Lepcha, this brilliant fable-like film, shot on a humble camera with a meagre budget, is nothing short of magic! It draws on the Lepcha myth of the forest spirit Dhokbu and portrays him as an anime-style superhero guarding the forests. I was lucky enough to watch it in a theatre in Gangtok with a local crowd hooting and cheering. But the good news is, it’s available on YouTube, so you can watch it too!

2. Shadowbox (Baksho Bondi) – Apart from Tillotama Shome’s terrific performance, this Bengali film really stood out for its story and nuance. It reminded me of Asha Jaoar Majhe by Aditya Vikram Sengupta, which is one of my all-time favourite films!

3. Hannahversary - Miley Cyrus returns to celebrate 20 years of Hannah Montana and gives fans a much loved send-off. There are so many special moments in this one hour special, but the highlight for me was her singing This Is the Life and recreating a scene with Billy Ray Cyrus!

4. Of course, Hannah Montana songs is all I’ve been listening to this week!

5. Joan Didion’s Recommended Reading - There is nothing I love more than a good recommendation, and this list by Joan Didion is pure gold. There’s something so intimate about seeing what inspires someone and shapes their work, and this list says so much about her. I was especially happy to spot A Farewell to Arms (so underrated, in my opinion) and Down and Out in Paris and London, which I genuinely think is Orwell’s best work. Can’t wait to read more from this list.

6. Corn dogs - I was so happy to discover these on the Cafe Fiction menu. I’ve been in Gangtok for almost seven months now, and somehow my partner and I only noticed them last week. And they absolutely delivered! 10/10 would recommend.

   

7. Smash and Grab: Annexation of Sikkim - Currently reading this fascinating and charged account of Sikkim’s 1975 merger with India, written by journalist Sunanda K. Datta-Ray, who was both an insider and a friend of the then Chogyal (monarch), Palden Thondup Namgyal. It’s a great entry point into understanding Sikkim’s history from a Sikkimese perspective rather than the official Indian narrative. While Datta-Ray has his own blind spots and doesn’t represent the voices of common people, the book still fills in many gaps and offers a rich cultural and historical account.

8. The Black Sheep Emoji ⚫🐑 - A dedicated and wonderful reader of this listicle told me there’s actually a workaround for a black sheep emoji! So grateful for this community, always! Did you know this?

   

9. Ektara Trust - If there’s one industry that needs better curation, it’s children’s book publishing. Right now, anything and everything goes, and it really shouldn’t. Some books are outright bonkers, with messages that feel like unchecked projections by adults. Which is why I was so thrilled to discover Ektara Trust! This Bhopal-based organisation is doing some incredible work. Their books and magazines are actually engaging and thoughtfully tackle difficult issues. One of my favourites is Lines, which explores the lives of Afghan refugees with such care. I also love their posters. Here’s an example:

   

10. Word of the Week - Theep: A Nepali word used for people or things that drain your energy, essentially, energy vampires!

    That meeting could’ve been an email. Pure theep energy.

    I didn’t realise how theep that conversation was until I left feeling exhausted.

    Protect your peace. Avoid theep where you can.

I’ve had a pretty unproductive week, low on inspiration and interesting thoughts. But out of habit (and love), I still wanted to write to you and share whatever I’ve been consuming. I did make egg sandwiches with my partner though, and that was really fun!

The list this week is going to be a short one (reflective of the kind of slow, boring week I’ve had), but I’m hoping to hear from you to make up for it! So don’t forget to tell me what you’ve been reading, watching, cooking, obsessing over. That will truly make my day! <3

1. Cafe Kefi - I had been craving Calcutta street food for a while now, so when I saw potato chops on their menu, I obviously got very excited! And happy to share that they did not disappoint! They were freshly made by the kind and wonderful lady who runs the café, and paired with the spicy green chutney, they were the perfect accompaniment to a lazy, rainy evening. I was having such a great time gorging on them that I completely forgot to take pictures. Hopefully, next time :)

2. Henrik Uldalen - A self-taught artist who presents classical figurative painting in a strikingly contemporary way. I especially love the dreamlike quality of his work, suspended between memory and mist.

3. The Year of Magical Thinking - I’ve been meaning to read Joan Didion for the longest time, so the timing of my partner gifting it to me couldn’t have been sweeter. (Books really do make the best gifts, period.) Seventy pages in, and I’m already in awe. Didion is a magical writer, and her insights on grief are quietly devastating. One idea that stayed with me is this: when we’re grieving, we might seem perfectly fine on the outside, but inwardly we cling to irrational beliefs and almost childlike fantasies. A part of us still hopes that if we do x or y, the person we lost might somehow come back. It made me wonder when do we truly lose someone? When they physically disappear? Or when we stop hoping, and stop thinking about them? Here are some of my favourite quotes from the book so far:

   Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
   

   In time of trouble, I had been trained since childhood, read, learn, work it up, go to the literature. Information was control.
   

   I recognize now that there was nothing unusual in this: confronted with sudden disaster we all focus on how unremarkable the circumstances were in which the unthinkable occurred, the clear blue sky from which the plane fell, the routine errand that ended on the shoulder with the car in flames, the swings where the children were playing as usual when the rattlesnake struck from the ivy. "He was on his way home from work — happy, successful, healthy — and then, gone," I read in the account of a psychiatric nurse whose husband was killed in a highway accident.
   
   Philippe Ariès, in The Hour of Our Death, points out that the essential characteristic of death as it appears in the Chanson de Roland is that the death, even if sudden or accidental, “gives advance warning of its arrival. Gawain is asked: “Ah, good my lord, think you then so soon to die?” Gawain answers: “I tell you that I shall not live two days.” Ariès notes: “Neither his doctor nor his friends nor the priests (the latter are absent and forgotten) know as much about it as he. Only the dying man can tell how much time he has left.

4. Luru Mag - They’re building an archive of Indian grandmothers! The last day for submissions is 22nd March, 2026. You can send your stories can to grandmothers@lurumagazine.com Learn more about their wonderful project here.

5. Episode on Daoism by Philosophize This and Philosophy of the Tao by Alan Watts is what I’ve been listening to while doing the dishes.

6. Word of the Week: Sfumato - From the Italian sfumare, meaning “to tone down” or “to evaporate like smoke.” In painting, it refers to that soft, smoky blending of colours where edges dissolve and nothing feels sharply defined. Most famously associated with the work of Leonardo da Vinci.

   Henrik Uldalen’s work feels deeply sfumato!

   Life sometimes feels sfumato too… You can see the shape of it all, but you’re not entirely sure what’s solid and what’s slipping away.

   

How are you doing? How is February treating you? And what have you been consuming lately? I’d love to hear from you! That’s always my favourite part of writing this listicle. So don’t forget to send me your recos too <3

I wanted to share a little update before I dive into the listicle: the Into the Vortex website has been updated! The Fate’s Favour Expansion is now available for purchase alongside the Base Deck. If you haven’t checked out the game yet, this might be the perfect time. And as always, I’d love to hear your questions or feedback on the game!

February for me has been a little… meh tbh. I’m not feeling very motivated. Everything seems slightly pointless, even though I know I don’t truly believe in a nihilistic world. Still, the will to pursue things feels like it has quietly slipped away. All I seem to want to do is consume things, eat, and sleep. This meme below perfectly sums up the kind of week it’s been:

1. The Great Shamsuddin Family - There’s something about real women characters on screen that melts your heart like a gooey brownie, isn’t there? This film does exactly that. Despite the hostile political climate for minorities in this country, Anusha Rizvi refuses to end on a bleak note, offering instead a quiet hope in the people around us. 10/10 would recommend.

2. O’Romeo - I really enjoyed this film! I’m not a fan of violence on screen, but Vishal Bhardwaj makes revenge feel poetic and gives us an endearing hero to root for. Been listening to the songs all week!

3. Saaay Cheese Bakery, Gangtok - In love with all their baked stuff and desserts, especially the eclairs and baked chicken buns!

4. What do Deewaar, Kaala Patthar, Ghayal & Ghatak tell us about Mohammad Deepak? - I’ve been thinking a lot about where heroes come from. And what makes an ordinary person act with extraordinary courage? Using Bollywood as a lens, Dushyant’s piece helps make sense of these questions. While Amitabh’s angry young man embodies the one man against many resistance, Sunny Deol’s early films imagine the hero as someone who stands up to a corrupt system. In both, the hero risks everything to protect others!

5. Yeye - A Seoul-based cartoonist and painter who channels her bond with her late dog, Moonge, into beautiful art:

6. Sandrine Torredemer - Working from photographs, this textile artist creates poetic miniature paintings made from reclaimed fabrics! Her work is truly delightful and unique. Here’s a little about her formative influences:

   ‘Torredemer grew up in Céret, France—at the foot of the Pyrenees, not far from the Mediterranean coast. A former urban planner, Torredemer hails from a long line of women who worked with textiles. Her mother was a seamstress, her paternal grandmother an embroiderer, and her great-grandmother made corsets. Vacations were often spent at her grandparents’ home, where her Catholic grandfather ensured she attended Sunday mass, and her atheist communist grandmother taught her to embroider. She fell in love with the latter activity.’

7. Jess Graves on the tilt towards singledom among young women - In this sharp Substack piece, she settles the singledom debate for me with striking clarity:

   ‘But honing on singleness as a “for/against” argument misses the more interesting shift underway. What’s actually happening isn’t a mass rejection of men; it’s a collective re-centering of women... And importantly, de-centering men doesn’t require disliking them. It just requires releasing the idea that they are the proof of a life well lived.’

8. How to Get to Heaven from Belfast - Another great show from Derry Girls creator Lisa Mcgee. Binged it in a day! Go watch it right away.

9. Salt, Sea and Paper - A light game where you build a marine universe through clever set-making and a quirky push-your-luck scoring system. Especially love the origami-style illustrations! Can’t wait to play it soon.

   

10. Word of the week - Maya (Nepali) - Meaning love. I think it’s quite intense and probably apt that the word for love also means worldly attachment. Here’s a lovely verse from a popular Nepali song that weaves in the word maya quite poetically:

    Gai goru badhera chittai vetna auna
    Batai ma raat parla ujyalo mai auna
    Andhyaro ke hora maya pirati agi
    Parkhi deu ma aaula adhyaro lai todi
    

    Tie up the cattle and come meet me soon

    It might get dark on the way, come while it’s still bright.
    What is darkness anyway before love?
    Wait for me I’ll come, breaking through the darkness.

1. The Fourth Turning - A fascinating theory by William Strauss and Neil Howe that suggests history moves like seasons, repeating a cycle every 80–100 years: a high of stability and strong community is followed by an awakening of rebellion and rising individualism, then an unraveling of weakening institutions and growing cynicism, and finally a crisis - a turbulent reckoning that breaks the old world apart so something new can begin. According to the theory, we’re living through this fourth, crisis-driven turning right now! It is going to be a difficult passage, but one that may also plant the seeds of renewal.

2. Any Man of Mine by Shania Twain and Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream is what I’ve been listening to all week!

3. Thenthuk - This comforting Tibetan noodle soup, loaded with vegetables and meat, has become my go-to winter meal. If you’re in Gangtok, Café JM is the best place to try it!

4. Simone Goder - Completely in love with her illustrations! Sharing an excerpt from an interview she gave to the Australia-based Ramona Magazine:

   Having studied in Hamburg and now based in Paris, how have these diverse environments shaped your artistic style and themes?

   Absolutely. Paris is an incredibly artistic and beautiful city, and one of the first things I noticed was its deep love for comics. They are everywhere: on buildings, in magazines, in every bookshop and there are more comic shops than I had ever seen before. They also help me a lot with learning French. It was here that I began writing little comics myself, and suddenly people took notice.

   

5. Conflictorium - A sensory, participatory museum on social conflict that reimagines what a museum can be. Instead of the colonial idea of the museum that disciplines bodies and forbids touching or photographing anything, Conflictorium invites us to touch and engage. Designed by Avni Sethi in a 95-year-old building in Ahmedabad (and now Raipur), it offers a rare space for holding dialogue and memory.

6. Pumpkins by Yayoi Kusama - I’ve been obsessed with her pumpkins for a while now, so I was thrilled to learn they were showcased at the recent India Art Fair in Delhi. I only wish I could see them in person someday!

   

7. Hay-on-Wye - The world’s first “book town,” tucked away in Powys, Wales, with 20+ bookstores and an annual literature festival! You can wander through Hay Castle, linger in cozy cafés, shop at the weekly market, and of course, get plenty of reading done along the way. Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?

8. The Human Predicament by David Benatar - Writing from a nihilist and anti-natalist position, professor Benatar argues that human life is marked less by meaning (which is subjective) than by unavoidable suffering, disappointment, and mortality. Even our attempts to create purpose -through love, work, or legacy - are, for him, fragile consolations against an indifferent universe. I found his arguments intellectually sharp but emotionally difficult to sit with. I guess I find it really hard to go through life as a pessimist. Curious to know what you think?

9. BLT Sandwich - You can never go wrong with this bacon-and-lettuce classic from The Travel Cafe, Gangtok. Their focaccia bread is absolutely to die for.

   

10. Word of the Week: Komorebi (Japanese) - The soft, dappled sunlight that filters through leaves on a tree. It captures a fleeting, quiet kind of beauty, something you notice only when you slow down.

    I sat there doing nothing in particular, watching the komorebi move across the ground, and for a moment life felt wholesome.

How have you been? How is 2026 treating you so far? Are there any gentle goals you’re holding close this year? For me, it’s yoga, piano, and writing ✌

I know I’ve been away for over two months now. I meant to take December off at first, because what can one really do in December except eat, sleep, binge, and repeat? It’s such a slow, drowsy month.

But the new year began on a difficult note for me, with a family health emergency that kept me away from Substack (and you) longer than I expected, sigh. I’ve truly missed this space, and I’ve missed writing to you!

Now that I’m back 😎, I’m so excited to share what I’ve been reading, watching, and thinking about this week.

Before that, though, I wanted to share how grateful I feel. I’ve had the absolute joy of working with some truly incredible writers and artists already this year, and you can explore the new pieces yourself on The Blahcksheep:

1. Megha Raha is about to get married. But she can’t stop thinking about her mother and all the lives she imagined for herself…

2. Moumi Das questions fairy tales and happily-ever-afters in her hopeful unromantic languish.

3. Rippul Arora has been eating yellow since she was a child just like a certain starving artist who couldn’t stop feasting on it!

4. Cain, the first murderer, cursed with immortality, walks into a bar. Stefan Sofiski tells you what happens next in Too Old to Die.

5. Where does all the love go when a mother loses her child before their first cry? Tridisha Chetia’s The Room I Never Got to Paint is a tender, moving reflection on loss and grief.

6. Abhilipsa Sahoo tells you what happens when the Earth menstruates once every year.

7. Why do fathers get disappointed when we don’t want to turn out like them? And why is it the opposite for mothers? Anushka Bharadwaj shares many more such insights on her family and town in a Catalogue of Things I Tried to Hold.

8. ‘Come back to us when you have a life/ Those are not easy words to process/ When I turned 18/ I might as well have been an immigrant to another world’ - explore the process of being and becoming by Nishanth Peters.

1. Radio Parul - This Substack by Parul Sharma is quickly becoming one of my favourite corners of the internet for thoughtful reflections on books, cinema, music and travel! I especially loved her reviews of Mother Mary Comes to Me and The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny.

2. The Roses - If you want to watch Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman engage in gloriously nasty, petty couple fights, this one’s for you. Sharp, darkly funny in all the right ways, and unsettlingly close to truths we don’t like admitting about relationships.

3. Maa Tara, CR Park - An iconic spot for deeply comforting, authentic Bengali food in Delhi. I’m craving their fish fry and luchi mangsho even as I write this. And their nolen gur kheer is a solid 10/10.

   

4. Enver Hoxha: the lunatic who took over the asylum - A chilling portrait of the paranoid dictator who ruled Albania from 1944 to 1985, enforcing militant atheism and systematically purging religious figures, intellectuals, party loyalists, and even his own family in the name of absolute control. We never learn from history, do we?

5. Darkhwast Banaam Sarkar by Mehdi Maloof and Dastoor (Habib Jalib) by Ammar Rahid is what I’ve been listening to all week.

6. A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings by Gabriel García Márquez and The Lottery Ticket by Anton Chekhov - Two short stories I really enjoyed.

7. Himalayan Breakfast at The Coffee Shop, Gangtok - Truly the best way to start the day. Their Tibetan bread has a sourdough-like texture, but softer and yummier. And their beef sausages are to die for!

   

8. Cry, the Peacock by Anita Desai - If you enjoy psychological fiction that plunges deep into the fragile, shifting landscape of a character’s mind, this novel will stay with you. It traces alienation and obsession, mixed with prophecy and domestic drama. I’ll admit it left me a little depressed after finishing it, but it also made me a true admirer of Anita Desai’s craft. I can’t wait to read more of her work!

9. Train Dreams - My favourite film of 2025. A poetic meditation on one man’s life, and quietly, on all of ours. Every frame feels tender and impossibly beautiful. Shot in near-dreamlike cinematography, it’s the kind of film you let wash over you.

10. Word of the Week: Lagom - A Swedish word that means just the right amount—not too much, not too little. I love how it resists excess. Lagom reminds me that a good life isn’t loud or overflowing. Sometimes, it’s simply balanced. Enough sunlight. Enough rest. Enough hope to begin again.

    The winter sun, a warm cup of tea, and nowhere urgent to be… it all felt perfectly lagom.

    I don’t want a loud life anymore. I want something quieter, slower, something lagom.