It robbed me of two very dear friends, taken far before their time, within the span of just two months.
Age no longer feels like a measure of anything. Life feels like a ticking bomb—only the controller knows when it will stop.

There is a fear deep within me now.
Because the loss of a life feels like the abrupt end of a story that still had so many pages left.

From the moment I received the news, the helplessness of not being able to see her one last time has been haunting me.
I find myself constantly replying to messages from people after I posted a short tribute on Facebook—going through the emotions, responding, acknowledging—while inside, everything feels shattered.

It is not easy to stay calm or pretend that everything is normal when you have been hit this hard.

Ever since I received the news, my mind keeps walking through the lanes where I spent the most beautiful years with her.
The college bench.
The sandwich stall.
Our strongest connection—the Sai Baba temple near her house, and the Saturday Ayyappa Mandir visits during our college years.

Five years of college together, in the same class.
Then our first job interview together.
Our first job together.
We even met my husband on the same day—he was our senior at work.
Those lunch-time chit-chats that felt endless and effortless.

She was the kind of girl who carried a smile even in the most tense situations.
Always saying, “Tension mat le… sab ho jayega. Aur nahi bhi hua, toh dekh lenge.”
That was her—calm, reassuring, quietly strong.

After I moved to Dubai, we met every year during my Mumbai visits. Those yearly reunions were sacred.
Our entire college girl gang would catch up for lunch, and somehow it would stretch all the way into the evening.
Those moments were priceless.

Our Navratri saree colour discussions on WhatsApp were a ritual.
We both loved draping sarees, and we loved discussing them—shades, borders, combinations.
Such small things, yet so deeply ours.

My childhood friends will understand what I am trying to say here.
We have all been checking on each other constantly.
Each one of us is processing this loss differently—there is pain, there is worry, and somewhere deep inside, the frightening thought of who would be next.

All I want right now is to see you all soon, hold you tight, cry without control, and let it out.
I feel cranky, unsettled, unable to process any of this.

If this is the state of friends who loved her so deeply, I cannot even begin to imagine the pain of her immediate family—and especially her child.

Now the memories keep running through my mind, and flowing out through my eyes.

2025, you didn’t have to be this cruel.

I don’t know when this heaviness will ease, or if it ever truly will.
All I know is that you will live on in our memories, in our laughter, in our shared stories, and in every saree discussion that now feels incomplete without you.

Some bonds don’t end with goodbyes—they simply change form.
You are gone from our sight, but never from our lives.

Rest gently, my friend.
You were deeply loved.
You always will be. 🤍

My dear Roopali (Roops) rest in peace 🙏💔

On the 13th of December, we—along with a few close friends—set out as a family to witness the Geminids meteor shower at Al Quwa, under the Milky Way.

It was a little over a two-hour drive from home, sprinkled with the usual long-journey rituals—fuel station halts for knick-knacks, quick bites, and of course washroom breaks.
An essential, yet often the most challenging part of overnight desert camping—especially for women and our teen girls.

A few hiccups never stop us though.

As we entered the Milky Way stretch, the scene unfolded—nearly 500 cars already inside, each one hunting for the perfect spot, with more cars lined up behind us.
Now you know the rush.

We finally settled for a spot closer to the road—practical, given the mix of age groups and the constant loading and unloading. With car headlights on, we carried in floor mats and chairs, followed by food and beverage bags, and then our newly bought folding table.

Once the basics were set, we pitched the tent. Just as we finished, our friends arrived—with LED lights that allowed our car headlights to finally rest. The LEDs were used only for setting up and warming food; the rest of the time, we kept it pitch dark—to truly soak in the star-studded sky.

We had also carried a green triconed tent for washroom activities—placed well away from the seating area, of course. Yet somehow, it became an unexpected source of laughter. The way it stood, the way it subtly shifted places with the wind—triggering weird imaginations in a couple of minds. Every time someone noticed it, giggles followed. Some things are unintentionally funny, and this tent was one of them.

More mats were added, laid out in a way that allowed everyone to lie down and gaze upward, the sky blanketing us with endless twinkling stars.

The table was lined with foil, induction set in place, and then came the obvious question:
Indian families, a starry night, and a cool breeze—what do we start with?

Of course—garam-garam adrak elaichi chai.

We soon realised tea takes much longer to boil in the cold desert air, so we covered the vessel to speed things up.
Every trip teaches you something new.

And when you have a gang of Mumbaikars together, tea must be accompanied by vada pav and samosas.
Pure bliss.

As if the night needed anything more, endless Bollywood hit songs began playing softly from a phone connected to a speaker. Old classics and timeless favourites—songs everyone knew by heart. Some hummed along, some sang out loud, others simply smiled. The music floated gently through the desert air, becoming part of the night—never loud enough to steal the stars, just enough to warm the soul.

Chairs were then lined up, necks tilted at carefully calculated angles, eyes fixed on the sky—waiting for shooting stars.

The first one brought shouts of joy.
Some cheered, some sighed—they had missed it.
After all, it lasts only a fraction of a second.

More alert now, we waited.
Every two to three minutes, one streaked across the sky.
Wishes were made, counts were kept… and soon forgotten as the numbers grew.

There were a couple of annoying neighbours who kept their car headlights on, spoiling the view. One member of our group pulled out a laser light and beamed it at their car until they finally got annoyed and switched the lights off.

Childish? Maybe.
Fun? Absolutely.

We all have a child within us—and moments like these are perfect excuses to let it out.

As the night grew colder, chairs were rearranged into a circle and a bonfire was lit. Hoodies and monkey caps emerged from bags. Kids looked gift-wrapped in layers, and soon even the brave adults followed suit.

Cold weather awakens hunger.

Drinks made their rounds. Biryani was warmed up in kadais and served hot. Desserts couldn’t be missed—gulab jamuns, warmed and devoured happily.

Honestly, I don’t know if people show this much enthusiasm warming food at home compared to doing it in the middle of a desert.
Ironically, all the non-kitchener souls (best word I could invent 😅) managed the temporary desert kitchen like pros.

Once cleaned up, we returned to our chairs. Some kids dozed off, others continued chatting endlessly under the stars.

Packing began around 2:30 a.m. Mats were cleared, sleeping bags placed inside the tent for the kids, and most things returned to the cars.

With rain predicted at dawn, we decided not to wait. Around 4:30 a.m., we began our journey back home. A few halts later, rain met us on the way—but it didn’t dampen the spirit.

We reached home—minds elated, bodies exhausted.
Hit the bed and fell asleep instantly.

Even now, I’d say—we are still on a starry hangover ✨

Yesterday night reminded us—joy doesn’t need luxury, just good company and a sky willing to surprise you.

The stars may have vanished by morning, but the warmth of that night still lingers.

A little birdie shared a small but powerful truth today.

Karma is simple.
When you do good, it comes back to you — often through the happiness and safety of your children and the people you love.

And when you do wrong, that also returns.
Sometimes it touches your loved ones first, because that’s where you feel the lesson the most.

It’s a quiet reminder:
Every action has a way of finding its path home.

Because karma doesn’t leave anyone untouched — good or bad, everyone meets the return of what they do.

The small crowds of friends huddling at common spots or fuel stations before their staycation drives during public holidays are such a delight to watch. Kids rush into the tiny supermarkets at the pump, grabbing their favourite bites, drinks, and chocolates, while the adults hunt for their preferred flavour of ice cream. The high decibel chatter says it all—the excitement is real.

Some want to use the washrooms before the journey begins (a clean one is such a blessing!). Others are busy picking up crates of drinking water. If it’s evening, you’ll often catch people loading wood for their bonfire or charcoal for the barbecue. I honestly don’t know if they’re this enthusiastic about cooking at home, but group cooking? That’s a different level of excitement.

Then there are the elderly, rolling down their windows and giving instructions on what to pick. Public holidays bring every age group out—and the enthusiasm is equally matched across generations. It’s something everyone has been waiting for.

With winter setting in, the weather is perfect. Outdoor gatherings take over life again. And watching these small and large groups chatter away at fuel stations or mid-points—planning the next stretch of their journey—is truly a treat.
The biggest discussion? Who’s leading the convoy, of course. GPS may be available to everyone, but sometimes being a little old-school is part of the fun.

Cars overtaking one another, windows rolling down, kids waving wildly, adults exchanging smiles—these tiny moments carry their own thrill.

Sometimes, the joy isn’t in the destination, but in the chaos before the drive.

It’s in these fleeting roadside moments that the real journey begins.

Loss of a friend takes a toll on your mind and heart. It takes time to accept that their physical presence won’t be around anymore. After her departure, I needed time to gather myself, to sit with the reality that there will be no more WhatsApp chats to light up my phone.

It has been emotional going through our last few conversations — the final threads of our daily banter. I even went back to the old emails we exchanged for years, in the days before WhatsApp existed. We wrote such long, heartfelt messages about our week, the tiniest details of our lives. We shared recipes, gossip, emotions, rants, laughter — everything.

Reading those mails took time, but now they feel like a beautiful treasure I’ll hold close to my heart — a memory chest she unknowingly left behind for me to open whenever I need her warmth.

At home, we still keep her alive in our conversations.For this life to move forward, she has given me enough memories to lean on, to smile through, to help me carry on.

Some people come from nowhere, become your friend, then your bestie, your ally… and touch your heart in the most beautiful way — leaving you vulnerable when they leave. Yet somehow, that vulnerability is proof of how deeply and meaningfully they lived in your world.

She may have left this world, but she hasn’t left my life.

Today marks Day 100 of my creative streak — 100 consecutive days of showing up, creating, and sharing my abstract thoughts and experiences with the world.

When I began this journey, I didn’t know how far it would go. I only knew I wanted to stay consistent — to build a space where I could express freely, without overthinking or expecting perfection.

Over these hundred days, I’ve learned that creativity isn’t just about sudden bursts of inspiration — it’s about showing up, especially when it doesn’t strike. Some days, the words flowed effortlessly; on others, I sat staring at the screen, unsure of what to write. Yet every single day taught me something new — about patience, about imperfection, and about trusting the process.

What makes this journey truly special is YOU — the readers, friends, and fellow dreamers who have been part of it. Your kind words, thoughtful messages, and quiet encouragement have meant more than I can express. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read, reflect, and connect with my thoughts.

It’s not always easy to find a topic every day — sometimes it’s inspired by a fleeting moment, a random thought, or something that happened around me. Not all are happy; some are introspective, emotional, or even raw. But each one is a little piece of my world, shared with honesty.

As I celebrate this milestone, I’m filled with gratitude — for the growth, the discipline, and the beautiful community that has formed around this creative path.

Here’s to the next chapter — to new colors, evolving ideas, and the endless beauty of showing up for what we love. ✨

The journey continues… one thought, one emotion, one abstract at a time.

Thank you for walking beside me through this creative path — the best is yet to come.

“The day grew darker not because the sun set, but because a light within our hearts went out. In the quiet of this farewell, we carry not her absence, but the echo of her laughter, the warmth of her kindness, and the love that death cannot silence.”

You were my closest friend — more like a sister from another mother.
My kids were yours as much as mine.
We were supposed to meet soon…
Why couldn’t you wait for me? What was the hurry?

You’ve left me with a sorrow I’ll carry forever.
We feel cheated — robbed of time, of moments, of you.
When your dearest friend, your soul sister, just decides to leave —
no warning, no goodbye —
just a loud silence where once your laughter used to be…
it’s not acceptable. Not today, not ever.

Whom will I sit up with all night to chit-chat?
I can still hear your giggles clearly.
One less wish from now on.
All those beautiful birthday and anniversary messages you sent to us and the kids —
your thoughtful surprises, your treasure of pictures you’d release each year —
we’ll miss them the most.

You’ll forever be Krish and Sia’s favorite.
The vacuum you’ve left in our lives will ache forever.

I don’t think I will ever be able to process this loss.

Why does this happen?

Why does life snatch away the ones who make it more beautiful?

Till we meet again, Soumya. 💔
I’m never forgiving you for this — for deciding to leave without a warning,
without a heads up, without one last hug.

You’ve left, but you’ll never be gone from our hearts.

Acquaintance doesn’t always convert into friendship — and that’s absolutely fine.
There’s no rule that says every person you meet has to become a close friend.

Some connections just stay where they are — polite, surface-level, and that’s their rightful place in your life. From the time you met someone till today, even if you’ve exchanged a few messages or bumped into each other occasionally, it doesn’t really count as years of friendship. Sometimes, you just sense it — this isn’t my vibe.

You still stay courteous, share a light conversation when you meet, but deep down, you know — there’s nothing much to add or receive. You’ve tried, given it chances, and yet it doesn’t bloom.

And then there are the toxic ones — the kind you don’t disconnect from completely only because you rarely meet them. But after a point, you just want to cut them off quietly.

Some people are simply wired with negativity. You try to share a happy update, and before you can even finish, thadaa!comes the negative twist. It’s not that they wish bad for you — it’s just how they are. They somehow need to begin every conversation with a downside.

I’ve learnt over time not to share my joys with such people — at least not until things are done. Because protecting your peace matters more than keeping a conversation alive.

Not every connection is meant to grow, and not every bond deserves constant watering. Some people are just passing chapters — meant to teach you what energies drain you and what truly nourishes your soul.

In the end, peace is the quietest and truest form of friendship you can offer yourself.

You know how sometimes you walk into your house and feel like it needs a little something? Not a full makeover — just a tiny refresh. We can get bored seeing the same things, the same arrangement every single day — it’s but natural!

So why not push things around a little? You can’t change your house often (that’s definitely not feasible 😅), but you canplay around with your mind by making these small changes. Shift a lamp, change the doormat, add a plant, or pull out that old rug — and watch how your space suddenly feels new again.

Swap your cushions, move your chairs, or rearrange your wall art. Once in a while, buy some fresh flowers for that vase — it instantly adds life, positivity, and a sense of growth to your home.

It’s all about playing with what you already have and having fun while doing it. Every time I move things around, it feels like I’ve given my home (and myself) a lovely boost of energy.

Because keeping your space fresh is just another way of keeping your spirit fresh. 🌸✨