hello there.

Just like the title of this post, hello to “you”. Being really honest with the person reading this right now,  really wasn’t expecting myself to get inspired by someone’s blog and then make (like literally within few seconds, an attempt to start a blog), oh well hey that’s me; the girl who makes impromptu plans whenever she feels like.

I did like writing once, or maybe that’s why people often say “when you go through a breakup, it becomes easier to spill words or thoughts”.  I personally agree to this statement haha. Every breakup is surely different in it’s own special way and seriously not crying after a breakup, doesn’t make you “a strong person” it’s more like clouding all your inner thoughts and someday when you have to break that chest of dark guarded emotions, it’ll definitely break you as a person. (& honestly why do that?)  (applies to both guys and girls ) So, coming back to myself, I wrote a lot last year and kinda felt myself attached to it at some point of time, but then as the months flew by  I found myself changing & so did priorities. So what happened to writing? well uhh I thought I needed time and space to internalize everything which has happened so far and kept writing to another day & ta daa here it is.

Here’s a picture of me (one of my favorite ones) which one of my talented friends helped to take. You really can’t see my face here, that’s cause I’m more comfortable behind the camera and yes wouldn’t shy away from saying, that I’m pretty self-conscious.


I’m back, and as cliché as it sounds, never felt more amazing and TBH ‘feelin this year’. When I initially thought of starting a blog, I’ve always wanted my *introduction* to be long and filled with bursts of random thoughts. I’m that sorta person, who writes on and on.

And when you finally finish reading this post, I really hope (you) get to know me more as a friend and not as a random stranger who talks super long. Really don’t know how this blog is going to turn up but I’ll really try popping two posts every month? Or maybe three 😉

Till then,

the girl who is a bit unsure of how this whole thing works x



what do I think of this quote?

A while ago for my history class, I came across this interesting text on the birth of Hatshepsut. A few things to note before-hand would be

(a) Khum- one of the earliest Egyptian gods
(b) Amun- often called as king of gods

The quote,which I found particularly interesting was-

Khnum spoke in addition, “I form you with this divine body . . . I have come to you to form you completely as all gods (Kings), give to you all life and prosperity, give to you enduring and joy . . . and give to you all health, deliver to you all flat lands and all mountain lands as well as all subjects, give to you every food and nourishment and cause that you appear on the throne of Horus like (the sun god) Re (himself). I cause that you stand as the head of all the living when you appear as king of Upper and Lower Egypt. Thus as your father Amun-Re who loves you has commanded it.”


As the quote describes the gods forming Hatshepsut with a divine body and furthermore lists the godly-gifts created within her, does it imply that the gods, particularly Khnum and Amun could’ve already made a prediction that there will be a phase in ancient Egypt, when a female pharaoh will rule Egypt and bring along flourishing success?

In class, we learnt that most of ancient Egyptian rulers consisted of men holding the title of a Pharaoh. Could this also mean that the gods may’ve wanted to create Hatshepsut with more gifts (which is described in the quote) in a way to equate the strength to a male-child who becomes a Pharaoh?

Another sentence which I found particularly interesting is the second last towards the end of the quote, which describes Hatshepsut appearing as the king of upper and lower Egypt rather than the gods referring to her a queen. Was this probably due to the belief that only men were considered ideal rulers?

Once a time.

<a href="http://Bridge” target=”_blank”>

Across the blue river,
Where fences are painted with streaks of red and white,
I still see you crossing the bridge.

The river separates our lands,
One for the elites
The other for the lonely and the forgotten

The bridge was used once upon a time,
By lone travellers crossing
Under the cover of darkness

Many lost their lives
Many have tripped and tumbled down
Many tried to escape

The river continued its journey
Sound of gushing of water reverberated
Angrily obstructing the traveller’s path.

I can still see your shadow crossing the lonesome bridge,
Wearing a shabby red sweater,
Your eyes seemed to be searching for someone on the bridge,
Your hair was cut in a strange old-fashioned way.

I still vividly remember that splash of water after you jumped
I wish I could have done something for you.
I still carry the guilt within me every time when I look pass the river.

Across the blue river,
I still see your shadow
Crossing the war torn bridge every night.

Another Perspective.

It’s almost impossible to stand still without clutching to your belongings tightly enough to prevent pick pocketers. People push past nonchalantly, instead of walking in an orderly fashion. The early morning roads are packed with the iconic yellow taxi drivers honking hurriedly and typical rickshaw wallahs (tuk tuk drivers) forming a self-declared long row at one end of the pathway, impatiently waiting for customers so as to start charging their meter fares. Vendors in bazaar (markets) setting up the stalls a millionth time before the crowd goes crazy. Across the road, daily commuters and regular school-going children start crowding for the local bus. In just few minutes, the bus becomes over packed and occasionally a drunk passenger will start a tiff with the conductor of the bus for a free ride with a bribe. With each hour, slowly passing by and the heat becoming unbearable, it becomes a norm for people to mutter curse words under their breath as if the heavenly gods are punishing them for all their individual sins. Mornings are long and snappy.

Afternoons still remains to be the same, except the closest to being in luck will be a slight downpour in certain areas and very rarely will it be the place you are at.  The streets of India can be mesmerizing, especially in the most crowded hour of the day. It never loses its old way of charming outsiders, travelers and ordinary citizens. If you try hard enough and notice the women in cotton sari’s with carefully done pleats, sometimes the ones with a more vibrant shade, something which the westerners would refer to as an awfully long shirt with a thigh slit on either side and paired up with a lighter shade of skinny jeans which mostly are color coordinated with the shirt or even the slightly bolder ones adorned with gold bangles and wearing a  bit of the not-so-sickly perfume, rushing past amidst the forming crowd in a hurry to catch the late noon bus. Children holding their mother’s hands. Nearby, street vendors selling gola ganda’s (iced candies) in almost all possible flavors you could think of on a hot, sweltering noon. Despite the chaos, there still is time to converse with the chai wallah (person who sells tea) and sip on masala chai’s in small steel tumblers. The familiar sight of people crowding for all sorts of chaat (snacks). Young street vendors shouting in their monotonous tone selling gol gappa’s in small colorful plastic bowls, which are deep fried puri’s (deep fried bread) poked and filled exactly with handfuls of mashed potatoes, chickpeas, onions, chutney, red chilies and dipped in a sweet mint flavored water. Then there are the street magicians, cleverly pulling out white doves and rabbits from ordinary looking black hats and crowd dazed with their never-ending tricks. Sometimes when the crowd gets livelier than usual, hypnotizing them with the age-old rope magic. Stray cows wandering in every alley, and few lucky ones fed by kind hearted shop owners. Occasionally, a wandering cow will find itself right at the middle of traffic, but the drivers manage to maneuver around most of the time. On very rare days, if bad luck prolongs the situation, the poor cow lands on the news headlines for the next day’s morning paper, ‘Hindustani Times’.

Everyone leads their own individual life, each with some sort of hidden purposed backed up with motivation. Although the city comes alive, every morning it acts as a quest for survival for some. The divide between the rich and the poor is undeniably visible between the frenzy.

Evenings are extremely short, due to exhaustion but the following mornings are much longer. Pavements acts as makeshift homes. Children run around barefooted, keeping a fair distance with “outsiders” and intruders. Boys and girls are taught to live independently at a tender age, each taught to master the work they are supposedly assigned; cycling around with a rundown bicycle and delivering newspapers to rich estates, scraping metal and all other things precious from rubbish chutes, washing plates for roadside vendors, selling crafts made of cheap paper.

The sun casts its golden rays upon the clouds of billowing smoke, turning them into hues of orange mixed with reds. Old men whiling away their time by downing themselves in cheap liquor and the more experienced among them taking occasional puffs of cigarettes along with crunch of seeds, dried fruits, spices wrapped in betel leaves. Children eagerly counting their coins of their day’s hard earned earnings before the adults forcefully takes them away. For some, evenings are strangely colder than mornings and for the rest, the city sleeps soundly as ever, unaware of different lives which makes up the morning crowd.

stuck between here and now

Her fingers moves
slowly touching the
metal ridges.

Dust forming on her
less bothered she continues
watching them.

Forced to and living alone
with a white bed
and her mind forever,
playing games.

It’s time, they call out

she pulls back her hand
as if, breaking away from
a thought.

Her mind quickly
puts her in another situation

different people
yet the,
same empty emotions like
every other day.