Anti Fragile

I carry the quiet curse of being alone and resilient. I’ve fallen so many times that the falls no longer frighten me — they simply tire me. There are moments when the weight of it all makes life feel hopeless, but lately I’ve begun to read those low points differently: not as punishments but as furnaces. Like iron forged in fire, I am shaped by the heat. Some people seem to glide through life untouched; others learn the hard lessons. As a Scorpio sun and moon, transformation is stitched into my story !! recurrent endings that become unexpected beginnings. The downs sharpen me, and the remakings remind me I can return, altered but intact. Sometimes I wonder: if nothing ever breaks, am I really living? The question is less a complaint and more a compass. I don’t crave pain, but I have come to accept that growth often arrives disguised as hardship. I am learning to meet my own endurance with tenderness, to let the forging do its work without losing myself in the flames.

Musings

Life is a series of meetings. Every person we encounter – whether a fleeting stranger, a passing colleague, or a lifelong companion – enters our story for a reason. Some become permanent chapters, while others appear for a page or two before disappearing. Some transform before our eyes, while others remain much the same. Why does this happen?

1. People as Mirrors

Many believe that we meet people to learn about ourselves. A friend’s encouragement may show us our hidden strengths, while a difficult colleague may push us to confront patience, resilience, or boundaries. Once the lesson is absorbed, the connection may naturally fade  not because it lacked meaning, but because its purpose was served.

2. The Flow of Timing

Timing plays an invisible role. Some relationships thrive because both people grow at the same pace, walking side by side. Others drift apart when paths diverge. It’s rarely about fault; often it’s about life’s rhythms being out of sync.

3. Why Some Stay

Certain people become anchors. They stay because the bond evolves with time, adapting to each person’s changes. Shared values, deep trust, and mutual respect act as glue. These are the friendships and relationships that withstand seasons of change.

4. Why Some Disappear

Not all departures are dramatic. Sometimes people disappear quietly  careers shift, priorities realign, or simply the connection no longer fits who we are becoming. Letting go doesn’t erase the moments shared; it just acknowledges that not everyone is meant to stay forever.

5. Why Some Change  and Some Don’t

Change is inevitable, but not universal. Some embrace it, shedding old layers and stepping into new versions of themselves. Others resist, preferring the comfort of the familiar. The way someone chooses to grow (or not) often determines whether we continue walking together or take separate routes.

The Journey exercise

I invite you to go on a short journey with me. As you read, let your imagination take over.

Picture yourself standing at the edge of a dense, endless forest. The air is cool and damp, and a narrow path stretches out in front of you. You step forward, slowly, carefully, and begin walking deeper into the trees.

The path isn’t easy. Roots catch at your feet, thorns scrape your skin, and the weight of exhaustion presses down on you. You have already crossed many challenges before this moment, and now you are tired, hungry, and wondering how much longer you can go on.

The forest grows darker. You feel the silence pressing in on you. Suddenly, you hear a sound behind you—the growls of wild dogs. A pack is chasing you, their snarls growing louder as they close in. Fear grips you. You run, stumbling, your heart pounding in your chest. Branches whip across your face as you push forward, desperate to escape. Just when you feel they are about to catch you, the path splits—you leap to the side, and somehow, miraculously, the dogs lose your trail. You collapse against a tree, trembling, but alive.

You gather yourself and walk on. A sound of running water reaches you. You find a clear stream, kneel down, and drink. Cool water fills you with just enough strength to continue. Then you see sunlight breaking through the branches above, and hope flickers inside you again.

But the forest tests you one last time. A steep hill rises in front of you. Each step feels heavier than the last, and your body wants to give up—but something deep within pushes you forward. Slowly, painfully, you climb.

At the top, breathless, you look ahead. And there it is—a house. Quiet, warm, welcoming. Relief floods through you. You rush towards it—but when you reach it, you find the doors and windows shut, the walls towering high above you. For a moment, despair sets in. Then, with the last of your strength, you begin to climb. Fingers slipping, muscles aching, you drag yourself upward, inch by inch, until finally, you pull yourself over and drop inside.

The air feels safe, comforting. You know you’ve reached the end of your long, difficult journey.

You climb the stairs quickly now, heart racing with anticipation. At the top, there is a single door. You open it and inside the room, waiting for you, is one person.

Pause for a moment. See their face. Notice who it is.

Now, come back. Tell me who did you see?

That person is the one who matters most to you, the one your heart seeks even in the hardest moments of your life.

Holding up a mirror

You know what’s truly entertaining? Shitty people. Not because they’re fun !God no — because they have absolutely no clue how shitty they are. In their head, they’re some tragic Bollywood hero going through a “solitary struggle.” In reality, they’re that neighbour aunty who borrows sugar and never returns the dabba or thanks you !

Shitty people have this amazing talent: zero self-awareness, 100% confidence.

• They cancel on you like it’s their birthright.
• They pass off nastiness with a line like, “Bas yaar, I’m very straightforward.” Translation: I have the tact of a pressure cooker whistle.
• And when you call them out? They act shocked like you told them Shah Rukh Khan is overrated which he is actually ;)

Here’s the thing: shitty people rarely wake up and think, “How can I ruin someone’s day today?” No, no. They wake up thinking, “I’m the victim, everyone else is the problem.” Meanwhile, everyone around them is dodging their energy like they dodge relatives during shaadi season or funerals 

And the moment of truth? When someone finally tells them, “Boss it’s you.” The face they make…wah! Pure gold. As if you’ve just revealed Maggi actually takes more than two minutes to cook.

So let’s stop making excuses for them. You’re not “unique,” you’re not “misunderstood,” you’re not “keeping it real.” You’re just… shitty. Full stop.

Arrey beta, if three people have already told you you’re the problem—believe them. This isn’t a conspiracy. It’s feedback. Take it.

The big M

Menopause. There, I said it. The word itself feels like it should be whispered in some secret club, like a VIP password that only women over 40 are allowed to know. All my friends are either going through it, about to go through it, or have already emerged on the other side like wise owls who survived hot-flash hell.

And now, it’s my turn.

So here’s the deal: brain fog, hot flashes, mood swings, midnight sweats, and the occasional “why did I just walk into this room again?” moment — all of that is apparently my new routine. It’s like my body’s gone from iOS 16 to Windows 95 overnight.

But the question lurking in the shadows:

Should I be worried? Will this make me less of a woman?

 society has long sold us the story that womanhood = periods + babies + hormones doing the salsa in our bloodstream. But what happens when your ovaries say, “You know what, we’ve clocked out, no overtime, no extensions, thanks very much”?

I like to think of it this way: if every month my eggs were sending postcards on their journey (“Dear uterus, wish you were here, hope the lining is cozy”), then my last egg deserves a dramatic farewell.

Maybe something like:

“Well, that’s it, folks. The end of the road. I gave it my best shot. Some of us made zygotes, some of us didn’t, but hey — what a ride! P.S. Send wine.”

But here’s the catch!!! I won’t even know which egg is my last. There’s no dramatic curtain call, no golden buzzer moment. Just one day you look back and realize, “Oh, that was it. The period finale. A series that ended without even a cliffhanger.”

And that’s kind of poetic, isn’t it?

Because here’s the thing: menopause doesn’t make me “less of a woman.” If anything, it makes me free, more seasoned, more me. No more calendars marked in red. No more emergency napkin hunts in public restrooms. No more “oops” pregnancy scares in your  40s. Just me, my hormones slowly chilling out, and the occasional dramatic hot flash to remind me that I’m still alive and kicking.

So, to the Big M bring it on.

If womanhood were a Netflix series, this isn’t the end; it’s just the new season. With better plot twists, less blood, and way more wine.

The Subtle Patriarchy of Inheritance in Educated Homes

Even in the most educated households, patriarchy doesn’t always scream — it whispers. It shows up not in sweeping declarations, but in quiet decisions, ambiguous conversations, and unfair expectations masked as family norms.

Recently, I experienced one such moment.

My father wanted to buy a house — one he was already living in and renting. He asked me to contribute a significant sum towards the purchase, saying he was giving me my “share” out of affection. He said the property would eventually be transferred in my name. What was striking wasn’t the financial request itself, but the casual framing of it: that this was being done for me, that it was a gesture of love.

My husband, who sat quietly through most of it, finally said what I was thinking: “She is paying for this. This is not a gift or affection. You’re taking money from her. Don’t position this as something you’re giving.” And in that moment, I saw something clearly. The same “affection” wasn’t needed for my brother. No such contribution was expected from him. He receives — unquestioned — simply by virtue of being the son.

This is how patriarchy hides in plain sight, even among the educated. In families that pride themselves on fairness, daughters are subtly reminded that they’re still outsiders when it comes to inheritance and property. It’s not always overt. Sometimes it’s the ambiguity — the kind that avoidant parents cultivate around wealth and property, leaving things “to be figured out later.” What that really means in Indian households is: the daughter will be sidelined, and the son will be defaulted to.

The cultural script is predictable. Disputes arise after the parents are gone, when nothing is clear and assumptions fester into arguments. The law in India is actually clear — daughters have an equal right to their father’s property under the Hindu Succession Act (amended in 2005). It doesn’t matter if she’s married. She has the same legal rights as her brother.

But society? Society will tell you that since you’re married, your husband will take care of you. That you shouldn’t ask too much. That a son has to “run the house” while the daughter now belongs “elsewhere.” It will silence the daughter with guilt, shame, and emotional blackmail, making her feel as if claiming what’s lawfully hers is a betrayal.

This is how relationships get fractured. Not when people die — but when they leave behind unspoken inequities that fester into wounds.

We need to have honest conversations in our families — especially the ones that claim to be progressive. Because patriarchal thinking doesn’t disappear with education. It just becomes more polite.

And if we don’t speak now, we leave silence to do the speaking for us — and that silence almost never sides with the daughter

When life gives you Tangerines

I avoided this show for the longest time. Something about its premise—love, hardships, loss, and defiance of societal norms—felt too close to the bone. I wasn’t ready. But then one quiet evening, I gave in. And I found myself immersed, undone, and unexpectedly moved by what unfolded.

The story isn’t loud or melodramatic. It doesn’t lean on glittery frames or sweeping musical crescendos to make its point. It speaks of love in its rawest form—the kind that does not come with grand gestures but with quiet constancy. The kind of love that stands behind you when you’re falling apart. That defends you when the world points fingers. That chooses you—again and again—no matter the cost.

There were moments that gutted me. Watching the lead character give his all to the woman he loves—not just his affection, but protection, loyalty, and a sense of family she never had—shook something deep within. He goes against his own people, his own comfort, and the life he once knew, just to create a space where she could feel safe. And I found myself asking the inevitable question: does love like this really exist?

And then came the real punch in the gut—this was based on a true story.

That changed everything.

Because it reminded me that love like this doesn’t always look the way we’ve been taught to expect. It doesn’t come dressed in designer suits or sweeping us off our feet in sports cars. It doesn’t arrive with a Karan Johar background score. Sometimes, it comes quietly. As a hand that never lets go. As someone who takes the blows with you. As the one person who shows up even when the rest of the world walks away.

When life gives you tangerines, maybe it’s reminding you that love doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real.

And that, perhaps, is enough

Drama and Dread

“Chasing Stars, Dreading Silence”

Here’s the thing about life — it’s both too much and not enough. One minute you’re high on possibility, manifesting abundance with your oat milk latte in hand, and the next you’re staring at the ceiling wondering if this is all there is. Spoiler alert: sometimes, it is.

There’s a peculiar emptiness that sets in when life becomes fine. Not tragic, not euphoric — just… beige. And beige, darling, is a hard color to live in. We’re not wired to sit still in contentment. We’re designed (or cursed?) to chase. The next job. The next trip. The next hit of excitement. Because let’s be honest — inner peace doesn’t give you an adrenaline rush. A good meltdown or spontaneous life crisis, however? Five stars. Would recommend.

Why is it that when life gets quiet, we panic? Maybe because silence leaves too much space for the truth to echo back. That maybe we don’t know what we’re doing. That maybe the dream life isn’t coming. That maybe this is it — a loop of meetings, memes, and mildly disappointing dinners.

But here’s the ironic beauty of it all: the highs don’t last, but neither do the lows. Everything shifts. Life is a carousel of impermanence, spinning us through euphoria, ennui, grief, and back again.

So maybe, just maybe, the secret isn’t in chasing stars — it’s in learning to sit with the silence. To stop scrolling through our own lives looking for something brighter. Because even in boredom, there’s a quiet kind of magic. A reminder that the dull days are still days. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Until the next crisis, of course