Avoidant behaviour

Yes  we absolutely do. Some love with words, some with silence. Some show up, some withdraw. But sometimes, what we call “different ways of loving” is actually emotional avoidance dressed up as personal style.

Take the now-normal behaviour of leaving someone on read or disappearing mid-conversation — not because you’re angry, but because “it’s not a convenient time.” It’s called emotional disengagement or avoidant behaviour. It’s when someone pulls back, consciously or subconsciously, to protect their own comfort instead of nurturing connection.

What does it do to the other person? It creates uncertainty — a quiet kind of rejection that says, “You’re not a priority right now.” It teaches them to self-doubt, to hold back, to mirror that same distance. Slowly, intimacy is replaced by caution.We may tell ourselves we’re just “busy,” but love doesn’t demand constant presence  only emotional responsibility. A quick message that says, “Hey, can we talk later?” takes seconds, but it says: I see you. You matter.

Because yes, we love differently. But loving responsibly means realizing that even silence speaks  and someone is always listening.

Friends vs Families

 Some people are born into families that nurture them, offering warmth, understanding, and support without conditions. But some of us, especially daughters raised in patriarchal homes, learn early that our real support systems often come from the friendships we build, not the families we’re born into.

Over time, I’ve come to accept that everyone is living out their own karma. Yet it still hurts to see how often love and respect are used as tools of silence. We’re taught to suppress our voices in the name of familial harmony, but isn’t that, in itself, a quiet act of self-betrayal?

There are also those who insist they act only out of love, untouched by material motives. But that, too, is a convenient illusion that protects them from the discomfort of truth. It’s easy to preach detachment when the balance of power or privilege leans in your favour.

For people like me, who have often stood at the losing end of this unspoken bargain, asking for what is ours becomes an act of rebellion. We’re called materialistic, greedy, or ungrateful labels meant to shame us back into silence. Yet what they call greed is often just fairness, and what they call love is sometimes possession in disguise.

There is something profoundly painful about watching greed wear the mask of care. But perhaps the greater sorrow lies in realising that love, when filtered through entitlement and control, loses its soul.

We educated our daughters but we don’t educate ourselves

We take pride in saying it  we educated our daughters.

We gave them degrees, good jobs, financial independence, and the right to make their own choices. We wanted them to be confident, capable, and equal. We told the world we raised “strong, modern women.”

But the uncomfortable truth is this:

We educated our girls, yes. But we never educated ourselves.

We forgot to teach ourselves what equality really means beyond hashtags, speeches, and token gestures.

The Illusion of Equality

In today’s Indian families, equality often ends where it begins at convenience.

We celebrate our daughters for paying their own bills, for contributing to family occasions, for stepping up when responsibility calls. We applaud their independence when it serves us when it makes the family look progressive.

A daughter pays her share for every birthday dinner, even the one her brother planned for their parents celebration . She doesn’t question it, because she believes in fairness. To her, equality isn’t an argument it’s a value.

But when the subject shifts to inheritance, to property, to legacy the air thickens with discomfort. Suddenly, words like “tradition”, “culture”, and “custom” emerge. Suddenly, equality has a 

“You’re married now; your home is elsewhere.”

“We’re not being unfair this is just how things are done.”

Just like that, the modern daughter’s equality gets boxed back into the old narrative. Conveniently. Selectively.

A Comfortable Double Standard

This isn’t about tradition. This is about convenience a self-serving bias wrapped neatly in the language of culture.

We want our daughters to act equal but not to claim equality. We want them to share responsibilities, but not rights. We want them to earn, but not to question.

We’ve built a society that congratulates itself for “allowing” women to study, work, and earn but balks when those same women expect fair inheritance or equal say in family 

What Kind of Equality Is This?

If a daughter can split expenses for family celebrations, why can’t she be trusted with an equal share of family wealth?

If she can take care of her parents emotionally, financially, and physically, why must her love be measured differently from her brother’s?

The truth is, we like the idea of equality  as long as it doesn’t cost us anything. As long as it doesn’t challenge the old order of comfort and control.

This selective morality is the real hypocrisy of modern India  a place where women are told they can have everything, except what’s always been quietly reserved for men.

Time for a Different Kind of Education

We don’t need to educate our daughters anymore — they’ve already learned to survive, succeed, and lead in a world that often underestimates them.

It’s the rest of us — parents, brothers, and elders who need re-education.

We need to unlearn centuries of conditioning that equate fairness with rebellion. We need to stop seeing equality as a threat and start seeing it as justice.

Because equality is not about whether a daughter needs her share it’s about whether she deserves it.

And she does. Always.

Real progress won’t come from social media posts celebrating our daughters’ degrees or promotions. It will come when we stop drawing invisible lines between love and fairness. Until then, our modernity is performative.

We’re a society that educated its daughters but forgot to enlighten itself.

We taught our girls to fly. It’s time we learned to stop clipping their wings.

Navratri and the Tragedy of Indian Women

It’s that time of the year again when loudspeakers turn into sleepless alarm clocks, pandals pop up at every street corner, and the nation collectively becomes the brand ambassador of the divine feminine. For nine whole days, we bow, chant, and shower flowers at the feet of the Devi. And then, on the tenth day, as if someone flipped a cultural switch, we go right back to catcalling her at the bus stop.

Welcome to the Great Indian Double Standard a tragicomedy performed by none other than the Desi Male.

Let’s face it: Most Indian men adore the idea of worshipping goddesses. The keyword here is idea. Real women? Ah, that’s where things get tricky. Suddenly the same man who is belting out “Ya Devi sarvabhuteshu, shakti-rupena samsthita” is also belting out an unsolicited “Hi baby, looking sexy” across the street. Talk about range.

The contradictions are almost poetic.

• Durga with ten arms? Revered.
• Your colleague asking for equal pay? “Arrey, why so demanding yaar?”
• Kali with her fierce rage? Worshipped.
• Your girlfriend expressing anger? “So much attitude, must be her ‘time of the month.’
• Saraswati, goddess of wisdom? Offered prayers.
• Daughters wanting to study more? Just get her married higher education is expensive . She is her husbands headache now 

The hypocrisy doesn’t end there. Indian men will touch their mother’s feet in the morning and then, by evening, be found squeezing past women in crowded pandals like they’re auditioning for India’s Got No Boundaries.

And let’s not even start on social media. Every Navratri, timelines explode with posts of “Jai Mata Di! Respect Women!” followed by reels of those same self-proclaimed devotees sharing “funny” memes about their wives’ shopping habits. Respect be damned 

The truth is, men in this country often want their goddesses in temples and their women in cages. A goddess who slays demons? Yes. A woman who slays in a boardroom? “Too intimidating.” A goddess riding a lion? Inspirational. A woman riding a bike? “Characterless. Your legs are showing !!!

So here’s a thought for this Navratri season: before picking up the thali, maybe put down the double standards. If you’re truly the masculine you claim to be, stop lying, stop pitting women against each other, and for heaven’s sake, stop thinking feminism is a threat to your manhood. Respect isn’t a nine-day ritual …it’s a lifelong practice :) 

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.