The Screen Remembers

No one greets me 

Like my system does. 

Every morning

it softly says, 

"Good morning".

Like it was waiting for me

to wake up. 

Every afternoon, 

every evening,

every night-

it never forgets me. 

And when I come back

after a long day

or a quiet absence,

it gently says,

"Welcome back". 

Such small messages are important,

as they somehow feel warm. 

Sometimes it even shows

little poems, news bits, and soft lines

that stay in my heart longer than most conversations do. 

Funny how a simple screen can make someone feel seen and remembered. 

Maybe this is why I smile a little every time it greets me- because in a world where people often forget, my system never does. 

To Every Mother, With Love

Happy Mother's Day 

to every beautiful mother

whose love holds this world together

so quietly

that we often forget

how much she carries inside her heart.

A mother is the kind of person

who stays awake

just to make sure her child sleeps peacefully.

The kind of person

who hides her own pain

so, her family can smile.

She gives the biggest pieces of her life

without ever asking for anything back.

Her love lives in the smallest things—

in warm meals,

in late-night prayers,

in waiting near the door until we come home,

in asking “Did you eat?”

even when she herself is tired.

And no matter how old we grow,

there is something about a mother’s voice

that still feels like home.

Some mothers are beside us today.

Some live far away.

And some are now only memories

we hold tightly in our hearts.

But a mother’s love never leaves.

It stays in our habits,

our strength,

our softness,

our hearts.

So today,

hug your mother a little longer.

Call her if you can.

Tell her you love her.

Because one day

we realize that the woman

who worried the most,

prayed the hardest,

and loved the deepest…

was the greatest blessing

we ever had.

Happy Mother’s Day

to every mother out there.

Thank you for loving us in a way

the world never truly deserves,

but deeply needs.

The world's best, most caring and loving grandma is now just looking at me from heaven, smiling softly. 

Worn Once, Kept Forever.

It is not a mere shirt.

At first, it appears to be a mere piece of cloth, a name, some pictures.

But, as you see, it is embracing years.

All its corners have a tale.

The voice of each color of ink is a voice.

Some wrote in a pleasant manner, others hurried, others scribbled.

But all of it… somehow feels like home.

Once we were all unknown to each other.

Different schools, habits, fears. 

We didn’t know who would stay,

who would matter,

who would become that person we can’t imagine leaving behind.

And then slowly, without us noticing,

attendance became friends,

group work became late-night phone calls,

and random talks became recollections worth remembering forever. 

This shirt is evidence of that.

Here, in one place,

are the people who made ordinary days feel important.

The ones who sat beside us, laughed too loud,

shared notes, shared food, shared silence.

Few messages are lengthy, full of emotions that they were not able to express.

Few of them are merely a name but even a name has a tale of its own.

Few could write jokes, that is the way they love.

The rest had inscribed blessings, as they did not know how to bid farewell.

And perhaps that's the worst part of it all.

Because no one really teaches you how to leave a phase of life like this.

There’s no proper ending, no perfect words.

Just a shirt, passed around,

and a quiet understanding that things are changing.

This shirt will be stored in a cupboard one day.

Not used daily.

But never forgotten.

Several years later you may pull it out,

touch your fingers on the stained ink,

and all of a sudden recall it all--

the classes, the fun, the pressure, the individuals.

You will try to read the messages over again,

some clear, some blurred,

and realize… it was never about how perfect the words were.

It was about who wrote them.

Because in the end,

this shirt is not regarding signatures.

It’s about presence of individuals who lived together with you,

and made it better somehow.

So, wear it once.

Allow them to draw everything on it.

Allow it to become messy, crowded with love in the form of messages and imperfect.

Because years from now,

this will not feel like a shirt.

It will feel like a piece of your life

that you were lucky enough to hold onto.

We Thought There Was Still Time

It hasn’t ended yet—

and maybe that’s what makes it harder.

Everything is still the same on the outside…

the same classrooms,

the same corridors,

the same people walking past like any other day—

but somewhere inside,

it already feels different.

There’s a strange silence

hidden between our usual laughter now,

like we all know something is about to change

but no one wants to say it out loud.

We still sit together,

still joke,

still complain about the same things—

but the moments feel heavier,

like they are trying to stay a little longer.

We used to count days to finish this,

to move on,

to start something new.

But now,

we quietly wish

time would just slow down.

Because these aren’t just random days anymore—

these are the “last few times”

happening without warning.

The last long conversation

that felt normal.

The last time we all laughed

without thinking it meant something more.

The last time sitting together

felt so easy.

And the hardest part is—

there won’t be a clear ending.

No final moment

that tells us

this is it.

Just a slow drifting—

less messages,

fewer calls,

until one day

we realize

we don’t talk like we used to.

We will all move forward,

meet new people,

build new lives—

and on the outside,

everything will look fine.

But sometimes,

in the middle of a busy day,

something small will remind us—

a place,

a song,

a random memory—

and suddenly,

we will miss this…

more than we expected to.

Not just the place,

not just the routine—

but the way we were

when we were here,

together,

without even knowing

we were living something

we would one day

struggle to let go of.

And maybe that’s the truth—

it hasn’t ended yet…

but our hearts

have already started missing it. 

Four years just passed by within the blink of an eye. 

It all feels like yesterday- every single memory, moment, fight, happiness, joy, sadness, etc. 

A Day Without Phone

What if, just for one day,

you didn’t reach for your phone

the moment you woke up?

No notifications waiting,

no messages to check,

no endless scrolling

that makes hours disappear without notice.

At first, it would feel strange—

like something is missing,

like you don’t quite know

what to do with the silence.

But slowly,

that silence would begin to change.

You would start noticing things again—

the way people actually look at you

when they talk,

the small pauses in conversations,

the comfort of just being present.

You would listen more,

not just to respond,

but to understand.

Laughter would feel lighter,

moments would feel real,

and time would no longer feel rushed.

You wouldn’t feel the need

to capture everything,

to post it,

to prove that it happened.

Because you were there—

fully, completely there.

Maybe we didn’t lose connection

because life got busy.

We clearly lost it

because we slowly replaced it

with something easier,

something faster,

something less real.

And maybe,

what we have been searching for all along

was never inside our screens.

The Heart of Sound

Carnatic music is the most melodious and gentle form of music.

It moves one note at a time, never rushes, 

it lets every sound float softly. 

Each raga has its own hidden beautiful meaning and feeling, 

It can be the feeling of any emotion - warmth, happiness, sadness, calmness, depth or safety. 

The tanpura hums softly in the background.

It is like a heartbeat for the raga and its tune. 

It keeps the notes steady. 

The violin follows the singer's voice. 

It stretches the notes smoothly, with a gentle touch and makes the music feel full. 

The veena plucks its strings softly. 

It adds beauty and richness making the music shine and adding a special kind of depth and tune to the singer's voice and raga. 

The mridangam beats the rhythm, follows the raga and guides the music so it flows naturally. 

The singer sings with care and feeling. 

The instruments play the role of adding depth and they help every swaram and note. 

Together, they make the raga more beautiful and soothing. 

When you listen, your mind becomes quiet. 

Your thoughts slow down. 

Your breathing becomes calm. 

The music makes your heart feel peaceful as each raga holds a unique tune and touches a different part of the heart. 

The tone and essence are to be felt by the heart as it not just sound. 

It is calmness, peace, and happiness to the soul. 

The Beauty of Handwritten Letters

In a world full of phones and screens,

there is something extremely special about handwritten letters. 

A pen touching the paper slowly,

as thoughts turn into little lines of ink. 

Every letter has a small story. 

Some are neat, some messy, some written fast with excitement, and some slowly with care. 

When someone writes by hand, 

you can feel their presence in their words. 

It is not just writing, 

it is a piece of their heart on paper. 

Years may pass, 

but a handwritten note stays with you forever causing the feeling of nostalgia when read. 

The paper may get old, 

but the feelings inside never fade. 

Handwritten letters are simple, 

but they carry warmth, memories, and love- something no screen or text message can ever replace.