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On gadgets, evolution and learning to recharge — in every sense. Apple Max headphones — those big a.. ones. I had no clue they even existed until a couple of years ago, when a dear friend from Singapore gifted us a pair. I nearly fell off the chair. I’d always thought AirPods were Apple’s only aural  offering — not to be confused with aura , those concentric circles of cosmic energy you’re supposed to farm for good vibes. Mine, clearly, aren’t spinning. And then came these —

A rediscovery of rhythm, courage, and joy — one step at a time. Back Then It was many moons ago. I look back fondly on my college days — a free-spirited 19-year-old in Bangalore, graduating from a prestigious all-girls college, dancing to Shyam and the West Wind , and swaying to the beat on the occasional Saturday evening at the Club. I still remember performing on stage to I’ve Had the Time of My Life  from Dirty Dancing  — dressed in an all-black ensemble: a skirt and top,

Not for the applause. Not for the front row seat.Invisible work. Quiet strength. T hey say brand building is all about marquee, visibility, and flexing your muscles  — being the strongman, flaunting your fancy Ivy League degrees, and celebrating every new round of funding. But building yourself ? That’s a different ball game altogether. You do it in the quiet alleyways — away from the spotlight, uncomfortable and vulnerable. And yet, it’s in those very moments that we’re shap

Love is in the hair  — what a beautiful play on words. I totally, unequivocally agree. It’s no surprise they call it the crowning glory. For reference, just look at Samson — the biblical strongman whose strength lay in his hair, until Delilah had her way. And closer home, think of those ethereal women in Raja Ravi Varma’s paintings — long, lustrous hair, tidy and well-worn, gorgeous to boot. Clearly, great hair has always been the stuff of myth and muse.

A personal reflection on Diwali — part laughter, part longing — where food, diyas, and memory coalesce, reminding us that love glows quietly long after the night quietens to your breath. I don’t consider myself particularly religious (veering right seems to be very happening these days) — more spiritually leaning , if that makes sense. That doesn’t mean I’m sitting in lotus yoga poses wearing Lululemon pants, seeking enlightenment, hot and sweaty, or meditating for hours to t

From matka chai in Kolkata to quiet afternoons in Singapore, every cup tells a story. Let me begin by saying that the title of this post sounds a bit corny — Tea and Love. Couldn’t I have come up with something more creative, more original?Guilty as charged. But honestly, I couldn’t think of a better connection. I hail from the South of India, where filter coffee has been a staple in most households.But life had other plans — I’ve lived in many cities, learning to assimilate,

I wrote this on a summer evening when my dad was still here — full of energy, wit, and stubborn charm. Now, months after he’s gone, his footsteps still echo in memory. This is my way of standing by him, once more.

One SUV. Two jaywalkers. Three conflicting voices in my head arguing about vegan protein.By the time I get home, my cardio plans are toast, my rajma’s meh and I’ve fully embodied Kaa from The Jungle Book . Just another day in the urban utopia. This happened to me again yesterday. It was rush hour — the city in full chaotic bloom — and I was on my way to work. Safely belted into my seat, with Jack Black belting “Hit Me Baby One More Time”  from the stereo, my Martian SUV plodd

I’m not a fitness freak — more like a browned popcorn kernel who pirouettes.This piece is for the days when motivation hides under the...

Hey… thanks for stopping by! I hope to make your day — just like you made mine. This is a space for my unfiltered take on life  — A peek...

A parkour, bear and a spy Rub-a-dub-dub They say a house becomes a home when it’s filled with noise, fur, and love. For me, it’s three...

Rain. Rage. Resilience. And one SUV that thinks it’s Hulk Hogan on Mars protein powder. A monsoon rant that turned wax eloquent. It’s been raining where I live. I consider myself a pluviophile — I love the rains, what with the smell of wet earth and raindrops trickling down my windows, embellishing them with little spheroids of crystal. It’s not cool to complain, I am painfully aware. Be a part of the solution,  they say, not the prophet of doom and gloom.  The irony, of cour

when cardio, chaos and cannine charisma collide ! There’s something about a dog.Those eyes — staring straight into your soul — liquid, molten pools of love. The warm nuzzles against your cheek, the unabashed joy when you return home… priceless. For everything else in life, there’s plastic — notwithstanding your credit score. I was watching a dog eulogy on my Instagram feed the other day and nearly welled up. Naturally, I hastily forwarded it to a bunch of fellow dog empaths.

Not this. Not that. Just Becoming. We’re told to be different. To break boxes. To stand out. But what happens when you actually do? Be...

Not just a Croissant. A metaphor for living well! Croissant, ah! Pronounced the way the French do ( croah-ssahn )... or just Croissant , the way I do. Help me out here — I might be wandering aimlessly in an intonation wasteland. But honestly, I don’t really give a nickel. Don't label me as a pretentious snob — I am just a wanderer in search of life-altering truths. I have the association bias , you see. I like to find patterns and meaning in everything. The decadent, buttery,