Instagram Hiatus

Instagram Hiatus

I am proudly announcing, that I have refused to stop giving into my endless tendency to spy on other people’s lives. In other words, my favorite application Instagram has voluntarily been deleted from my phone.

It is so sad that I can easily spend 45 minutes scrolling down instagram in just one sitting. It truly manages to grab my attention and drain my intention of doing literally anything else. Instagram has way too much to offer and while that may be Instagram’s strength, it sure is my utter weakness. The things I usually follow, are dog videos, gorgeous celebrities, travel destination, obviously my friends and maybe one or two fact pages. I’m trying not to miss any of you.

Being a 12th grader in India is notorious for being one of the hardest and saddest things of all time. And now that the most terrifying exams in a student’s live are due for me in 2.5 months, I think it is a wise step to lay off on the dog videos and other less important pages.

It has only been like two days so far and I want to at least do this for a month. You see, not having the delectable app on my fingertips is helping me prioritize. I can already feel my day getting longer- and that is a good thing. There are still occasional moments when my muscle memory drives my finger to the empty space in my phone menu where my priceless app used to be, but I feel like that just makes me even more resistant.

I feel cleaner somehow and I’m trying to do other dopamine inducing activities which believe me are a lot more constructive. I thought detoxes were supposed to be difficult but the first two days of my Instagram detox have been GREAT! Of course I have Snapchat and Facebook so I’m sure that makes it much easier. However, not having Instagram is definitely a noticeable change in my routine and motivation.

I’m going to hope that this carries on for much longer. I know I wouldn’t want to leave the app for good but this is my way of introducing moderation! I read a quote once, “Everything in moderation, including reality” , Instagram being the not so real element. 

Where Have I Been?

Where Have I Been?

The one thing I feel truly guilty of, is not writing enough. Writing is like therapy for me and going to therapy shouldn’t be erratic, especially for those who really need it. Somehow I always end up doing this on and off thing. It’s like a manic – depressive disorder except the mania is wild periods of elation when all I want to do is write and the depressive period is well, life.

I have already made two references to Psychology. You must be thinking I’m depressed. Well I’m not, I’m just a Psychology student.

Getting to my point, I really wanted my blog to be perpetually exuberant, allowing me to not only share but rigorously practice. I also wanted it to be a platform for me to discover other writers and form a relationship with them,  all in the hope of getting better. I wanted my blog to be more social and so far I have failed at that.

So here I am, attempting to turn that around. I want to write much, much more. From three-line poems to full on rants about my day, I need to turn this into the social space I always wanted it to be. And I thought the best way to start on that would be to share this with whoever reads it. Quite a gamble, I know. But I’ve got to start somewhere. 

And most importantly, WRITE MORE!

So here’s to me, choosing to make more of an effort to participate in the WordPress community, and here’s to you hopefully not hating what I write!

The Pink City

The Pink City


It is a pity that I never took advantage of being born in one of the most historical cities of India. My family and I moved to Ahmedabad so soon after my birth that Jaipur only became “ where my grandparents live”.

Despite visiting Jaipur every year to spend Diwali with the family, I was never motivated to step out of our large, old home. I vaguely remember running up and down the stairs, gardening with my grandfather and eating like a horse. But that is all that Jaipur meant to me –  7 days during which my grandparents get to compensate for not seeing my all year, by recklessly spoiling me. I quite enjoyed it. Which is probably why I closed my eyes to everything that the city had to offer.

Its funny really, how much I’ve always loved Rajasthan for Jaisalmer, Jodhpur and Udaipur but never once explored the city I belong to and visit every single year.

This summer, I simply couldn’t wait till Diwali to see my grandparents. I was ready to get fatter before that. So I flew down to them and this time without my parents. I had truly missed my grandparents and needed a change from being home alone with my dog for most of summer (thank you workaholic parents). But this time in Jaipur, I was simply tired of being the child that sits at home all day, munching on everything in the kitchen, listening to dim and distant stories to a point where I showered after 5pm. Basically, I was curious to know why Jaipur was as cool as the world said it was. And boy, was it cool.

Lucky me, a family friend residing in the city took up the responsibility of showing me around and enlightening my ignorant soul about my very hometown.

We toured the usual and the obvious. Hawa Mahal, Amber Fort, Jal Mahal, Albert Hall but the rest of the city wasn’t any less of a sight. The gates surrounding the inner city were so elegant yet displayed toughness. The roads are definitely better than the ones in Ahmedabad. And while the traffic in big cities is usually pretty bad, Jaipur’s seemed quite bearable. The city has a strong effulgence of history. I felt royal just taking it all in from the car window. The monuments were impeccable. Every corner was a story, every ceiling was a song. Amber fort’s enormity came over me. As it towered over the city, I took in the breathtaking view and called myself an idiot for not going there before. The huge gardens in the city provide an easy escape from city life. It makes you feel like there is actually space left in the world.

Being one for bargaining and enjoying anything that barely hurts my wallet, Bapu bazaar was the place for me. Markets in Ahmedabad are so far from where I live, it would take a decade to simply go to the old city and another decade to find parking. Bottom line: my family doesn’t care for it. But Bapu bazaar was perfectly suitable for my love for anything cheap and my lack of adjustment when it comes to traveling far in the city. I have never seen so many colors all at once. I loved each second of it. Each hue was different and all the gorgeous intricate designs made me want to abandon my tees and wear Indian outfits. That was a big statement. I love my T-shirts.

I did buy a lot of clothes though.

Jaipur is nothing short of a magical confluence between the strength of its historical definition and the contemporary world we choose to live in now. Its well-preserved beauty is perfectly balanced by our present day needs of a fast paced metropolitan city. The city seems to be captivated by its glorious past while simultaneously progressing towards success. I feel happy to call it my home and disappointed for not valuing it all these years. I want to go back there more often than I do now. I don’t even mind only going for a couple of days to shop. Believe me, it is worth it. 

Until next time, you beauty.

Looking Through Her Peephole

Looking Through Her Peephole


Love letters burnt to a crisp but the ink used on them is marvelously adamant like a mind that doesn’t let go.

An unfinished book draft with cigarette ashes smeared on it like the lipstick smeared over her face on the days she hated herself.

Un-used make up brushes because he liked her without makeup anyway. He enjoyed her obvious sadness.

Curtains that cloud reality and never allow the sunshine to seep in.

An engraved watch which burnt two holes in her pockets because she didn’t only buy one for herself.

An unopened care package from her parents kicked to the corner of the room. Even the card that came with it.

Frozen pizzas overtake the entire fridge. Ice cream is for the good days.

A neat bed for she crashes on the couch after her alcoholic legs don’t allow her to walk that far.

Clothes with tags still on them because she wore the same sweatpants every day, the only thing in her life that she was comfortable in.

A suicide note, as incomplete as her.

A Stranger In My Room

A Stranger In My Room

As I walk into the room that has belonged to me for about eight years now, I am not myself. I am a stranger. A distant person that has never known me. All I know is that it is a girl’s room.

And what may a stranger find in this unfamiliar surrounding?

I take one step inside the room and the most prominent colour around me is the colour pink. It is the perfect shade a young girl would wear on her lips to compliment her sundress on a first date. A playful hue of sweetness combined with a little tinge of charm. To my left is a single bed. It seems she doesn’t have any siblings and often enjoys this seclusion and personal space. I hope she likes the undivided attention from her parents. On the bed, lie two blankets, a pillow and a cushion. I guess this person takes comfort very seriously. The cushion cover has photos on it. These are aesthetic photos of her holding leaves and wearing pretty clothes as she flaunts her vain smile. Her dark hair and red lipstick tell me how confident she feels as the wind blows through her hair and she stands tall in her high boots. Her clothes tell me that she likes Black. She doesn’t seem like a pink- room sort of person. I guess she liked it as a child and then decided to stick with it because it reminded her of all the things she used to be.

I see some soft toys. Not enough in number to portray a certain fondness and not finite enough to be mere decoration. One of them even has a tag on it. Is she developing an interest in them or are they gifts from other people? It appears the biggest soft toy is also her favourite. It sits on her bed right next to her pillow. Maybe it steals the loneliness from her nights which she shares with only her restricted bed.

Around me are plenty cabinets and a closet but this still does not make her seem organized. She has books, papers and stationery sprawled all over her desks and a Black, unfolded jacket sitting on top of those things. I did think she liked Black. Her messy room reminds of the conflicts in my own mind. The clash of priorities that surround my everyday resonate with the clash of her everyday things. Her dressing table has a long mirror. She likes to look at herself and examine every detail that encrusts her body. The table is messier than her desks. Unwashed make up brushes and hairbands are the epicenter of the chaos. Around that, the other things are stacked so very neatly.

But the thing that intrigues me the most is how in love she is with her life. I could infer that from all the photos on the walls with her fairy lights. The lights are like tiny traces of beauty in her life that she likes to cherish. She isn’t even in some of the photos. It’s only her friends(I assume), looking joyous as ever. She wants to surround herself with what she believes is the goodness in her life. She does not want extravagant, pretty things. She only wants things that constantly remind her of who she is in this façade of a world. As the world gets crazy, she prefers being in this sane part of her house where her reality is confined to herself only.


via Daily Prompt: Extravagant

Being Anti-Social

Being Anti-Social

A Very Personal Rant:

I had been a vivacious extrovert for most of my life. Hang outs, coffee dates, concerts, dancing all consumed my life similar to how silence consumes me now. I could dance for hours and making friends was Child’s play. But now,  I enjoy the silence. Or maybe I simply need it as much as I can get.

I cannot put my finger on what sparked this change but I know that it is all there is right now. It is all I can think about and want to figure out but this barrier between me and being my old self feels like a barrier between me and everything else.

Yes, I do still go to parties and go out with friends when invited but the thoughts that go into it before are all perplexing and just..not normal. I try to socialize to get in touch with my old self but when I am in that situation I am still the current me. I don’t pay attention to the words or laugh at the same things and the anxiety that comes from struggling with that makes me fall down deeper in the hole.

I don’t feel excited about parties the way I used to be.

Dressing up seems like a drab, unnecessary task.

Make up used to make me feel more confident before but now I wear it and it doesn’t make a difference to how I feel.

People seem all the same.

I don’t want to dance.

Confidence doesn’t exist.

Getting out of bed to go to school is easy but getting out of bed on a weekend sucks not because I want to sleep in but because it doesn’t matter if I get out or not because I’ll still wear my pajamas all day and want to be alone.

Ironically I don’t love loneliness. But being around people other than my parents exhausts me sometimes. I feel like I’m in a state of constant conflict and don’t know what I want anymore.

Talking to someone new is awkward and the awkwardness makes it more awkward. I used to be a master at making people feel comfortable and now I’m the one uncomfortable.

I’m not saying I’m an unhappy person or I am depressed. I love many things about my life but my fear of social situations is not one of them and might be responsible for hindering other things.

I have stopped trying to fit in and I’m not sure I can fit in anywhere else anymore. I don’t think it is a phase but I do hope it is.

All I know is that I liked my old self more.

Maybe I’m overreacting.