I think stories are the most crucial part of humanity. Everything has a story behind it; from the invention of the wheel to the brand that serves you coffee. The latter is of concern. Believe it or not; stories are the best-selling product of the twenty-first century. It is quite literally, a war of the narrative.
I’m walking as my feet sync to the tune in my ears. It’s almost perfect. Almost. The landscape is still pretty usual. At least, I’m moving to the tune of the song as I make my way through the dense crowds. Perhaps, this is the only advantage of living in the national capital region; you can always lose yourself among the crowd and the music.
When I was a somewhat younger version of the child I am today, I found an empty shoebox lying around in my cluttered house. Now as a child, I was filled with more sentiment than I was with logical thought and so I kept a rock in that shoebox. It was a small piece, but it was the start of an archive.
I’m not usually a perpetrator of “I was a 90s kid” statements. However, I’ve been thinking and reminiscing about something that is almost non-existent today. Hell, I haven’t seen one up and running properly since years. When was the last time you visited a cybercafé just to browse the internet? If you’re reading this, I’m pretty sure the answer is...
I’ve had an eventful life so far, and I’ve learned just one thing. There is only one thing anyone ever needs today to do most of what they want to do. A keyboard. The keyboard here is an oversimplification obviously. It means that you need some money and an internet connection and you can do anything. Sometimes, you don’t even need the money.
I live alone. I wasn’t forced into it. Like all of us, I had seen movies and how they romanticised living alone. The exaggerations check out. Yes, I have danced as I exited the bathroom without any clothes on because who won’t? Yes, I love being in control of my space and not having to share it. I like a lot of it but not the last few hours of every day. At least, not since the last...
If there’s one thing I truly despise about growing up, it’s the numbers. The numbers are annoying. To be honest, the number of digits I remember and how deeply they define my life scares me. To put things in perspective, here is a series of questions for you.
I’m scared. I know you are too. There’s panic in the air. There’s chaos in the air. If you don’t choose a side, you’re at a loss. If you choose one, you’re at a loss. Welcome to the new India. Welcome to the new world.
I was coming back to Noida in the Delhi Metro the other day when I noticed my feet. The originally black pair of Vans was now dull and dirty. They looked green from some angle and soil brown from the other. The rubber cracked. The fabric dead. I looked up, ever-so-slightly, to notice an array of shoes. Each pair remarkably different from the other and yet, all of them on the same train.
You sit there in a cosy café with a potential love interest. You’re just testing the waters so you’re not revealing everything right now. You’re honest though and you carefully put your best self up. This was your first date in a long time. That was three months ago.