Fourteen years of marriage isn’t just a number—it’s seasons turned, lessons learnt, and moments deeply lived. This post reflects on love, growth, and what it truly means to journey together.
After months indoors, Cassiobury Park felt like a gentle return to life. A simple picnic became a quiet moment of healing and reconnection with both nature and each other.
This isn’t just a website...it’s a canvas of identity. A curated lens through which I archive thoughts, share reflections, and invite the world into the layered chapters of my life.
In Nepal, I found altitude and attitude...gentle, devout, unhurried. The mountains didn’t shout their glory. They simply stood… as if in prayer. And I stood with them, silent and small.
Hackney carriages aren’t just transport...they’re theatre. This post explores the cultural heartbeat behind London’s black taxis, where silence, stories, deals, heartbreaks and symmetry coexist in the backseat of a city on wheels.
Some moments are not to be captured… just remembered. The aurora danced like a forgotten hymn across the Lapland sky. This post reflects on wonder, wilderness, and the silence of snow.
This is not Edinburgh or Skye. This is the Scotland you don’t find in brochures. A place of solitude, raw hills, wet earth… and the kind of peace that redefines you.
Most miss opportunity not because it was absent, but because it whispered. To noticing the patterns, silences, and subtlety can allow to seize the moment.
Mornings are sacred. The first sound matters...be it the soft chirp of birds outside my window, the Mahamrityunjaya chant, or the unmistakable rhythm of the BBC news theme. Each awakens something different.
It wasn’t planned. One day I simply began to write… memories, meanings, metaphors. This blog is a tribute to the quiet beginning of a lifelong conversation with my inner self.
Not every fire in the oven is failure. This blog captures my kitchen chaos on Aryan’s birthday… and how a failed roast turned into a recipe of laughter, learning, and love.
We remember the smell of chalk and the sound of bells, but seldom the walls. This post revisits how my school’s architecture shaped more than lessons...it shaped imagination and poise.
I stood up. And they voted. This blog captures the story behind my first public election at Oxford...why I contested, how I campaigned, and what it felt like to win.
Some cities whisper… Varanasi chants. BHU was more than a campus—it was a calling. A life moment carved in sandstone ghats, eternal rituals, and quiet conversations with the divine across time.
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