A message to all my readers When I first began writing down my stories in this quiet space, it was nothing more than an open diary. A place to put memories that needed somewhere to rest, reflections gathered over a lifetime, and thoughts that felt too personal—or perhaps simply too ordinary—to share in conversation. Conventional wisdom often suggests that personal musings rarely accomplish much on the wider internet. There are no frameworks here, no quick advice, and no polished agendas. Just the raw textures of life as I have experienced it: the sudden turns, the quiet routines, the moments of doubt, and the steady work of beginning again. Recently, as a small corner quietly crossed 30,000 reads, I paused to look more closely at the numbers. What moved me was not just the milestone itself, but where those visits were coming from. While some readers join from home here in India, so many of you are reading from entirely different corners of the earth—from Singapore across the seas ...
The lemon tree in my backyard was bursting with flowers; we were expecting a good harvest this year. A thunderstorm struck that evening. In the morning, I found the drain clogged with flower petals, leaves, twigs, and shattered hopes of a bountiful harvest. There was mud everywhere. Neither a shelter nor a form of life was visible in the vicinity. The shades of mud, though captivating, did not evoke the response nature does. There was a rumbling, and the earth metres away from where I stood caved in. I shrieked. I had experienced an earthquake in my dream. Perturbed as I was, the view outside the window was of little consolation. I could hear the rustling of tree leaves. I saw green stains of algal growth on the exterior walls of neighbours. All seemed as it was to be. A feeling of impending gloom had stayed behind. The thought of making a pivot had often crossed my mind; to start all over again had pushed it away. The idea of walking the road less tr...