It's not that complicated!

If you doubt when all seems great,  

Know what you see, can be manipulated!

Truth is always stranger than fiction, 

Because your gut can sense what is hidden!

Looks can be deceptive, 

Words can be fake!

It is hard to simplify matters, 

Because everyone loves to complicate!

All the stories you've heard,

Everything you were told to be true, 

Can fall apart with one simple question -

Is there more to what meets the eye, even a tiny clue?

 

It takes courage to question what you hear,

It takes strength to revisit what you see!

It is tiring to stand up against the wrong,

But standing up for what is right, will set you free!

So do not ignore your gut feelings

Never doubt your gut's doubts, 

It is your guiding star

When everything is confusing and dark! 

O Rangrez: The Many Colours Within

 

O Rangrez: The Many Colours Within

Some songs don’t just stay in your ears, they linger in your inner world. This is my rendition of O Rangrez, a composition that carries a quiet depth within its melody. I first heard it in a rendition shared by Rahul Deshpande and Priyanka Barve, and something about that moment stayed with me.

The song, in its essence, is already beautiful. But what it stirred within me was something more personal and an invitation to reflect.

There is something profoundly humbling about recognising how many colours a single life can hold. Not just the obvious shades of joy or sorrow, but the subtler hues, the transitions, the contradictions, and the in-between spaces we often overlook. Each phase, each experience, adds a new tint to who we are becoming.

And perhaps that is what makes a song like this so powerful. It doesn’t impose meaning, it simply reveals it, gently, depending on where you are in your own journey.

This rendition comes from that space of introspection. A quiet pause. A moment of noticing the colours that have shaped me, and the ones I am still discovering.

If you missed the above link, you can listen to my rendition here. 

Afreen Afreen: Gratitude for Showing Up

 

Afreen Afreen: Gratitude for Showing Up

Sometimes, a song doesn’t just play, it arrives.

This is my rendition of Afreen Afreen, originally brought to life in its modern form by Coke Studio. I first heard it on the radio while returning home from a trip, in that quiet in-between space where you’re no longer where you were, but not quite where you’re going either.

And somehow, it met me exactly where I was.

There is something deeply moving about “showing up” in a relationship. Not out of habit. Not out of conditioning. But as a conscious, consistent choice. The kind that doesn’t demand attention, yet quietly shapes everything.

My partner has a way of embodying this that continues to surprise me, not because it is grand or dramatic, but because it is steady. Effortless on the surface, yet rooted in something deeply intentional. It’s not just about time spent together; it’s about presence, especially in the moments that matter most.

What we often call ease is, perhaps, something far more profound and a time-tested alignment. A rhythm two people grow into, not by chance, but by choosing each other again and again.

This song found me at a moment when I didn’t quite have the words to express my gratitude. And so, I turned to music, as I often do when language feels insufficient. This rendition is my way of saying what I couldn’t then. Of honouring not just love, but the quiet, powerful act of showing up.

If you missed the above link, you can listen to my rendition here. 

10 Years In: What Parenting Taught Me About Life, Healing, and Becoming

When I wrote about saying goodbye to my twenties at thirty-one, I realised something unsettling that I had never truly captured the first two decades of my life.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t writing. I’ve been writing since childhood, and I even started this blog at twenty-two. But somehow, the years that shaped me the most remained undocumented. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I didn’t yet have the lens to see those experiences clearly. Or maybe, like many of us, I was too busy living them to pause and reflect.

Either way, that window passed. But life, in its quiet generosity, offers second chances in unexpected ways.

Parenthood, I’ve come to realise, is one such chance. It is not just about raising a child, it is also about meeting yourself again. If you’re willing to see it, you don’t just witness your child growing up; you witness your own childhood unfolding in front of you. You get to revisit, re-feel, and sometimes even rewrite what once was.

So instead of mourning what I hadn’t written, I chose the next best opportunity, to reflect on my first decade as a parent. As I step into my eleventh year of motherhood, here are the ten truths that have quietly, persistently shaped me:

1. Life is made of fleeting moments: The days feel long, but the years collapse into each other. The phases you think will last forever disappear overnight. Presence is not a luxury, it is indeed everything.

2. Comparison is a psychological trap: Whether it’s milestones, parenting styles, or life choices; comparison corrodes joy. It distorts reality and disconnects you from your own path.

3. A support system is not optional: No one is meant to do this alone. Parenting without support isn’t strength, it’s depletion. Community, in whatever form you can build it, is essential.

4. Growth cannot be instructed, only modelled: Children don’t become what you tell them. They become what they see. Who you are speaks louder than anything you say.

5. Life evolves, it doesn’t end: Versions of you will dissolve, but they make space for new ones. Motherhood didn’t erase me; it expanded me in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

6. Your voice becomes their inner voice: The way you speak to them and around them, echoes inside them long after the moment has passed. Your tone today becomes their self-talk tomorrow.

7. Healing is not optional, it is foundational: Unresolved wounds don’t disappear; they resurface in your parenting. Doing your inner work is one of the most profound gifts you can give your child.

8. Boundaries create safety, not distance: Structure is not harshness. Boundaries are not rejection. They are the framework within which trust and security are built.

9. The pace is relentless: There is no pause button. Parenting demands energy, attention, and presence, often all at once. Learning to regulate yourself within this pace is survival.

10. Your children are your greatest teachers: You may guide them, but they will transform you. They hold up mirrors you didn’t know you needed and ask questions you didn’t know you had.

As I step into this next year, I’m less interested in doing parenting “right” and more committed to doing it consciously. Because in the end, parenting isn’t just about raising a child. It’s about raising yourself, all over again. 

If I am a memory

 

Our meeting was a stroke of serendipity,

There was no history neither familiarity.

Yet we bonded like a house on fire!

So if I am a memory, remember me for the fire! 

Days became months and months became years together,

Even the distances in miles kept increasing forever. 

A lot changed in this time but never our connection!

So if I am a memory, remember me for the connection!

Shared moments in life make fond memories,

But life in itself is full of bitter sweet symphonies.

We have our share of hurt but we sure have more happy quirks!

So if I am a memory, remember me for the happy quirks!

I see you, I hear you and I understand you,

Not for an imaginary version of you, but you being you.

Not because I need you or I want you, but because I choose you! 

So if I am a memory, remember me for choosing you! 

Sapna Jahan: Where Silence Becomes Music

 

Sapna Jahan: Where Silence Becomes Music

Some experiences resist language. No matter how hard you try, words fall short and yet, something within you still longs to express them.

This is my rendition of Sapna Jahan from the film Brothers, recorded after a hike through the Black Forest.

There was a stillness in that forest that didn’t feel empty. It felt vast. The kind of silence that expands you. The kind that quietly rearranges something within. The magnitude of it, the depth of it, the way it settled into my being and the way it stayed with me long after the hike ended.

And then there was the journey itself. The climb. The breathtaking mountain views. The descent back to the pavilion. The adrenaline, the fatigue, the quiet pride, the unspoken joy of having experienced it fully. There’s something about hiking that takes you to a place beyond articulation. You don’t just witness it, you become part of it.

I walked this path with my partner. We began the hike as who we were, and somewhere along the way, perhaps at the summit, perhaps in the silence, we shifted. We returned as different people, carrying something new, something shared, something unspoken yet deeply understood.

You can’t always write about such moments. Sometimes, music steps in where language cannot. This rendition is my way of holding that experience and of honouring the forest, the silence, the journey, and the quiet transformation it brought with it.

If you missed the above link, you can listen to my rendition here. 

Shyam: A Song That Held an Evening Still

 

Shyam: A Song That Held an Evening Still

Some songs are planned. Others arrive quietly, almost like a feeling asking to be held before it fades.

This is my rendition of Shyam, a beloved piece from the film Aisha. What you hear here is an impromptu recording quite unpolished, unprepared, and deeply honest.

It was born out of an evening spent with my partner. It is one of those rare, gentle moments that linger long after they’ve passed. The kind you don’t try to capture, yet somehow find yourself wanting to preserve. This song became that container for me.

There is something uniquely expansive about Indian film music. It doesn’t shy away from emotion. It embraces the full spectrum of it. Joy, longing, tenderness, nostalgia; they all coexist, often within the same melody. And perhaps that is why songs like this feel so personal. They don’t just tell a story; they mirror one.

This rendition is my way of holding on to that evening, not perfectly, but truthfully. A small attempt to let music remember what words alone cannot fully express.

If you missed the above link, you can listen to my rendition here.