The Cosmic Scribbles

In the 25 years of existence, we’ve been a lot of people. We’ve been an under-confident kid in school, and we’ve been the popular girl in college. Sometimes we’ve been the shy girl who sits alone for lunch, and we’ve been the life of the party. We’ve spent months in isolation after a break up, and then we’ve spent 6 months of non-stop travel. We’ve been students, and we’ve been mentors. We’ve been fit and we’ve been unhealthy. We’ve been happy and we’ve been sad. We’ve been a part of communities and we’ve also been lonely. We’ve been careless and we’ve been responsible. Boring and we’ve been entertaining. We’ve rested, we’ve laughed, we’ve loved, we’ve lost, we’ve grieved, we’ve moved on. We’ve seen ups and downs and lefts and rights and somehow managed to power through this topsy turvy journey of life. It’s impossible to encapsulate the versions of us we’ve put into the world in the limited life we’ve lived. But it’s heartening to look back, isn’t it? It’s easy to be proud of the prog...

  ‘Life is the sum of the stories you can tell.’ I have truly believed and embodied this as a life goal: to be a storyteller, an explorer, a curious mind, and a wandering soul. To fulfill this, I have chased experiences, made 100s of friends, travelled to numerous places, seen endless documentaries, read 1000s of books and spent a quarter of my life trying to hear, see, observe, and know stories that make this world as unique as it is. While this rollercoaster has been truly exciting and has elevated my life, there was one little story that I missed discovering. This story is more important than any I have ever known. This story is one I live with every day. The story I sleep to and the one I wake up with. The story that I seek in discomfort and the story that makes me smile when I’m upset. The story that is being written for the past 26 years, within me, within my mind, my body, and my heart. The story of my life, my habits, my beliefs, my fears, my triggers, my insecurities, ...

If we get a chance to go back to the night we met, would you want to do it all over again? Because I think I would. I would hold your hand a little longer. I would let the alarm ring while you were wrapped around my arms. I would stare a whole lot more while you sang. I would steal a few more comforting glances and smiles. I would stay on the call a whole lot longer. I wouldn’t let sleep or time or circumstances spoil a beautiful moment. I would hold my tongue when I was angry, and I would love you a little harder even when I hated you. I would have asked for more sunrises, sunsets and long drives. I would have heard all the playlists you made and let you read all the letters I wrote you but never sent. I would take the whole wide world and move it to spend a day with you. Would you do the same if you met me for the first time again? Or would you rather turn away and leave?

I wouldn’t have been able to get through this past year without books. The fictional world was my escape every time my mind took me to a dark place. They kept me company on nights that sleep evaded me, and on days where I couldn’t stand the thought of interacting with another human. Some nights they helped me settle into peaceful sleep, and on some days book characters kept me going with the enormity of their stories. They were my companion on long solo travels and flights where I was scared to be alone. Every time I was overwhelmed by sadness, these stories reminded me that grief is a universal phenomenon, and I will get through it. I found solace in the heartbreak stories, I found joy in the love stories, and I found hope in the survivor stories. Books found me words when I was unable to comprehend my feelings, and they were an outlet for my emotions. They made me laugh, they made me cry, they made me smile, and mostly they filled me with utmost comfort. When I was struggling to find...

 I’ve always struggled with calling myself an artist. I associate artists with those who can display and package their art aesthetically. Art that is widely recognized. And widely appreciated. Art that can be displayed, or sung, or drawn, or seen. Art that is consumed or followed. Something that is to be indulged in every waking moment. How can we really define art and categorize an artist? Is an artist a personality or an attitude? Is it someone who pursues it every moment of their existence or someone who's naturally gifted with it but accesses it infrequently? But isn’t life art? The beauty of seasons, the transience of emotions, the realness of aging, the hues of the sky, the background music of cities, the effervescence of time, the vastness of love. The world is a whole amalgamation of art. And by default, doesn’t that make us all artists? The way we talk, the way we walk, how we communicate without words, how we express through touch, how we design our lives, the uniquene...

There’s this girl I know. I think she’s very cool. She’s been through a lot. But somehow, she always finds a way to bounce back. She finds a way to smile through her losses. She’s been hurt and broken, but it hasn’t made her bitter. In fact, it’s made her a better person. It’s made her soft, and thoughtful, and empathetic, and kind. She loves herself on the good days and she loves herself harder on the bad days. She offers warm hugs and is an iron clad shoulder to those she loves. She cares deeply. She doesn’t curse her fate; she accepts that life cannot always be perfect. She tries to derive meaning from her pain. She works hard. God, she works so hard. She charges at every day with a will to change the world. She’s reliable, and gets the job done. She is a lifelong learner, and somehow finds the time to gulp down books, take up courses, keep herself updated and constantly keep striving. She coaches as passionately as she learns. She smiles at strangers and will always ask you how y...

 Can we talk a little more about the debilitating fear of being in your mid to late 20s? About living in the constant fear of failing in the peak years of our life. The feeling of being left behind as our friends find their dream jobs and life partners. The fake optimism of changing our life by changing cities and countries and jobs. The constant self-doubt that lingers on our mind as often as our heart beats. The impending doom that surrounds us as we force ourselves to sleep. The fear of never being loved again. The wrecking feeling of never making our parents proud. The discomfort of never fitting in any mold that society has defined. The anxiety of missing out on the life we see people living on Instagram. The nagging imposter syndrome that stops us from celebrating our wins. The loneliness of feeling like you’re the only one struggling. The incapacity of expressing the darkness that plagues our thoughts. The envy hidden behind wide smiles when we see our peers succeeding. ...