Today’s entry is written in the quiet hour. The house is asleep. The sink is finally silent. My coffee is warm for once. And I am thinking about how womanhood, at least in Indian society, has never felt like a place I arrived at. It feels more like a lifelong discussion where the agenda keeps changing and I am expected to nod politely.
Reading as a Mother: What The Bastard of Istanbul Left Me Carrying
As a mother, this book made me confront my responsibility not just to nurture, but to remember. To question. To tell stories even when they are messy. It reminded me that motherhood is not just about protecting children from pain, but about preparing them to understand it.
Dipping My Toes Into YA Fantasy: The Turning Review
Supernatural has never really been my go-to genre. I usually gravitate toward contemporary fiction or emotional dramas that feel grounded in real life. But sometimes, curiosity wins, and I find myself opening a book that promises a world beyond the ordinary. That’s exactly how I ended up reading The Turning by Shannaaya Chopra—and I’m glad I did.
From Doubt to Dharma || Puneet Sharma
On most days, I move through life in a blur — juggling meals, errands, motherhood, ambitions, and the quiet longing for something deeper. But one day, while my baby napped and the house finally exhaled, I opened From Doubt to Dharma — and within a few pages, it felt as if someone had gently placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Slow down. Look within.”
The Thousands Faces of Night
Some books don’t just end when you close the last page—they sit with you, hover around your thoughts, creep into your quiet moments, and force you to look at life a little differently. The Thousand Faces of Night by Githa Hariharan is exactly that kind of book. I finished it, put it down, and immediately felt this strange mix of discomfort and awareness—like someone had held up a mirror and asked, “Are you sure you want to look away?”
The Window That Holds the Sunset
There’s a small ritual I never skip—standing by the window as the day exhales and the evening tiptoes in. It’s a quiet moment, but it feels like magic, like the world is pausing just for me. And then, the sky begins its performance, and suddenly, everything ordinary transforms
Brushstrokes of the Dead
The city outside her studio was a graveyard of steel and smoke. Buildings leaned at impossible angles, streets were cracked and silent, and the air tasted of ash. Alina had been painting for days without pause, trying to capture memories of a world that no longer existed.
Snapshots of my Life
Some things matter not because they are extraordinary, but because they quietly shape our everyday. A coffee mug, an artificial flower vase, my laptop, and a notebook—captured together in a picture frame—tell the story of my little world.
The Forgotten Green
I was not always alone. Once, I stood among thousands—maybe millions—of my kind. We stretched across valleys, climbed hills, leaned into rivers, and held birds like tiny jeweled secrets in our branches. Wind was our companion, sunlight our sustenance, rain our music. The world was green then, and alive in ways that memory alone now struggles to preserve. But memory is all I have. And so, I tell my story.
The Girl Who Chose Her Quiet
This autobiography is simple: a coffee-fueled, peace-protecting, humor-rich, sunset-chasing rebel with a hint of sanskar.
K's Train of Thoughts 