This is not a joke. I have genuinely broken my left arm. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Proper orthopedic level damage. Plaster. Sling. Sympathy from strangers. And suddenly, the universe decided that this was the correct moment to unleash winter.
The temperature dipped immediately. Coincidence? I think not. The weather clearly saw my cast and said, perfect. Now let us add craving.
I am craving steaming hot momos. Not politely warm momos. I want them to go directly into my mouth so that I can make those completely undignified vhuavhuavhua sounds while trying not to burn my tongue and still refusing to let the momo go. The kind of sound that tells the momo, you will hurt me, but you will not escape.
Then there are those crispy brown aloo tikkis. The ones whose tawa gives off heat strong enough to restore faith in humanity. You stand near it pretending to decide whether you want chutney or not, but actually you are just borrowing warmth. The chole follows. Garam. Spicy. Mischievous. Playing table tennis with your tongue while you pretend you can handle it.
December cold waves are not weather. They are emotional manipulators. They whisper things like eat something fried, eat something hot, you deserve this, look at your arm. And honestly, after a week of this, I believe them.
At this point, my left arm is broken but my willpower is fully intact only when it comes to ordering food. I should have bought an automatic. Because managing winter, injury, and self control simultaneously feels like a manual transmission on a steep hill.
I love winters. I truly do. The clothes are better. The food is superior. The excuses are endless. And after thoroughly enjoying all these thoughts for a solid week, I have arrived at a very mature decision.
I never know how much I’m going to earn in a month. Some months feel like God personally handled my billing. Some months feel like I’m on God’s blocked list.
Being an advocate does that to you.
You never really “make money.” You just occasionally receive it.
And those who say, “but you’re your own boss,” have clearly never waited for a client who says, “Sir, amount transfer kar raha hoon abhi.”
I had always seen people getting salaries. Same date. Same SMS. Predictable. Peaceful. And here I am, part of the urban poor who are still trying to understand how cash flow is managed, mismanaged, and completely dependent on mood.
Feelings, it turns out, are the worst financial advisors. When you’re in a good mood, you treat yourself like Ambani.
When you’re anxious, you start calculating GST on samosas.
But if you ever feel lost, just remember what Iliaas Bhai said in Aankhen (2002), “किस्मत पे रोने का नहीं, कैलेंडर बदलते रहने का.”
That line has more financial wisdom than half the self-help books in the world.
Every time a case doesn’t convert or a client ghosts me after saying “will call you tomorrow,” I repeat it like a mantra.
It’s my monthly reset button.
When rent is due, and nothing is due to you, change the calendar.
When you open your wallet and it sighs back at you, change the calendar.
When you start believing the next month will be better, congratulations, you’re financially stable in spirit.
This profession has taught me that luck doesn’t arrive with notice, and payments don’t either.
So stop crying over fate. Tear the old page.
Start the next month.
Because sometimes, the only difference between despair and hope is a new date printed on paper.
You know what’s funny about pain? It’s the most punctual guest in your life. Never late, never forgets your address. Hurt your back? Boom, it’s here. Lost someone? Double boom. And unlike relatives, it doesn’t even wait for Diwali to show up.
Rajesh Khanna sahab once said in a Hrishikesh Mukherjee film: “Khushi phooljhadi jaisi hai, turant bhadakti hai aur turant bujh jaati hai. Gham agarbatti jaisa hai, dheere-dheere jalta hai aur lamba chalta hai.”
Translation: happiness is like a sparkler, sadness is like incense.
(P.S. Sparklers burn your fingers fast. Incense sticks burn your curtains slow. Both teach lessons.)
So where does pain fit in this firecracker vs. incense theory? Let’s call in Buddha for guest commentary.
According to Buddha, pain comes in two flavors:
Arrow One: The actual pain. Like hitting your pinky toe on the corner of the bed. Arrow Two: The drama we add: “This always happens to me! Why does God hate me? Maybe my house has a grudge.”
Sadness? That’s usually the second arrow. Pain stabs, sadness writes a tragic novel about it.
Buddha also said everything is temporary (anicca). So yes, your heartbreak, your migraine, even your mother-in-law’s taunts eventually, all fade.
But while it’s here, pain acts like a free therapist:
Reminds you you’re human. Forces you to sit down when you wanted to party. Teaches compassion: “Ouch, I stubbed my toe. May all other stubbed toes in the world heal quickly.”
Honestly, if you think about it, pain is just unpaid HR staff, trying to conduct “team-building exercises” between your body and mind.
So maybe:
Sadness is incense slow, smoky, makes your room smell weird. Pain is that over-enthusiastic cousin either comes screaming (sparkler mode) or overstays quietly (incense mode). And you? You’re stuck learning Buddhism, Netflix-pausing every two minutes to say, “This is impermanent. This too shall pass.”
Takeaway?
Next time you’re in pain, try seeing it the Buddhist way. Notice it, don’t fight it, and definitely don’t invite it for dinner.
And remember: happiness may be a sparkler, sadness may be incense but pain? Pain is that friend who keeps showing up uninvited, but somehow leaves you wiser every single time.
Let’s talk about wisdom. Not the kind etched into temple walls or whispered by monks on mountaintops. I’m talking about the real, gritty, painfully accurate wisdom that usually shows up after you’ve eaten too much chilli or replied “sure, let’s catch up” to someone who drains your soul.
This kind of wisdom doesn’t glow. It doesn’t trend. It isn’t curated by an influencer in Bali sipping green juice on a bean bag. It’s the annoying voice in your head — the one that says, “You know this is a bad idea, right?” And we, being human and tragically optimistic, go ahead and do it anyway.
Chapter One: That Inner Voice We Treat Like Spam
Every time you’re about to do something dumb, like buy a juicer to ‘start fresh’ even though you’ve never juiced anything in your life, there’s a voice. A small one. Kind of like the mental version of your mom clearing her throat behind you.
It says, “Are you sure?” And you say, “Let me live!”
That voice has been honed by generations of human stupidity. It’s survived wars, heartbreak, and Black Friday sales. But now, its job has been taken over by… algorithms.
Chapter Two: Algorithm Gurus and Their Unshakable Faith
Enter the modern breed of wisdom, the people who are 110% convinced that their algorithm knows them better than their mother, therapist, or bank account.
These are the folks who say things like “The Universe sent me this Reel and I just knew I had to break up with him.”
Or, “My feed is so aligned right now. It’s like, healing.”
They follow accounts that post pastel quotes like, “You are the sun, babe. Burn for no one,” and then proceed to ignore their credit card bill and text someone named Karan at 2:17 AM.
They believe the universe is speaking through TikTok. They get their nutritional advice from astrology memes and use phrases like “retrograde made me do it” while eating nothing but air-fried zucchini chips.
And here’s the kicker, they are so sure. So absolutely confident that their algorithm, their curated bubble of content and confirmation bias, is smarter than centuries of lived human experience. They think they’ve cracked life, love, parenting, finance, and digestion. Meanwhile, the rest of us are quietly Googling, “Can one die from excessive emotional intelligence?”
Chapter Three: The Chilli, the Mistake, the Lesson
Despite all this algorithmic enlightenment, some wisdom never changes. Like the lesson that too much chilli will eventually humble you, no matter how spiritual or gluten-free your diet is.
You can follow all the gut health influencers in the world. You can watch thirty-seven Reels about the benefits of cumin water. But if you eat that extra-spicy paneer tikka because your ego said, “You’re built different,” you will still find yourself holding onto the sink for dear life the next morning, whispering, “Why me, God?”
That, my friend, is when real wisdom shows up. And it’s not in the form of a life coach in Ibiza. It’s your colon saying, “I told you so.”
Chapter Four: The Comeback of Common Sense
After a certain age, usually somewhere between your first heartbreak and your third probiotic… you start hearing the truth again. Not from an algorithm. But from within. The wisdom that says, “Drink water,” “Don’t text him,” and “You don’t need another plant.”
You realize that wisdom isn’t supposed to be sexy or viral. It’s supposed to be useful. Quiet. Annoying. Inconvenient. And deeply, unfailingly true.
It reminds you that kids don’t need martyrs for parents, they need emotionally stable adults. That staying in a relationship out of guilt is like keeping spoiled milk in the fridge “just in case.” And that sometimes, self-care isn’t a face mask. It’s saying no, sleeping early, and unfollowing that one person who makes you feel like you’re failing at life.
Final Thoughts: It’s Okay to Be Dumb (Just Don’t Make It a Habit)
We all have our moments of brilliance and our seasons of idiocy. That’s what being human is. The goal isn’t to be perfectly wise. It’s to be less stupid next time. To recognize when your gut is right, even if your Instagram Explore page is screaming otherwise.
So yes, follow your heart. But maybe cross-check it with your liver. Eat the chilli, but keep some curd nearby. Trust your algorithm, but also remember it thought you were into dog grooming videos for three months because you accidentally watched one pomererian being shampooed.
And when that ancient, boring voice in your head speaks up again? Pause. Breathe. Maybe listen this time.
Because the real wisdom? It’s not trending. But it’s waiting for you. Usually with a glass of jeera water and a slightly judgmental smile.
We often think of memories as gentle things, sepia-toned moments neatly folded in the drawers of the mind. But sometimes, memories bite.
Dante said it best, “There is no greater sorrow than to recall a happy time in misery.” It’s not the pain itself that aches the most, it’s the echo of joy that came before it. A laugh that once rang like music now sounds like mockery. A smile, once comfort, now a ghost.
Change is strange that way. It comes quietly at first maybe disguised as a missed call, a forgotten birthday, a difference in tone , until one day you realize that what was once familiar has become foreign. You stand at the edge of what used to be your world and it doesn’t recognize you anymore.
But here’s the truth no one likes to admit:
Change is not betrayal. Change is just change.
We tend to hold people to the last version of themselves we loved. We expect the friend who once understood every silence to always be that way. The lover who once reached out first to always stay. But people are rivers, not statues. They twist, split, dry up, flood and so do we.
Time doesn’t ask permission.
Even the deepest bonds, no matter how heartfelt, are still mortal. Some grow with us. Others don’t.
We grieve that and we call it loss.
But really, it’s just that life continues on without our consent.
And so, when we sit alone, aching for the echo of a laughter that no longer visits us, when we replay old conversations in our heads like a broken record, we must also remind ourselves: That version of you, the one who laughed in that moment, loved with that heart, believed in that future, still exists. And that matters.
It matters even if the people in that memory have walked away.
Even if you no longer recognize the one who smiled back in that old photo.
Because memory is not always there to heal. Sometimes it comes to teach.
Have you ever stumbled across something so absurdly perfect that it made you laugh out loud? Well, meet Exhibit A: this tree. A coconut-palm-banana-jackfruit hybrid masterpiece, this marvel of nature looks like it rolled out of the dreams of someone who took the phrase “why have less when you can have it all” a bit too literally.
The tree is a hilarious metaphor for life. It’s everything we expect life to be: a limitless buffet of success, prosperity, and happiness. Look at it! Bananas for your health goals, coconuts to quench your thirst for exotic vacations, and a massive jackfruit symbolizing that one giant dream you’re sure will make you “complete” (or at least make Aunties at weddings stop asking when you’ll achieve “something meaningful”).
But then comes reality, and oh boy, does it hit hard. Let’s break it down:
1. The Bananas of Hope
Ah, bananas—reliable, sweet, and perfect for Instagram fitness posts. But in life? These bananas are that early-career confidence where you think, “I’m destined for greatness.” Yet, much like when you try to store bananas for too long, things quickly start to rot. Promotions? Delayed. Side hustle? A side flop. Suddenly, the bananas aren’t golden anymore—they’re black, squishy, and attracting metaphorical flies called “EMIs.”
2. The Coconuts of Endless Possibilities
Coconuts represent those daydreams about the “perfect” life: sipping fresh coconut water on a beach while your passive income rolls in. Except, just like real coconuts, life makes you WORK HARD to crack it open. Instead of paradise, you’re stuck wrestling with Excel sheets and wondering why your boss emailed you at 2 a.m. Meanwhile, your vacation fund has evaporated faster than the water in said coconuts.
3. The Jackfruit of Lofty Ambitions
Now let’s talk about the jackfruit. That giant, spiky symbol of our wildest, most audacious dreams. It’s the career-changing startup idea, the dream house, the six-pack abs. But here’s the thing about jackfruit: it looks cool from afar but is insanely hard to deal with up close. Sticky, smelly, and requires the patience of a saint to enjoy—yep, that’s your mid-life crisis summed up.
4. Reality Check: The Missing Fruits
And of course, you’re left wondering—where are the mangoes? Isn’t life supposed to be sweet and juicy? Well, spoiler alert: the mango tree is two blocks over, and it belongs to your neighbor who just bought a Tesla.
The funniest part of this tree is how it reflects our belief that life will give us everything all at once, all perfectly ripe and ready. In reality, though, it’s more like an awkward salad: some sour, some sweet, and a lot of random bitterness thrown in for good measure.
So, what’s the takeaway here? Life’s a tree—but not this overachieving mutant. Most of us are just out here with our scraggly little saplings, praying for one ripe fruit that isn’t snatched away by squirrels (aka rent, inflation, and bad luck). And that’s okay! Embrace the chaos, laugh at the absurdity, and enjoy whatever falls from your tree—even if it’s just a bruised banana.
After all, even a quirky tree like this one is a reminder: life might not give you what you want, but it sure gives you one heck of a story!
Fellas! Have you guys also been fixing chappals when they are upside down, or is it just me? Ancient wisdom says if your chappal is upside down, there are not only chances but a sure fight at home. We must be thankful to the heads of state for not leaving their chappals upside down, and we must also check Zelenskyy’s and Putin’s.
Also, what happens when you are on the road and a black cat crosses your path, but you left home after eating dahi? Do these events cancel each other out?
And why is Eleven fixing the Upside Down and not her chappals?
I wonder if we rub two upside-down chappals together, can we open the door to Narnia?
These are some questions you may find answers to, but to woman? Never. Those are some real enigma of the mystical.
Picture this: Falling in love is as easy as tripping over your own feet—totally accidental and pretty hilarious when you think about it. At first, everything about your partner seems perfect. You can’t wait to get their texts, and every little thing they do seems cute—even when they snore like a bear!
But give it a few months or years. That snore? Not so cute anymore. Now it’s more like a chainsaw starting up right next to you at 5 AM. Suddenly, you start wondering, “Am I with the right person?”
Here’s the funny thing about relationships: they’re not about finding the perfect person. They’re about sticking with the person you picked, even when the going gets tough. Think about it like your favorite old T-shirt. Sure, it might have some holes and doesn’t look as sharp as it used to, but it’s comfortable, and it feels like home.
When things get routine, and the excitement fades, that’s not a sign to bolt. It’s a cue to get creative. Because keeping the love alive isn’t something that just happens. It’s something you work at, like getting better at a video game or learning to cook without burning the kitchen down.
Loving someone long-term is more about what you do than what you feel. It’s like choosing to have pizza every Friday or always watching your favorite show together. It might sound simple, but it’s these little decisions that keep you two bonded.
So, love isn’t just a wild ride that happens to you. It’s more like a project you work on together. It’s deciding every day that you’re going to stick around through snores, dirty socks on the floor, and even those times when they forget to text back.
Remember, finding someone who walks into your life might be a stroke of luck, but keeping them there? That’s a choice. So choose wisely, laugh often, and maybe invest in some earplugs if that snoring gets too out of hand!
I’ve had anxiety since it was merely considered worrying. Everyone used to tell me to calm down and not worry. But as I grew older, my anxiety evolved, and the thesaurus switched ‘worry’ with ‘anxiety.’
I’ve missed several golden opportunities in my life because of this anxiety. Am I sad about it? I’m not sure; I don’t feel anything. I don’t have any opinion. On a rainy day without pakodas, I might say I don’t like Mr. Shahrukh Khan, but on a rainy day with pakodas, there’s no one better than him. However, pakodas play no role in this.
My head feels heavy and my body itches when I try to calm down. Stress definitely has a crucial role in this. Which came first? Stress or anxiety? After a quick 15-second break and a little googling, I’ve realized I don’t have anxiety; I have stress. And perhaps my body itches because I haven’t been bathing regularly.
Also, that slight discoloration on my tongue is surely oral cancer.
Okay, I admit it—I have anxiety.
Time for some breathing exercises. I’ll save the rest for my therapist, that guy in the mirror.
In shadows cast by fate’s design, Two hearts set sail on love’s incline. With dreams of shores where hope resides, They ventured forth on fateful tides.
Beneath the moon’s soft, silver grace, They sought a love no waves could erase. Hand in hand, their spirits soared, Two souls entwined, forevermore.
But cruel and cold, the ocean’s might, With treacherous currents, endless night. In Palolem’s embrace, the tempest roared, And in its depths, their love was stored.
The waves, like tears, began to weep, As love’s embrace was buried deep. Their laughter silenced, dreams untold, In the ocean’s depths, their love grew cold.
Oh, the pain of loss, the ache of grief, Like crashing waves without relief. In sorrow’s depths, we stand and weep, As two beloved souls forever sleep.
But in the night, a star appears, A beacon bright to calm our fears. Their love lives on in memory’s keep, In the silent night, in dreams we weep.
Though tides of sorrow may ebb and flow, Their love endures, a steady glow. In our hearts, their spirits soar, Two souls entwined, forevermore.
Expanding The Horizons 