Warriors & Healers

Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome back to my humble abode, my own little corner on the internet.

So, in the past couple of months (let’s start from January 2017), I’ve officially started the third last semester of college, given a bunch of exams, fallen sick (I’ve been sick since December, but things got pretty bad around mid March), hospitalized twice, and now, three days later, I feel like I’m me again. Needless to say, it gave me a whole lot of perspective, if not anything else.

Well, that’s technically not true, because there’s a million medicines I need to take for the coming whole month, but let’s focus on the perspective part first.

Since the time college started, I was very wary of everything, but also very aware of all the things that could go wrong. In retrospect, I find that that has been my default setting for as long as I can remember: worry first, solve later. And, honestly, it’s the worrying that led me to being hospitalized for five days, twice.

So, while I’ve realized (a little too late, apparently) that worrying doesn’t solve anything, I also wrapped up quite some stuff while I was lying in bed in my ward, drunk on morphine (side note: me and morphine? Not a good combination at all, unless you want to get ugly truths out, or maybe sabotage my property or something).

I talked to so many people I’d fallen out of touch with, and/or couldn’t really be frank with unless I was not thinking clearly (hi, Jatin!), and let’s just say that all the ‘unfinished business’ I’ve raved about since, well, forever is now well and truly, finished.

Letting go has never been my strong suit; I crave control, especially in relationships, no matter how big or small they are. Which is a fabulous plan, if only I’d paid the same amount of attention to myself, just listened to myself a little bit more. So, ever since my body went on strike two times in a row in the span of a week, I had no choice but to listen to it.

And boy, did it have stuff to say.

One, my mind was fried. Like, scrambled-eggs-fresh-off-the-stove fried. It was just tired of the worrying, and most of the reasons for the worry were much, much smaller than what I’d pegged them to be.

My heart, well, we’ve all established over the past two years that my heart hasn’t been in great shape, but it’s tenacious like me, so it held on. Needless to say, I spent the most time healing it. I’ve smoothed out every crinkle that has ever marred its surface, pulled out (almost) all the pricks and thorns that have dug their way into it, and just started listening to it more. For all my talk about following your inner voice and doing whatever the hell makes you happy, I haven’t really been living up to all that.

I know what you’re thinking: ”You’re one stupid person, Snigdha.”

Trust me, I don’t blame you, and neither do I have anything to say in my defence.

And while letting go hurt like you wouldn’t believe, it was extremely important to do so. Believe me when I say, there’s no feeling in the world that hurts worse than sharing something (or someone) that you weren’t sure was yours in the first place.

Now, with everything behind me, I have learnt a lot, but let me just say this: pain shapes everyone into a warrior, and that’s great, but sometimes, you need to set the armor and the sword down, and be a healer. Heal the people you are with, take their pain away, but also, remember to heal yourself first. Be a warrior, sure, but also be a healer.


On a completely unrelated note, here’s me making goofy faces to the camera because I was absolutely feelin’ myself today morning (yeah, the morphine still hasn’t quite left me):

Also, did I mention I started writing again? Yeah, picked up on this idea I’ve had since a year and a half now, but was waiting for a divine spark of inspiration, I guess? Well, I found it. Leaving you with a snippet:

Some people are not meant to be in your life for the entire length of it; they are travellers, and your life is a mere stop in their grand journey. However, that does not make their influence on your life any less earth-shattering, any less mind-blowing than it already is.

If you asked my mother the story behind why our family was the way it was, she would probably just smile, then shrug, and then sigh with a faraway look in her eyes, and say, “we are just all very different people.”

This would have been as good a reason as any, except that when it comes to family, differences—no matter how big or undeniable or unfixable they are—don’t matter. Or, at least that’s what I thought.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have six exams to study for, and mom’s birthday to plan.

Miss me while I’m away.




No Promises

Hello, ladies and gentlemen (and Sagar, who wanted something to read with his evening tea), I’m back.

So, 2017 started, Dad (who was home for the holidays) went back to New York, and a brand new semester of college began while the temperature of Delhi has been—wait for it—freaking seven degrees.

Ah, well. That is how the glamorous life of an engineering undergrad is.

So, since I’ve been busy adjusting to life with college in the new semester (and getting my ass kicked, since I just went ahead got my books today, two week since classes started), I haven’t had the time to actually sit down and write–which in no way means I haven’t been writing. Here is where the power of technology comes in, because the Drafts folder in my phone is where all the magic is stored.

I picked out a select few out of the sea of written bits that have been dwelling in my phone, and have decided to share it with the world. Here goes, enjoy:








And, another very special thing that is aimed at anyone and everyone who I have had the opportunity to love (family and friends alike), as well as to all those who I shall cross paths with, in the future.

If there’s anything that I’ve learnt in the last couple of years of college, it is that promises mean very little (if at all). Not all of them get to fruition, and sometimes, with good reason.

Hence, this is me, not promising you.

I don’t promise to keep you first always, because there are going to be times where other people will need me more than you.

I don’t promise to be with you all hours of every day, because there will be times where you need your space, and there may be days where I’ll be needing mine.

I don’t promise to support you in whatever you’re doing, because it’s my job to keep you from making dumb decisions that you shall only regret later.

I don’t promise to forgive you instantly every single time, because I’m stubborn as hell and my anger takes time to cool off.

I don’t promise to tell you everything, because there some things that just aren’t meant to be shared.

Most importantly though, I don’t promise to love you, because love is just a word that doesn’t quite describe us completely.


You see, once a writer, always a writer. No matter how boring and uninspiring daily life is. Now please excuse me, I have a movie to watch.

Until next time, and remember: it’s now or never.



#21Till21: 21 Things I Love

Yes, you know what’s up, don’t you?

It’s September.

Which is awfully close to October.

And my birthday.

Today, September 14, means that there are exactly 21 days to go for my 21st birthday. Yep, you read it right: I’m turning the big twenty-one, and despite the fact that my real-life birthday plans are non-existent (and most probably shall be), I intend to at least share my life with all of you here.

So, with all that out of the way, I compiled a list of 21 things that I love. Keep in mind that most of these are mostly material things and/or phenomenon, because come on, I obviously love my family and friends to the moon and back. It didn’t make much sense reiterating the same fact.

Okay, you ready? Let’s go:

1. Coffee, duh!

There is possibly no way that I can stress my love for coffee enough. It has just always been a very big part of my life, my go-to whenever I’m feeling stressed/sad/happy or just about any whacked up emotion that has me going around in circles. It is, and will always be, my very first love.

2. Petrichor

3. Driving

My baby, my treasure

 When life isn’t making any kind of sense, all I have to do is get my keys, and hit the road. My car has been privy to almost all of my heartbreaking, hysterical crying sessions, the best drive ever of my life (no details for you, sorry), and has also played a big part in my 20th birthday celebrations.

4. Being responsible

I have always had issues with authority, with all the rules that are just laid down for us to obey, and ever since I remember, I haven’t done anything that I didn’t fully agree with. Hence, I decided to take matters in my own hands (when I was about 10, before my sister came along), and the rest is history. Being responsible and getting things done gives me an immense sense of pleasure like nothing else.

5. Making people smile

Speaking from experience, there’s nothing quite like the warm feeling in your heart that you get from watching a smile break out across someone’s lips, and knowing that you are the reason behind it.

6. Alone time

Personally, I feel like one should designate one day each week solely to recuperate mentally, and just give yourself a break. Hence, whenever I do get a chance to be alone and just spend time with myself and my thoughts, I grab it with both hands.

7. Maggi!

After coffee, Maggi is my only vice. I just can’t get enough of it, ever. Ever since I knew what Maggi was, I have been absolutely in love with it, and even today, when I achieve something, cooking Maggi for myself is the first thing that I do to celebrate.

8. Train rides

9. Supernatural

The Winchesters

The Winchesters

Supernatural was the one to teach me that family doesn’t end with blood–it is, in fact, something that you get to create for yourself, and they always have your back, even (and especially) when you don’t have a snowball’s chance of winning the war you’re fighting.

10. One Tree Hill

If you are ever looking for solutions to some of the trickiest situations in life, One Tree Hill is definitely the place to look for them, honey.

11. Red tulips

12. Powerpuff Girls

I still sit with my sister (who is ten, by the way) every weekend in the mornings and watch these girls save the city. Yeah, I know: I have a problem.

13. Pokémon

When I was in third grade was when Pokémon started airing in India, at 5 in the evening from Monday to Friday. Let’s just say that I have taken countless beatings from my mom just to sit and watch this show religiously. I even have bundles of sketchbooks wherein I have drawn all of my favourite Pokémons!

14. Books

People like David Levithan and Sarah Dessen are my heroes. Their books give me strength and sanity when nothing makes any kind of sense.

15. Fairy lights on trees

If you are a kind soul who wants to ever surprise me, be sure to include these beauties!

16. Writing

Writing gives me purpose; it gives me sense of balance, a sense of worth–like I am doing something bigger and better than just breathing the air in and breathing it out.

17. Classic rock

18. Scented candles

 19. Bangles


Hoarding bangles of all colours is the one guilty pleasure I have. Currently, my collection lacks orange, and indigo.

20. Tikki

I grew up with my mother’s love for street food, and while my sister accompanies mom to all the chaat stalls, I stick to my beloved tikki.

21. Birthdays

I like other people’s birthday more than I like my own, and although this year has been deprived of the usual excitement (details later), I still do feel that birthdays are the best days of the year.

Okay, so that was fun.

Exams are due next Monday, so kindly excuse me while I hit the books, and try to learn at least something of importance from them.

Meanwhile, you do whatever makes you happy.

See you!



Guys & Guitars | A Short Story.


Someone called me out on my wavering originality today. Guys & Guitars is a repercussion of my fierce sense of pride, and the simple fact that if I’m not original in what I do, I wouldn’t do it.

I didn’t even edit this one. I hope you like it.


Some people just don’t realize it when they get hold of your heart. They don’t realize what they do to you, don’t understand that even a single gesture of theirs could send your heart in an unmatched frenzy. Some people, although extremely difficult to decipher themselves, suddenly provide you with all the answers to life’s questions.

He was one of them.

I first met him in class, Applied Physics 102 . Front row, second seat, wearing an army green t-shirt, jeans and the so-nerdy-they’re-actually-kind-of-cool glasses. He wasn’t very strikingly handsome in the generic Ken doll way, but there was a undeniable air of mystery to him, this sudden spark that made the hair at the nape of my neck rise in response.

And that smile didn’t help, either.

I’d be lying if I said he had me under his spell from the get-go. But there’s also the fact that I may or may not have sneaked a few glances in his direction during that one hour, while simultaneously trying to understand the grave phenomenon of interference of light.

This is how our First Meeting went. This is how it all began.

* * *

He was a musician. The Guy With The Guitar, as I now liked to think of him. He sang in class in a muffled voice, his singing often accompanied by drumming of fingers, or tapping of one foot, or both. I’d never seen him play, but from what I’d heard, he was really good at it. He knew what he was doing.

He just didn’t know what he was doing to me. And it’s not entirely incorrect to say that neither did I.

All my life, I’d had a strict no-musicians rule. Their worlds moves too fast, and burns too bright, was my excuse. And I was right, although now, it was too late.

I’d willingly fallen victim to the smile of the Guy With The Guitar, my heart not mine to call any longer. It was gone.

And so was he.

* * *

I don’t know where he is now. I never tried to reach out to him, either. All that he is now is a part of my memories, a photograph that I like to pull out of my diary and peer closely into, trying to check whether I still recognize the face I see there, whether those eyes still make me want to drown, whether or not his smile makes my own lips curl up.

I try to feel whether or not the echo of his voice makes my heart race.

And you know what?

It does.

Always has, always will.


No, this does not bear any kind of resemblance to any person living or dead. I’m very annoyed at this point, and it’ll only annoy me more if you start to think that this is a secret message of sorts. Don’t apply Harry Potter/Hobbit/LOTR/any other cryptic stuff here. 😛

Tell me how you like it, if at all. I’d love to hear.


I Don’t Know What To Write

I don’t really have anything particular in mind that I need to talk about, but I think I’ll write a few lines anyway.

First off, Yours, Truly is finished, which leaves me feeling excited, emotional and proud. Of course, it is nowhere near what I’d like to see as a novel, because it needs editing and stuff, but nevertheless, it is finished. Writing this one book surpassed the other eight in so many ways, I can’t even begin to tell you. I just feel . . . I don’t know, great? Hysterical, maybe. 😀

School’s just going along, slow as can be. Nothing quite interesting, except the occasional teachers coming up to me and saying, ‘Snigdha, you cannot always run from everything in life.’ because I got my section changed. To them, I only say one thing– ‘It’s not called running away, sweetheart, it is called making a choice.’

Seriously, what is with these people? Whatever it is, I so don’t want to know. 😛

I know I’d promised you many ages ago that I’d post a picture of me at the Annual Day, and after struggling to edit the photograph, I think I’ve found the one! My face isn’t that clear, but you can definitely see what kind of stupid clothes I was wearing. I had to do on a song dating back to 1949, so yeah, I guess you can sympathize with my condition.

Please don’t say I look horrible, because even though I’m not fond of wearing such kind of clothes (which is called a salwaar-kameez in India, by the way), I’m still fond of the flower in my hair. Which, to tell you the truth, isn’t that long as it looks (the hair).

I lost my pencil-box, can you believe that? What kind of sixteen-year-old schoolgirl loses her pencil-box at school?! Mom is furious, because according to her, I ought to be more responsible than my current state.

And I’m out of novels to read. I’ve re-read four of my books, and I don’t think I’ll be getting a fresh stock until the last week of May. Life is messed up, I’m telling you. 😉

I think I’ll go now. Next two days are off from school, so I might as well get ready for some fun! 🙂