The Time Traveler’s Wife (After the War)

Loving you

is loving a man unstuck in time.

Just when your laughter

begins to resonate in our house 

and learns the shape of our hallway,

just when your hands remember

where my waist bends,

time grabs you by the collar

and pulls you away.

You leave at the peak—

when love is loud,

when the bed still holds heat,

when promises are mid-sentence.

And I am left

to live in echoes.

I pine in the afterglow of you,

warming myself on memories.

Your shirts smell of ordinary life—

coffee, your perfume, yesterday—

and I breathe them like oxygen

until today stops hurting.

You return altered.

Your eyes carry landscapes

I am not allowed to see.

Your silence is heavy, metallic,

as if it has marched too long.

You hold me

like someone checking for landmines.

You’ve seen horrors—

I can tell by how gently

you place your boots at the door,

by how sleep refuses you,

by how your body flinches

at kindness.

I do not ask for stories.

I know some wars

cannot be translated.

When you come back,

I become something else.

Not a lover waiting to be desired.

I am the field medic of your heart.

I learn the geography of your wounds.

I press love where language fails.

I stitch you together

with patience, with warmth,

with a faith that does not demand proof.

If time insists on breaking you

into before and after,

I will stand in the aftermath,

hands steady, voice soft,

loving you back into one piece.

I am not the woman

who asks you to stay.

I am the woman

who makes coming home possible.

Because 

I am not a lover.

I am a healer. ❤️‍🩹

Happy 15th anniversary, Sangram!

Let’s talk about my husband-

Because apparently I am his emotional support STRESS BALL 🙄 

While he treats work like his spouse.

First of all—

He LOVES his job

Too much.

Aggressively,

Romantically,

Like he’s in a relationship with his laptop,

And I am the “other” woman 👩🏻 😫😭

The moment Teams pings

His whole body activates—

He sits up straight,

Cracks his knuckles,

Whispers,

“I’ll just finish this one thing…”

LIES.

Fake news.

Propaganda.

That “one thing” has a beginning, a middle, a sequel, and a spin-off series.

I’ll be sitting there

Looking cute ☺️ 

Existing peacefully 

Fully available for love and affection 💕

And he’s staring into the screen like it owes him money. 💵 

Then, when he FINALLY notices me,

It’s not romance.  💘 

Oh no.

Suddenly I am:

• A pillow 

• A stuffed toy 🧸 

• An emotional support plushie

• A stress relief device 

He pulls me into a full embrace

And gives wet kisses on my cheeks

Sometimes, he attempts to eat my nose—

Says it’s too cute 🥰 

Sometimes, he will pat my head

And pretend I am the replacement for the pet dog he wants. 🐶 

Sir,

I am not your custom squishy toy. 😡

I am a human being.

My mother didn’t birth me

Or my parents raise me 

For this.

And If I try to leave-

He pleads-

“Don’t leave! “ ( যাস না !)

EXCUSE ME??

I am not a cuddle subscription service.

But do I leave?

No.

Because sometimes,

In between emails and calls,

He’ll look at me properly.

Kiss my forehead.

And hug me sooo hard I will melt.

Like a fool.

So yes,

I’ll let him squish me like a stress toy.

Yes, I’ll sit quietly while he battles 

Deadlines after deadlines like a warrior monk.

Because no matter how much he loves his work…

He still loves me.

Signed

Slightly neglected but deeply cherished 😻

Vanraj was not a simp

In modern slang, a “simp” is someone who:

• sacrifices their own dignity,

• chases someone who clearly doesn’t value them,

• and lowers their self-worth for attention or love.

Vanraj does none of these things.

Let’s break it down:

❤️ 1. He respected her autonomy — he didn’t beg for love

When Vanraj realized Nandini’s heart was with someone else, he didn’t

• guilt-trip her

• force himself on her

• “try harder” to win her

Instead, he took the mature, painful, man-of-integrity route:

“If your happiness lies with another man, I will help you find it.”

That’s not simping.

That’s emotional courage.

🧭 2. His actions were based on values, not desperation

A simp changes behavior, hoping for approval.

Vanraj acted according to his principles, not because he wanted points or to be chosen.

He believed in:

• honesty

• commitment

• doing right even when it hurts

He didn’t drive her to Italy to “win her back.”

He did it because he believed her marriage deserved truth, not imprisonment.

💪 3. He had self-respect the entire time

He never:

• pleaded,

• groveled,

• degraded himself,

• or competed with Sameer for affection.

He simply stood in his own dignity and let her choose freely.

A man who knows his worth doesn’t fear losing someone.

🔥 4. His love was unconditional, not needy

A simp gives everything, hoping for affection.

Vanraj gave everything without expectation.

He didn’t say, “I did this for you, now love me.”

He said, “I did this because love deserves freedom.”

That is strength, not submission.

Nabdini returns to him because of the man he is, not because he manipulated her or demanded anything.

Her feelings change because he is:

• steady

• grounded

• emotionally intelligent

• and self-secure

These are masculine traits, not simp traits.

🧠 In short:

Vanraj was a king, not a simp.

He proved that:

Loving someone deeply doesn’t make you weak.

Losing yourself for them does.

 

And he never lost himself.

Echo Rooms

Sometimes love walks into a room

and hears an echo that isn’t its own.

It says good morning,

But what you hear is

Don’t leave me.

Every silence becomes a test,

Every pause is a prophecy.

You scroll through messages,

Measuring your worth

By the timing of a reply.

You smile,

But your body doesn’t believe you.

It remembers nights of doors slammed,

Voices that cut,

Hands that withheld.

It whispers, 'Be ready to run.'

So you love from the edge of the doorway—

Half in, half gone,

A hand always on the handle.

Friendships feel safer,

But even there,

You count the times you reached out first.

You wonder if they’d notice

The day you stopped trying.

Unhealed pain builds cities inside you,

Each street named after someone

Who promised to stay.

You keep walking them

Searching for closure

Like a child looking for a home

That no longer exists.

But someday,

A quiet hand will rest on your shoulder

And not demand anything.

It will say,

You can stop running now.

And your body will believe it.

The echoes will fade,

One heartbeat at a time.

Bad Hair Days Don’t Have to Be Forever

🌿 Strengthen from Within

Healthy hair begins with good nutrition.

• Protein: Hair is made of keratin (a protein). Include eggs, lentils, fish, soy, and nuts.

• Iron & Zinc: Deficiency can cause hair loss. Eat spinach, pumpkin seeds, chickpeas, or consider                  taking a supplement if you are deficient.

• Biotin & B-vitamins: Found in eggs, mushrooms, avocados, and whole grains.

• Omega-3s: Fatty fish (salmon, sardines) or flax/chia seeds nourish follicles.

• Hydration: Dehydration makes hair brittle; aim for 8+ cups of water daily.

Eulogy of a Bee

She lived her life in motion—

a hum of gold and work,

her wings glinting like small prayers

offered to the morning.

When age found her,

she did not fly home.

No grand farewell,

no final dance in the hive’s dim hum.

Instead, she rested—

on a petal soft as forgiveness,

beneath a sky that shimmered

with the quiet pulse of stars.

There, she listened

to the slow breathing of the earth,

to the whisper of flowers

she had once fed with light.

If dawn returned,

she rose again,

gathered a single dusting of pollen—

her last alms,

her final hymn—

and left it for her kin

before vanishing

into the still air of morning.

So when you see her,

a tiny form cradled

on a blossom at dusk,

do not disturb her rest.

Bend closer.

Say thank you.

She is more valuable than gold.

Impulse Control

Helping impulse control is partly about rewiring how your brain responds in the micro-moments before you act, and partly about shaping your environment so you’re not constantly fighting temptation head-on.

Here’s a structured way to work on it:

1. Strengthen the Pause

You want to insert a small “speed bump” between urge and action.

• Count to 5 (or 10) before responding, buying your brain time to shift from emotional to rational thinking.

• Name the urge out loud or in your head (“I’m feeling the urge to scroll,” “I’m feeling the urge to snap back”). This moves it from instinct to awareness.

• Breathe deliberately — slow, deep breaths calm the amygdala and give the prefrontal cortex time to kick in.

⸻

2. Identify Your Triggers

Impulse control is much easier when you understand when and why your guard drops.

• Keep a trigger log: When you act impulsively, note time, place, mood, and what happened before.

• Look for patterns: Do you overspend when tired? Eat junk after 9 PM? Say yes when you’re stressed?

⸻

3. Change the Environment

Willpower is finite — a smart setup reduces reliance on it.

• If you overspend, delete shopping apps or remove saved payment info.

• If you snack impulsively, keep tempting food out of sight and healthy snacks visible.

• If you blurt things out, write down your response before speaking when the stakes are high.

⸻

4. Train Your “Impulse Muscles”

Small, daily acts of self-control make it stronger over time.

• Practice micro-delays in low-stakes situations (wait 2 minutes before checking your phone).

• Play self-control games like resisting pressing a button for a reward, or doing something with your non-dominant hand — these train your brain’s “brake system.”

⸻

5. Work on Emotional Regulation

Many impulses are emotional reactions in disguise.

• Use mindfulness meditation to notice urges without acting on them.

• Label emotions specifically (“I’m anxious about the meeting” instead of “I’m bad at this”).

• Journal to “empty out” mental pressure before it bursts.

⸻

6. Rest & Refuel

Impulse control is far worse when you’re depleted.

• Sleep enough — sleep deprivation mimics impaired prefrontal cortex function.

• Eat protein and complex carbs to avoid blood sugar dips.

• Take breaks to avoid decision fatigue.

⸻

7. Have an “If–Then” Plan

Predetermine your alternative action:

• If I crave sugar, then I’ll drink tea first.

• If I want to check my phone in a meeting, then I’ll doodle notes instead.

Medusa: villain or victim?

In early Greek mythology, Medusa was not always a monster. According to Ovid’s “Metamorphoses”, she was once a beautiful maiden and a priestess of Athena. But then:

• Poseidon raped Medusa in Athena’s temple.

• Instead of punishing Poseidon, Athena punished Medusa by turning her into a Gorgon—her hair became snakes, and her gaze turned people to stone.

This transformation wasn’t about justice—it was about shame and punishment directed at the victim.

Symbol of Patriarchal Control

Over time, Medusa became a symbol of female rage and danger. In art and myth:

• Heroes like Perseus were praised for “slaying the monster”, when in reality he was killing a woman who had already suffered deeply.

• Her image was often used to represent female power gone “wild”—as something to be feared and controlled.

A Modern Feminist Reclamation

Today, many see Medusa differently:

• As a symbol of trauma and survival, a woman punished for male violence.

• As a representation of female rage that was once demonized but is now validated.

• As a protector rather than a villain, her image was even used on shields and doors in ancient times to ward off evil.

Medusa as Archetype

She embodies the “monstrous feminine” trope—how society often vilifies powerful or angry women, rather than understanding the roots of their pain.

In Conclusion

Medusa wasn’t evil. She was a survivor turned into a symbol of horror by a culture that feared women’s power. Her real tragedy isn’t that she was monstrous—but that her story was rewritten to make her one.

Survivor bias

Survivor bias (also known as survivorship bias) is a logical error that occurs when we focus only on the people or things that “survived” a process, ignoring those that didn’t, which can lead to false conclusions.

🔍 Classic Example:

During World War II, the military sought to armor airplanes based on the locations of bullet holes found on returning planes. But statistician Abraham Wald pointed out:

The military was only analyzing planes that came back. The ones that didn’t return likely got hit in areas not shown in the data—like the engines.

So he advised reinforcing the areas without bullet holes, not the ones with them.

💡 Why It Matters:

Survivor bias can:

• Skew data analysis

• Lead to overestimating success rates

• Make failures invisible

📌 Common Real-Life Examples:

1. Business Advice

You hear stories about college dropouts becoming billionaires (like Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckerberg), but forget the thousands who dropped out and didn’t succeed.

2. Fitness Influencers

You see amazing transformation stories, but not the many who trained hard and didn’t get the same results.

3. Investing

We praise the stocks that performed well, but ignore the ones that went bust and quietly vanished.

✅ Lesson:

To make smart decisions, don’t just study the winners.

Ask: Who didn’t make it? Why?

That’s where the real insight often lies. 

Read more about the different kinds of bias here

What is Juneteenth?

Today is Juneteenth holiday. For decades, Juneteenth was celebrated mainly within Black communities. In 2021, it became a federal holiday in the United States—an overdue acknowledgment of one of the most pivotal moments in American history.

The History Behind Juneteenth 

 • January 1, 1863 – President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, declaring all enslaved people in Confederate states legally free.

 • But in reality, freedom didn’t reach everyone immediately. Many slaveholders in remote areas, especially in Texas, ignored or resisted the order.

 • June 19, 1865 – Over two years later, Union General Gordon Granger arrived in Galveston, Texas, with federal troops. He announced General Order No. 3, which proclaimed that all enslaved people were now free.

“The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free.”

What is Freedom?

At its core, it means the power to choose—to act, speak, think, and live according to your own will, without undue restraint.

But freedom isn’t just one thing. It takes many forms:

1. Personal Freedom
The ability to make decisions about your own body, beliefs, and actions. It’s walking your own path, wearing what you want, choosing whom you love, and dreaming your own dreams.

2. Political Freedom
The right to have a voice in how you’re governed—voting, protesting, expressing opinions without fear, and having access to justice.

3. Economic Freedom
The opportunity to work, earn, own property, and improve your life through your efforts, without exploitation or oppression.

4. Psychological Freedom
Freedom from fear, guilt, shame, and internalized oppression. It’s the quiet, inner space where you are allowed to be exactly who you are.

If you love someone, let them be free. And watch them blossom into their most authentic self.

The Folly of Sameness

Growing up in a homogeneous group can breed a kind of cultural illiteracy — not just ignorance of other traditions, but a deep-seated discomfort with difference itself. The cost? Empathy narrows. Curiosity dims. And a fear of the “other” festers.

There is a subtle tyranny that can emerge within homogeneous groups, especially during formative years, where anyone different is looked down upon or ridiculed. Here’s a reflection:

The Folly of Sameness
————————————
In halls where every voice sounds just the same,
Where mirrors line the walls with matching frames,
A child is taught to fear the foreign name,
To mock the soul that dances in new flames.

The laughter sharpens like a teacher’s rule,
The different child becomes the class’s tool—
A joke, a jest, a silence carved in stone,
Their colors drained until they match the tone.

What harm is done when no one sees the sky
From any lens but theirs? They don’t ask why
Another walks with songs they’ve never heard,
Or shapes their dreams with an unspoken word.

Sameness is easy, sameness is safe.
It feeds the need to not feel out of place.
But sameness blinds, and sameness breeds a wall,
Until the mind grows narrow, false, and small.

And those who dare to speak or dress or pray
In ways that drift from the accepted way—
They bear the weight of sneers that wound the soul,
While they still rise, and make the fractured whole.

Inside the Chrysalis

Inside the hush of a green shell,
A quiet catastrophe begins.

The caterpillar, soft-bodied wanderer,

unthreads itself

from the inside out.

No gentle sleep—

But a dissolution,

a flood of enzymes

breaking every known shape

into memory-soup.

This is not survival.

This is a sacrifice.

This is trust in annihilation.

Within that rich, primordial broth,

lie imaginal discs—

seeds of wings,

blueprints of eyes that have never seen sky,

antennae attuned to the wind’s whisper.

They do not guess.

They remember

W
hat they were meant to become.

And somehow—

even as the old self liquefies—

a thread remains.

A flicker of memory,

a trace of yesterday’s hunger,

a taste of a certain leaf

lingering like a ghost

through all that unmaking.

When the chrysalis shivers open

and the new body unfurls—

painted, fragile, free—

it is not just a new form.

It is a resurrection.

A creature

who has lived

two lives

within one skin.

Who has died

without leaving.

And flown

from the ruins of itself.

The Secret the Bees Keep

 

When the queen falls—
That single pulse of order,
The mother of rhythm—
The hive holds its breath.

No eggs.

No future.

Silence creeps between the honeycomb corridors.

Stillness,

Where flight once sang.

But the bees do not mourn.

They do not wait for rescue

Like prayers sent upward

Into the indifferent wind.

Instead, they begin.

Not with miracles.

Not with might.

But with the slightest gesture:

A feeding.

One larva,

Then another—

No different than the rest,

No gold-threaded birthright,

No lightning in the womb—

Is chosen.

Not for what she is,

But for what she might become.

They feed her royal jelly—

A nectar thick with purpose,

A mother’s whisper made into substance.

It coats her future

In protein and light,

Rearranging time,

Rethreading the body

Into something larger

Than labor

Or lineage.

She is not born a queen.

She is made.

By attention.

By care.

By collective will.

She rises not by chance

But by design—

Not of blood,

But of belief.

And when she spreads her wings,

Carrying the future in her belly,

The hive hums again.

The order returns,

Not as it was,

But remade

Through crisis and instinct

And quiet revolution.

The bees remember what we forget—

That greatness

Is not in the bone,

But in the tending.