The thought balcony

The Gray Areas of Love: Stories We Can’t Fully Judge We were having one of those conversations the other day. The kind that begins casually and then, without warning, becomes uncomfortably honest. It started with infidelity. But like most real conversations, it didn’t stay there for long. Someone brought up the present generation and how physical intimacy today often feels detached from emotional weight. Almost like a biological need. Like eating food. No strings attached, no promises, no permanence. People move from one connection to another until maybe, someday, something feels worth staying for. Or maybe not. The urgency to stay itself seems to have faded. And then came the comparison we always make. The generation before us. The ones who stayed. Stayed through incompatibility, silence, emotional distance, routine, even resentment. They built homes, raised children, carried responsibilities, and passed down values that somehow now feel outdated to the very people they wer...

The Man on the Balcony A few years ago, during my visit to the United States, I passed through Beverly Hills. My guide pointed out a residence once associated with Michael Jackson and began sharing stories , of how fans would gather, waiting for just a glimpse, hoping he might appear on a balcony and wave. It reminded me of something very familiar. In India too, outside the homes of beloved film stars, people wait patiently, looking up at balconies as though they hold something more than just a person. Almost a presence. And strangely, as I stood there, I could see it. I could almost visualise him  standing on that balcony, quiet yet magnetic, while people waited below, holding onto a moment they would carry with them for a lifetime. Even years later, that image never quite left me. When I passed by, a few candles were still lit. It had been more than a decade since his passing, yet people continued to come, to remember. That kind of remembrance doesn’t arise from fame alone. It sp...

  Kissa Kursi Ka Life has a quiet way of moving on swiftly, even along the unsettling moments. When someone leaves this world, the pause is brief. Rituals are performed, memories are shared, and soon, routines begin to reclaim their space. The absence remains, but the world does not stand still. It continues, as it always has. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way. In the larger scheme of existence, the eternal cycle of creation, preservation, and dissolution that is Brahma, Vishnu, Mahesh exists for all to observe .One creates, one sustains, one dissolves or should l say destroys.No single presence halts this systemic rhythm. Everything that arrives is meant, eventually, to leave. Thus the human life appears fleeting ,almost negligible as compared to the vast scheme. And yet, within this brief span, we attach ourselves deeply to roles, positions, and places. We begin to believe that these define us. Kissa Kursi Ka. In some homes, it appears in the quiet antici...

  WHEN PILGRIMAGE FEELS EMPTY — AND WHAT IT TEACHES US We travel miles believing that somewhere, at the end of the journey, a moment is waiting for us—a moment of stillness, of connection, of something deeply divine. I set out on such a journey through Kashi, Banaras, Hanumangarhi, and Ayodhya. These are not just places; they are living centres of faith. I went with a simple intention—to be present, to feel, to connect. But the experience was not what I had imagined. In Kashi, devotion was everywhere, yet the experience felt rushed. The crowd moved relentlessly, leaving no space to pause. There was no stillness—only a fleeting glimpse, a few seconds, and then you were carried forward. I saw the deity, but I could not stay with the moment. And without that pause, the connection felt incomplete. At Hanumangarhi, even with a more structured entry, the space became overwhelming. The crowd pressed in, and instead of feeling devotion, there was discomfort—almost suffocation. Fa...