The thought balcony

  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...

 Still Alive — But at What Cost? I recently watched Still Alive by Samay Raina. My first encounter with his work had been through India’s Got Latent, and I remember feeling distinctly out of place. Perhaps it was the generation gap, but the excessive use of foul language and the overall tone did not sit well with me. It felt uncomfortable, almost jarring. Yet, I couldn’t ignore the fact that the younger audience seemed to thoroughly enjoy it—drawn to its raw, unfiltered humour. On repeated recommendations, and in the backdrop of the controversy surrounding his show, I decided to give Still Alive a fair chance. What I discovered surprised me. Beyond the language—which I still find difficult to fully accept—there were thoughts that lingered long after the performance ended. One of the most striking ideas was the undeniable importance of connections in a country like India. While talent and hard work matter, networks often open doors that effort alone cannot. It’s a reality we may not...

 When the Cylinder Runs Low The other day, I saw something that stayed with me longer than I expected. People were lined up, waiting for LPG cylinders. There was a certain restlessness in the air—not loud, not chaotic, but anxious enough to be felt. Later, my maid hesitantly asked me if we had an extra cylinder at home. There was worry in her voice. A kind of quiet panic. And for a moment, it all felt very real. Very immediate. A shortage. But as the moment passed, another thought stayed back. Is it really just a shortage? Or is it trying to tell us something more? There’s something quietly unsettling about the times we live in. We already know what works. We’ve seen homes run on rooftop solar, kitchen waste turn into compost instead of rotting in landfills, and simple practices like rainwater harvesting or balcony gardening make a real difference. None of this is new. None of this is beyond us. And yet, most of it remains where it feels comfortable—   in conversations, in int...