Bakuɭ

On a random weekday, my best friend texted me. He was stuck on a decision and wanted to talk about it. His dilemma was simple on the surface. He had to choose between going home or staying back at his workplace. I read his options, shared my opinion, and thought the confusion was over. Half an hour later, he was telling me the consequences. If he went home, he knew he would relax for a while and start working. Worst case, he would just procrastinate and feel guilty. If he stayed back, he would sit there unable to focus because he was doing it for the past few hours. Probably, sitting there he would wonder if resting at home would have made him more productive later. After an entire hour of agonizing over this, he finally chose the exact thing he wanted to do in the very beginning. He realized he had wasted an hour. A few days later, a very similar thing happened. I was going to meet a childhood friend. We easily decided on the day and the time. I then asked her to pick a place. She had...

I have been reading a book about mathematics recently. It is a subject I used to avoid like most people. Ironically, it is somehow coming back into my life as a total game-changer. It is only the second or third math-related book I have picked up outside of my research. Somehow, it was enough to make my father wonder. He asked when I started reading 'such books.' His tone carried that familiar, subtle sarcasm. It felt like classic rage-baiting. When you are the youngest in the family, though, you learn to adapt. You either ignore it or offer a quiet comeback. Dealing with this kind of family dynamic is just exhausting. Ignoring the rage-baiting takes way more effort than a physical workout. I didn't pay much attention to his comments at first. Later, I got two classic Marathi poetry collections as gifts, and his reaction was exactly the same. I couldn't help but pause. It made me realize something funny. People, even those closest to us, don't always know who we are...

A notification pops up on the screen. Another missed call. A new text. She is deep in a doomscrolling spiral. She sees the name. She loves this friend, she really does. But the mere thought of tapping the screen, typing out a response, or having an actual conversation feels like a massive task. "I’ll reply later," she tells herself. Later becomes hours. Hours become days. She is still on her phone, of course! From the bed to the bathroom, it is always there. She switches between apps, watches reels, laughs at memes, taps through stories, and replies only to messages she thinks are "urgent." In this trap, the friend’s text slowly sinks to the bottom of the pile. When the friend finally calls her out on it, the excuses are ready: the chaotic job, the crazy schedule, the relentless daily routine. Just to prove it is nothing personal! Meanwhile, there is someone else out there who juggles the exact same chaotic job, hits the gym, runs errands, and still manages to hang ...

I have been visiting a lot of churches lately. It is hard not to when you are traveling around Europe. They are huge, quiet, and usually right in the middle of a busy city. Outside those thick wooden doors, my brain is constantly working. I use my English skills to get by, which works fine most of the time. But I also try to use my German, and that is a completely different story. It is actually quite funny. I can stand in a coffee shop or a train station and understand almost everything people are saying to me. My brain translates their German perfectly well. I know exactly what they are asking. But the moment I open my mouth to reply, I completely fumble. I'm blank. I can barely put together more than a few basic sentences. If a cashier asks me a simple follow-up question, I panic. I just nod, smile awkwardly, say a broken German word, and walk away hoping (overthinking!) I made sense. Sometimes it is exhausting to constantly translate your life and pretend you know what you are ...

Years ago, I attended a friend’s birthday lunch. The conversation eventually turned to our post-college plans. I was an arts student. Because of this, everyone assumed I would prepare for the civil services exams. It is a classic stereotype. I mentioned I had not decided yet. But I knew I was definitely not taking that route. A friend laughed at this. He joked that "settling down" was always an option if I lacked real ambition. He equated ambition strictly with competitive exams or climbing a career ladder. I kept quiet. But his comment triggered a lot of overthinking. What exactly bothered me? Was it the assumption that my ambition was small? Was it the casual downplaying of a simple life? Or was it just the realization that I was an oddball? Now we are in our late twenties. The landscape has changed. Most of my friends are married. Some have kids. Others are climbing the corporate ladder. They seem to have achieved the goal of being "settled in life." I am nowhere...

This all started with a hospital visit a few weeks ago. I was unwell and far from my hometown. My local friends were out of town, and I had to go to the clinic by myself. We hear glorified narratives about doing things alone, enjoying our own company. I like my alone time, too. But those independent stories fall short when you are sick. It was an eye issue, so I could not even cry, which felt very ironic. I was terrified, but I kept making up reasons for my fear. I told myself I was afraid of the physical pain. I worried the doctor might judge me. But I was just in denial. The simple truth was that I did not want to be alone. I got better, but the thought stayed with me. Loneliness is usually very quiet. You can be lonely for days and feel fine as you go through your routine. But realizing it is a sudden hit. It happens in perfectly ordinary moments. It is cooking dinner and there’s no one to share the experience of how amazing the food smells or tastes. It is finishing a great movie o...

I was working on my friend’s birthday surprise with his sibling and I realized something. I rarely call the people I love by their actual names. I had to use his actual name so much while talking to his sibling, and it made me pause and try to remember the last time I actually called him by his official name. I’ve given people so many different nicknames over the years. Much like a list in Python, this collection is highly mutable. If you scroll through my phone, you won't find formal first and last names. Instead, you'll find a bunch of inside jokes. You will find words that make absolutely zero sense to anyone outside the tiny universe I share with that specific person. Of course, formal names are saved formally! (Why would I give a nickname to the family doctor or a distant relative?) And obviously, we all have nicknames for the people we dislike (again, a distant relative, an annoying acquaintance, etc.). You wouldn't necessarily save those in your phone, but you carry...

I was reading a blog by Weike Wang about  The Trouble with Friends .  I t brought me back to this quiet draft in my notes I’d been returning to, editing whenever I felt so. Reading her words pushed me to finally share mine.  Friendship has always been the most important thing in my life. Maybe even more than romantic love, honestly. Friendship feels foundational. Rooted. It has a depth, a warmth, a steadiness. It has so much to offer. Often, we have seen videos about types of friends. the caregiver, the chaotic one, the Google friend, the financer, etc. We shift through roles with time, people, and phases, but I think each of us has a core friendship personality . Mine has always been the therapist friend. The one people run to when they need to vent, seek a neutral space, or simply fall apart for a minute.  I’ve always had very few friends. Not because I don’t like people, I just rarely feel truly at ease with most. Growing up, my brother was my best friend...

I was sitting at my favourite spot that evening, doing what I usually do when I don’t want to rush my thoughts. Watching the sunset. Holding a cup of ginger tea. Folding paper, slowly, without any particular outcome in mind. That’s when this question came up. Too much or not enough? It felt familiar. Like something I had been circling for a while without naming. Somewhere between conversations, late-night thoughts, and the constant stream of advice online. Lately, everything seems to come with a label. A warning or may be some sort of excuse to avoid accountability.  Care openly and you’re clingy. Express affection and it’s cringe. Pull back and you’re detached. Ask for effort and it’s princess treatment. Accept less and it’s the bare minimum debate all over again. I see how this plays out in everyday moments. Like when your love language starts feeling like too much simply because the other person doesn’t value it the same way. What feels like care to you becomes excess to someone...