SAFA

Today while I was scrolling through Twitter, one headline caught my attention “280 Indians die every day due to over speeding.” I paused for a moment, thinking it was exaggerated. But as I read on, the numbers hit me hard in 2023 alone, over speeding claimed 1,01,841 lives on Indian roads. That’s not just a number  it’s a collection of broken families, shattered dreams, and lives that ended far too soon. Just recently, another horrifying incident reminded us how fragile road safety truly is. In Chinnatekuru village, Kurnool district of Andhra Pradesh,  a private sleeper bus traveling from Hyderabad to Bengaluru collided with a motorcycle in the early hours of the morning. The motorcycle got trapped under the bus and was dragged for several meters before sparks ignited a fire. Within seconds, the bus turned into a fireball. Many passengers were asleep, and several didn’t survive. That tragedy could have been prevented. A moment’s speed, a second of negligence  and dozens o...

 My Dear blog – My Silent Therapist  There are days when my heart bleeds with anxiety, when even silence feels heavy. My under-eyes have turned darker, almost as if they carry the weight of sleepless nights and unspoken thoughts. My brain feels like a rock  burdened, still, and unmovable  while somewhere deep within, my heart keeps softly chanting the name of peace. Sometimes, I feel as though the world itself is an impostor. Not because people are cruel, but because my own situation blinds me to its beauty. My emotions swing between extremes  one moment I find comfort in Karl Marx’s ideas, and the next, I’m lost in the maze of existential questions. It’s as if the world is wrapped in despair, and I’m walking through it without a map. There are moments when I see myself in Sylvia Plath  her silence, her struggle, her search for meaning. Certain thoughts make my mind infertile, while others drain me completely. At times, I genuinely feel like I’m not meant f...

Alarm off, still in bed, Brain on snooze, thoughts half-dead. Phone in hand, scroll and scroll, Memes hit different, filling the hole. Coffee cold, playlist on shuffle, Time’s moving like a broken kerfuffle. Chats ping, but replies take a while, Mood: 0%, still kinda in denial. Sun creeping in, slow and lazy, World outside looks kinda hazy. Snacks on deck, hoodie game strong, Hours pass, like “was that a day or a song?” No plans, no stress, just vibin’ low, Weekend energy: slo-mo flow. Maybe nap, maybe Netflix binge, Life’s a blur on this weekend hinge.

We live in a world where people romanticize “giving your all.” They glorify the idea of fighting for someone, holding on, and pouring every drop of love and effort into a bond. But here’s the harsh truth: effort only matters when it lands in the right heart.Otherwise, it’s just noise in someone else’s background. If you’ve ever felt like your love, care, or loyalty didn’t matter to someone, then you’ve already walked a little in the shoes of Jay Gatsby the dazzling dreamer of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. Gatsby: The Man Who Tried Too Hard Jay Gatsby was the guy who gave everything his time, his dreams, his entire identity  for one woman: Daisy Buchanan. He built empires not for power, but for love. He threw the most glamorous parties, not because he loved the crowd, but because he was waiting for one face to walk through the door. Every move he made was stitched with hope. Every night was painted with the same dream. Every star, he thought, would lead back to Daisy. But ...

Some novels you read. But some… swallow you whole. László Krasznahorkai ’s stories belong to that second kind  the kind that don’t knock politely but drag you into their storm. With the world celebrating his Nobel Prize in Literature 2025 , the buzz isn’t just about the man it’s about the magic (and madness) of his novels. And honestly? There’s something deeply special about the way his words breathe. 1. He doesn’t just write stories… he builds storms. Most novels have chapters, pauses, clean breaks  a safe rhythm. Krasznahorkai? He throws that rulebook out. His sentences are long, winding, breathless like thoughts that refuse to end. When you read him, you don’t just turn pages; you walk through fog. His language feels like time stretching, pulling you deeper into the world he’s created. Take Satantango for instance. The entire story unfolds like a slow, dark dance in a dying Hungarian village . There’s no rush. No neat arcs. Just people drifting through decay and yet, the b...

  I went to Chitlapakkam Lake recently, and honestly, it was one of those days that just stays in your mind. The clouds were heavy, hinting at rain, like they were quietly rehearsing a show. And then it started raining. The water moved in perfect rhythm, almost like it had been trained in the Indian Army calm, precise, yet full of life. I was sitting there, hot vaddas in hand , just staring at the lake. Time slowed. It felt like a gentle escape from reality. That’s when I thought of Cosmic Renaissance  a term I just made up in my head. For me, it means those moments when the world pauses, and everything ordinary suddenly feels alive and full of meaning. Moments where nature, thoughts, and feelings align perfectly. As I watched, I imagined Wordsworth sitting beside me , saying something like, “The simplest scenes can awaken the soul.” It felt a little like Romanticism the idea that nature can reflect and elevate your emotions. And maybe a touch of Ecocriticism , because the la...