Every year, Mumbai greets the first spell of rain like a long-distance partner returning home after months away. We make plans, fry pakoras, sit by the window and forget every inconvenience… until the honeymoon ends a few weeks later.
We grew up believing fitness meant being thin. Somewhere between weighing scales, fad diets and society’s expectations, many of us forgot that health is far more than a number. This is the year I stopped measuring fitness by the scale.
We spend years falling in love with who people could become instead of who they already are. Somewhere between hope and compromise, we stop trusting what people consistently show us. This is the year I stopped chasing potential and started believing patterns.
Mumbai teaches you to live outside your home. In your twenties, home is a pitstop between parties, bad decisions and late-night food runs. In your thirties, it starts becoming somewhere worth returning to. And by your forties, somewhere between the promotions, heartbreaks and Blinkit deliveries, you realise the place you’ve spent years looking for across the city was quietly waiting for you at home all along.
Many of us have two best friends in life: the one who knew us before life happened to us, and the one who met us after. A reflection on adult friendships, shared exhaustion, accidental support groups, and the people who somehow know exactly what you mean when you say, “I’m tired.”
You’re old enough to be called Maasi, young enough to be offended by it and somehow still expected to date. Welcome to the hilarious reality of dating at 40.
Most Indians grow up believing happiness comes after achievement — good grades, a stable career, marriage, financial security. Especially for women, adulthood can begin to feel like an endless series of milestones to chase. This essay explores comparison culture, modern Indian womanhood, and why learning to enjoy ordinary life may matter more than constantly preparing for the next achievement.