Some people are seasons. And seasons are not failures just because they end.
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@aaja-pia-tohe-pyaar-du
Some people are seasons. And seasons are not failures just because they end.
I am actually furious right now, and my blood is absolutely boiling. I just heard someone talk about Sonam Wangchuk, and the sheer, unadulterated ignorance that came out of her mouth left me stunned. She literally said, "Iska sahi hai, weight loss bhi ho gaya and famous bhi."
Are you actually kidding me? The level of privilege, stupidity, and disconnect required to reduce a man's agonizing, life-threatening sacrifice to a "weight loss trend" and "clout-chasing" is mind-boggling.
Let's get one thing straight:
Sonam Wangchuk had **absolutely zero need** to go through that kind of intense physical pain just to get famous. He was already a household name and a highly celebrated global figure decades before this.
For the uneducated and the willfully ignorant, let me spell out exactly who he is:
A Visionary Engineer & Educator: He is the man who revolutionized education in Ladakh through SECMOL (Student's Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh), giving a future to thousands of students who were failed by a rigid system.
The Global icon :He won the prestigious Ramon Magsaysay Award also called Asia's Nobel Prize and the Global Award for Sustainable Architecture. His life and innovations literally inspired the character of 'Phunsukh Wangdu' in the movie 3 Idiots. He didn't need a hunger strike for fame; he already had it globally.
An Eco-Pioneer: He invented the Ice Stupa; artificial glaciers that store winter water to solve the massive water crisis for Ladakhi farmers in the spring.
He didn't do any of this for likes, views, or a slim waistline. He did it because he loves his homeland.
And what did he sacrifice? He put his own body on the line. He went on a grueling climate fast, today literally marks the 19th day, surviving only on water and salt. He literally pushed his internal organs to the brink of failure. He willingly chose to suffer immense physical trauma, not for himself, but to protect the fragile ecology of Ladakh, safeguard its indigenous culture, and demand the constitutional rights promised to his people under the Sixth Schedule.
To look at a man starving himself to death for his country and his people, and to dismiss it as a "clout-chasing diet plan," is disgusting.
If you are too lazy or too entitled to do a simple, five-second Google search to understand the gravity of a situation, do the rest of the world a favor: shut up. If you can't stand up for a cause, the absolute bare minimum you can do is show some basic human decency and respect for the people who actually have the courage to do so.
The moon was a brilliant raconteur
It's strange how a simple cloth can remind you of a bad or a good day.
A dress remembers the weight of an ordinary disaster,
the kind that doesn't scream
but stays with you.
So I never wear it again,
as if fabric can be blamed
for the way the day folded into itself.
But a scarf that once lived through a good moment
becomes familiar, dependable.
I wear it again and again,
letting it brush against my neck
like proof that something went right, once.
It’s strange;
how we let cloth carry our memories,
how we trust soft things
with the sharpest feelings.
I read somewhere that the emotion you keep running from is the one that sets you free.
And I keep wondering; what if that’s true?
What if the thing I spend all my strength trying to bury is the very thing that could save me?
The fear of being seen exactly as I am.
Too sensitive. Too emotional. Too much.
A fool who feels everything too deeply and carries it like a bruise no one can see.
If I let it spill, if I stop swallowing it whole and finally speak, would it set me free?
Would it break these iron cages of anxiety that keep tightening around me?
Would it stop this trembling in my bones, this constant shaking like my body is always bracing for something terrible?
Would it quiet the ache in me that only wants to go home; to crawl back into my mother's arms and hide there until the world feels less sharp?
तेरी उल्फ़त में जीता हर पल तू इक तोहफ़ा है खुदा का
तुझे पा के जवाब मिला है असल तू है वो सवाल खुदा का
How sad is it to be wrapped in love from every side and still feel like a stranger to yourself; unseen, unchosen, unpretty?
How sad is it to be held up by every hand that matters and still feel like you’re falling short of the ground you stand on?
How sad is it to hear “I love you” in every possible voice and still translate it into silence inside your chest?
How sad is it to have everything you were told would make you happy and still feel something hollow where happiness was supposed to live?
How sad is it to find your feelings echoed in every book you open but never have the time, or stillness, to let them settle in your bones?
And how sad is it that even in stories made of ink and hope some hearts don’t get the endings they deserved?
I hear you in the lyrics of my favourite song.
Teach me how to love you properly.
Teach me the little things; the way your voice changes when you're tired, the kind of silence that means "stay" and the kind that means "give me space."
Tell me how to make your bad days softer.
Tell me if you want solutions or just someone to listen.
Tell me if you like being held when you're upset, or if you need a few quiet minutes before letting anyone in.
Teach me how to comfort you without making you ask for it.
Tell me what makes you feel cared for; late night calls, forehead kisses, checking if you ate, sitting beside you in silence, stupid jokes to make you laugh, or simply reminding you that you're loved.
I want to know the version of you that the world doesn't see.
The one that overthinks at 2am, the one that gets distant when hurt, the one that pretends to be okay even when everything feels heavy.
Tell me how to love you in your language.
Not just when you're easy to love, but when you're quiet, angry, exhausted, insecure, or scared.
Teach me how to make you feel safe with me.
How to make you feel chosen.
How to make sure you never feel alone, even on the days when you push everyone away.
And if I ever love you wrong, promise you'll tell me. Because I don't want to love you carelessly. I want to love you in the way you deserve to be loved.
I'm jealous of people who grew up in homes where love was loud.
Where affection didn't have to lower its voice or look over its shoulder. Where it lived in the open; easy, abundant, unquestioned. The kind of love you didn’t have to earn or interpret…..just receive.
I grew up in an affectionate home too. But ours came in fragments.
In softened gestures.
In pauses.
In almosts.
Love was there; of course it was there. Just….quieter.
Folded into small acts instead of spoken out loud. Hidden in responsibilities, in routines, in things done rather than said. It existed, but never fully took up space. Never all at once.
And sometimes I wonder what it would have felt like to grow up inside a love that didn’t hold back.
A love that filled the room without hesitation so much that you never had to question if it was there.
Sunsets and unwritten poems
And i will carry your name like the flower pressed preciously between the pages of my favourite book
And I've mastered the art of looking untouched.
A calm face, steady voice, eyes that don't tremble anymore.
As if nothing ever reaches me.
As if nothing ever lingers.
No one must know how loud it gets inside my head;
how thoughts crash into each other like restless waves,
how every silence I keep is stitched with things I'll never say.
I've learned to smile at the right moments,
nod when expected,
laugh softly, never too much.
Because the truth is not meant for open air.
It lives behind ribs and clenched jaws.
And I guard it carefully.
For no one should ever know
how heavy a quiet mind can be.
Give me yellow roses to remind me that our friendship truly means something. Hand me red camellias when your love is deep and certain. Let white lilies be your way of saying sorry when the words don’t come easily. Give me sunflowers on the days I forget how to look for the light. Send me lavender when you want me to feel at peace, and daisies when you just want to share a simple, happy moment. If your love ever grows beyond words, bring me orchids; rare, delicate, and impossible to forget. Slip forget-me-nots into my hands when you’re afraid time and distance will pull us apart, and violets when you admire me but can’t quite say it out loud. Give me gardenias when you see something pure in me, and chrysanthemums when you just want to say thank you. If sadness ever weighs on me, bring me blue hydrangeas so I don’t have to carry it alone. And if love is meant to be gentle, unspoken, yet everlasting, give me white roses;quiet, pure, and filled with promises. And when all is said and done, leave jasmine at my door; a quiet promise that no matter what, love will always find its way back.
Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full dazzling...
Is this a side blog???
Yes