Origami Around
izzy's playlists!
YOU ARE THE REASON
occasionally subtle
todays bird
NASA
@theartofmadeline
Sade Olutola
Noah Kahan
RMH
No title available
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
No title available
KIROKAZE
if i look back, i am lost
h
oozey mess
gracie abrams
Cosmic Funnies
Discoholic ๐ชฉ
seen from Vietnam
seen from Tรผrkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Israel
seen from Russia
seen from Thailand
seen from Malaysia
seen from Ukraine
seen from Singapore
seen from Tรผrkiye
seen from Venezuela
seen from Peru
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Switzerland
seen from Malaysia
@krsnaradhika
โyouโre in the wind, iโm in the water,
nobodyโs son, nobodyโs daughterโ
๐๐๐๐๐๐ หโงหยฐ๐ชท๐ฆข โ๏ฝกห
๐๐ต๐ฒ/๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ. ๐ป๐ถ๐ป๐ฒ๐๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ป.
๐ธ๐ฟ๐ถ๐๐ต๐ป๐ฎโ๐ ๐น๐ผ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฎ๐ผ๐ ๐บ๐ฎ๐ด๐ป๐ฒ๐.
๐ฌ๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ฆ๐๐ฌ, ๐ข ๐ฐ๐ซ๐ข๐ญ๐ โงโห๐๏ธโฉ
๐ From Vision to Orbit: India's Private Space Revolution Has Lifted Off! ๐ฎ๐ณ โจ๏ธโจ๏ธ๐๐ฅณ
100% Designed in India.
100% Manufactured in India.
A historic day for India's private space industry as the country's first-ever private sector orbital launch has been successfully completed.
India has become the 3rd country in the world whose private company rocket successfully reached orbit.
Rahul Gandhi repeatedly criticized PM Modi's Atmanirbhar Bharat Mission, but his vision helped pave the way for India's private space industry to achieve this historic milestone...
encouraged by @starryy-berryy to post :P
I've written and published chapter 3 and 4 of Bewitchery on Wattpad. But I'm lazy to post them here lmao. Gimme a day or two.
Was Aakarshika from adrika avyuktan mortal ? The book was so interesting but couldn't get the entire plot and storyline is it unpublished now?
It is unpublished, yes, as I've stepped back from the collab. She's not entirely mortal I believe, something like Vedavati who was Shri but led a life unconventional than the other incarnations. But I could be wrong as ideas constantly evolve and the original idea wasn't mine.
If you believe in it, spread this anon ask around, or answer this ask by telling your own opinion about it
โI stand with Sonam Wangchukโ
I stand with Sonam Wangchuk for he's speaking up against the rotten education system. Dharmendra Pradhan should be held accountable for his failure AND the left and right need to team up to hunt down all the corrupt people in the system.
I, however, do not stand with the CJP as they're allied with anti-nationals and have lost the plot midway. Wdym you're bringing Allah and Shri Rama into this protest. Wdym Suzanna Arundhati Roy, one of the well-wishers of the terrorist Yakub Memon are in your protest. Why is the tukde tukde gang there. Also why is everyone including Abhijeet Dipke having a feast there while Sonam Wangchuk cannot sleep due to starvation. WHY ARE PEOPLE PUTTING UP A STAGE TO DANCE. Are we fr?
Just a head's up to my readers. I won't be making a master list of my fic Bewitchery. Just click the tag and you'll find it. And if you want me to tag me to a specific chapter, let me know. Also if you want to be in a tag list of sorts, something I think I'll do, let me know that too.
xoxo
To my fellow Indians: reclaim your culture and history. The term "South Asians" is often used by Europeans and Americans to lump Indians, Pakistanis, and other South Asian nations together, but it's not our duty to simplify their understanding. Their prejudice and ignorance are not our concern.
Not all aspects of our culture are South Asian, and before the world labels it as Such and erases our Indian heritage, we must stand up for it. Our culture has been dehumanised, appropriated, and renamed- it's vital to reclaim it before it's lost.
Since Pakistanis and Bangladeshis have identity issues, but when it comes to claiming Indian culture, they suddenly claim our similarities despite religious differences. Keep your small South Asian community to yourself. As an Indian, I'd rather not be part of it. And don't try to argue that India is in South Asia- don't pull that with me. I refuse to identify as South Asian, and I encourage all Indians to do the same.
02 | Bibbidy - Bobbidy - Boo!
GLITTER IN THE AIR, FLOATING THROUGH THE APARTMENT โ A SYLPH WITH WINGS, โTWAS MARINE BLUE AND PINK. On its own it wouldโve been powerless, but with otherwise human mediums too all it contributed to the world was a pinch of mischief and goodness.
Sometimes Ira would reverse a burnt pot of milk. A tear of a fabric. A missed rickshaw needed in the eleventh hour. She had heard of a bridge collapsing moments after a bus sped past it, held together by someoneโs ability to notice the tiniest of crevices. Sometimes it was the internet working in no tower zones to send an acute message across the globe.
It was impossible for magic to be morally evil, it was just how the norms of it worked. Humans were perfectly capable of cataclysm on their own. A better name for human mediums was witches, and if it were a man, he was called a he-witch.
Ira smiled, lopsided with a curious gaze, as it gave just a touch of wonder to everything humdrum. Everything in her apartment was alive, sometimes in a literal sense, but on a regular day too anyone could tell the inhabitant was one of the few. Some called them charlatans, some believed, but anyway they were all harmless. A witch could have a divine patron spiritually, but mortally they made little difference . . . unless the butterfly or ripple effect were to be strategised with.
Nevertheless, someone else could worry about it. Ira was preoccupied ruminating on a way to outsmart it for now, since she did not have world domination to plan. She could hardly stand a whole day of public exposure โ imagine having minions to engage all the time!
Nightmarish.
โIf you donโt halt the passive aggressiveness, Iโm not heeding you,โ she mumbled, distractedly chewing on the back of her pen. Shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and belt unbuckled but unremoved, Dr. Ira Kaushik slouched on her chair with the ancient exhaustion of an academic who was now mistaking one phonetic sign for another, and forgetting bars and emphasis every so often. Dr. DโSilva from her undergrad years would have failed her and made a sharp dry jest of it before the whole batch. None wouldโve laughed, but itโd sting the entire time. He was never ill-meaning, which wouldโve festered it further.
Insulted by his ghost lingering in her own mindโs eye, she glimpsed sheepishly at Maya from her periphery. The latter seemed thoroughly at home, moonlight spilled on silk, leafing through a book of Greek and Roman myths from Iraโs mini library while sipping on mint mojito. Her jet black leather jacket rested with Iraโs formal blazer.
Then a markerโs lid flew across the room and something screeched, just mildly so.
The dialogue on the whiteboard read, โIโm not messing with your mind. Go, eat some real food. You have to stand the world, and me. Snacks donโt count.โ
How very helpful, darling spirit.
So she petulantly marched to the kitchen, begrudgingly put the soyabean rice and raita in her plate even though she would love every morsel of it and had for the past two decades, served Maya some and brought it to the hall room again. She wouldnโt have, if the rumble of her stomach hadnโt threatened to embarrass her and the bridge of her nose didnโt sting, too aware of the clips of her powered glasses out of the blue, the air biting.
Maya sprang to life from her previous esoteric meditation and received her share with much enthusiasm.
One would think the professor from the fashion department would have magazines to author and model in, conduct lectures while looking like the textbook definition of chic, occupy her atelier for hours designing clothes with no functional use (โFor the aesthetic of it, my girl. Not everything has to be practical.โ) โ and Maya did, she did have places to be. However, lounging around alongside Ira in her enchanted apartment was much preferable.
Mayaโs spidey senses tingled, light brown eyes darting between the white board and its owner. She raised her spoon. โWhatโs it raving about now?โ
โMy . . . dishonesty. Or so it says. You know how much it cares about the moral compass of its medium.โ
Sagely nod. That checks out. โWhat did you do?โ
Ira made a face, teetering over the edge of a very gooey puddle with the cheek of a gremlin.
Maya deadpanned, setting her plate aside. โGirl.โ
Oh, so she was on her back too now.
โEat. Or Iโm telling Aunt Yashoda.โ
Maya picked her property back really slowly, gaze narrowed, muttering exasperatedly about socially half sequestered unscrupulous witches sheโd befriended long ago without wholly knowing their questionable daily life. โBlackmailer.โ
Maya was no witch. That superhuman part of her brain had been scratched in her past life. Now she was into no divine shenanigans, at least for a while.
Ira lackadaisically chewed, legs stretched before her and sight beyond the palladian windows, steadied over the monsoon clouds reigning Vadodaraโs skies. Her mother was down there in the bakery cafe theyโd inaugurated not three summers ago, and it being Saturday, Agastya (or Oggy as she called him, that tom cat) was assisting her with it along with the teenagers who worked there part time. The Daily Drizzle was a small, cosy place with brown interiors and aureate lamps โ the aroma of fresh loaves of bread and whipped cream scenting its ambience. Much of the young adult crowd flocked there due to Nutanโs sweetness and the tranquility the bakery cafe housed.
Maya crossed her limbs, leaning ahead. The weakest of sunlight caught her wheatish skin, dark golden and ethereal, as her pulchritudinous curls held their spring. To Ira, sheโd been an inspiration to write โ about unexpected arrivals and their magnanimity. โTell me what happens if you donโt eat like the magic says,โ she inquired. Ira had disobeyed the force, and she would, they behaved like a bickering old couple. Why then, had she now obliged with no ifs and buts?
The witch did that clumsy shake of her head again, the kind she did when she dodged around an uneasy topic of discourse. โIโll let you know later.โ She swallowed, downing half a glass of water.
โSure, but only if you wish to,โ said Maya gently, her protective concern and suspicion weathering into more trust. There was enough chaos in the world already, they didnโt need to add to the otherโs.
A warm smile bloomed on Iraโs milky countenance as she briefly inclined her head to the side.
~ ยฐ ~ ยฐ ~
โBIBBIDY-BOBBIDY-BOO!โ
If the lunch hadnโt dispersed the cloud of disorientation from her eyes, Ira wouldnโt have turned to glare at her brother with Medusa-level vexation. Face splitting into the grin of a Cheshire cat with the beard on his face making him resemble a balding coconut, Agastya welcomed her with the usual sibling rituals, uncaring of the public situation, even as the bakery cafe employees muffled their giggles at the monkey business. From the reception, Nutan waved at the girls.
โHi, Maya Didi! Your bronze eyeshadow looks really pretty.โ Agastya stood to his height again as he was crouching half-way before, 5โ8 feet of unseriousness around 25 years old, two fingers gesturing at his own eyelids. The other hand held a laptop, while headphones hung around his nape.
Maya returned his ridiculous amusement, โWhy, thank you.โ -then smacked Ira on the arm with some remembrance- โSee, you didnโt catch I got a new palette. He did. Such a sweet boy. Ira, do you even love me anymore?โ
The said woman, unimpressed, peered into her book again. Jean-Paul Sartre stared back, lecturing about how humans exist first and must then actively define their own meaning, their purpose. She nodded imperceptibly. Would the humanist Sartre believe some of his beloved humans chose to be defined by annoyance for the sake of it?
โYes, the same way he believes some choose to be wet blankets. Like yourself,โ was the prompt thought. Now her own mind was being positioned against herself. No one was on her side.
Belatedly, she caught on that it had been the notorious sylph.
โOf course heโd be noticing make-up now. You didnโt tell me you have a girlfriend you are serious about, tom cat.โ The ripple effect had led to Ira remembering this new piece of information brought to her the previous eventide, and smacking Oggy on the back of his head with the speed and steadfastness of light, dutiful and righteous. He unnecessarily fell back on the free chair between them with a theatrical wince.
โItโs not my fault you donโt get out of your apartment other than your office hours.โ Agastya impishly shrugged, as his elder sister slid a plate of peeled lychees in his direction. His face immediately lit up, voltage skyrocketing, as he put one in his mouth. On the leftmost side, his friends had gathered around alongside Rishika, the one yet to be introduced to Ira alone amongst the family, while their father patiently established rapport with the youngsters.
Gautam Kaushik always had been a social butterfly. It didnโt matter which age group he was introduced to, he had the ability to mingle well. His sixties had made him somewhat closed off and cranky, so if Iraโs pattern recognition was without fault, it was only Rishika he was judging to determine if she and Agastya would fit the ideal couple image youngsters must embody to keep the culture pristine and preserved (Ira could not decrypt what that meant, neither could Agastya, since most of what Gautam claimed to cherish were colonial notions masquerading as traditions, not Hindu in spirit). But he knew his son โ a spitting image of his own personality in many ways, and that was enough.
With a modicum of a jumpscare, Ira found herself being the observation subject of her father. Rishika maneuvered her way to Nutan with a new recipe in hand; Agastya followed.
โWouldnโt marry before you do, that boy.โ
Well Mom, itโs a bit of a sad situation here, because guess who refuses to perform under pressure?
Ira, who, long before wouldโve torn her gaze away and escaped, did not even move a muscle.
Only two people remained in the room. Gautam and Ira. Gunpowder and Match.
Victor Frankenstein and his creature.
~ ยฐ ~ ยฐ ~
01 | Mother Knows Best.
IT IS A TRUTH UNIVERSALLY ACKNOWLEDGED THAT A SINGLE WOMAN IN POSSESSION OF HERSELF, shall be repeatedly hounded by societal and familial questions regarding this hyper specific life-altering occasion hovering everyday life like a grumbling phantom. You know, the one.
For Ira, there were no exceptions.
The black analog clock on the wall had a purple sheen, sheโd never known. Not had she realized when the third cup of coffee this day had gone cold. The sun here in Gujarat was immaculate in his gilded splendour, even as he retired to his own abode, orange and red (yes, too similar to a ripe kapuri mango. Who could even blame Lord Hanumana?)
โโyes, yes! I keep telling her. Not all men are like that. In fact, neither her father nor I have had issues with love marriage either,โ Her mother with her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, was prancing around the living room with the vivacity that had lacked in her youth. Nutan was grateful, and thoroughly fortunate, for the privacy she had so coveted since forever, without the chatter of a humongous Indian family directing her every move. No men with weaponizing incompetence sprawled around now. That had come with Ira, her eldest one.
โWise men say . . . only fools rush in,โ hummed Ira, partly a soliloquy and partly to her mother. Except this was no rushing. She was almost into her blissful middle age now, only three more years to tick off. โBut I canโt help falling in love with you,โ she sang, a lilt in her voice, a teasing even as she advanced an arm towards Nutan who avoided it with the grace of a peacock and swaggered away.
Ira promptly retrieved her hand and dramatically put it on her heart. โOuch! How very unaffectionate, Mother. You wound me.โ
โShe hasnโt brought a single boy home. No- not a date or even a mention! God knows what she is to do with all her life ahead alone, Bhabhi. Didnโt your two angels find their princes charming? She would too, if she were to put in the effort.โ In this humble span of an hour long call, Nutan had managed to dust the dining table and arrange the kitchen spice boxes to her liking, scrutinize all the new ostentatious hardcovers on her daughterโs spruce oakwood table, estimated the price of the new fairy lights dangling the gargantuan bookshelves, and shoot her daughter at least forty-seven different flavours of mom stares. Ira distinguished a few (five stages of grief to be precise), then quietly brushed off the rest.
The woman had put plenty of effort already. Especially today. As soon as she was out of the University, she had scuttled to the house in a beeline. Changed into her maroon satin PJs. Flopped herself on the sofa and surfed the internet on her laptop in search of a new murder documentary her best friend had suggested on their last day out. She was wine pooled into golden brown chalice, liquid and wayward. Not to mention, she had also bought healthy baked snacks and laid them out beside her so Mama Kaushik could pick some in her trance and she wouldnโt have to move a muscle anymore. Extra classes today. Her third year undergrad students, such knaves! Wouldnโt shut up. And she, who had a naturally low voice, had to nearly shout the entire time to address all thirty-five of them, get them to comprehend the introduction of phonetic transcriptions. Sheโd been such an obedient thing back in her days, unlike them. Physically incapable of 7 am classes, but morally punctual.
Now sheโd have to prepare a report of the two hours and send it to the department head at the earliest too. Her momโs cold stares had frozen her evening coffee.
The call ceased somewhere between the swirl of deliciously bitter dark chocolate in her mouth and the strike of temple bells nearby, dusk dark blue and silver. Once in a while, preteen kids would snicker and scream playing cricket. The day had been fairly serene, the usual. No change, no discomfort. The Mrs. and Ms. Kaushik residence thrived on predictability.
โHo gaya?โ Audaciously, she lifted an arched brow and looked above the doomed screen to glance at Nutan. The sun could have been dimmed through her glasses, but not her mother. She glowered. โMami needs to worry about her youngest now. Heโs only a few years behind me. I know she means no harm but seriously, this topic of conversation has begun to rot. Worse, I see fungi bubbling on it.โ And truly, her Aunt was a kind, sweet lady; if only a little nosy and gossipy like all aunts. Ira had managed to scandalize all her fatherโs side of nefarious relatives and half of her motherโs with her lifestyle. Fortunately no major family unions would happen for everyone to meet and conspire against her dear peace, but this thing called cell phone needed to bugger off.
Nutan took her seat on the couch, with all the dignity of a queen-mother entrusting the weight of legacy on her heir, engendering a more lady-like posture as Ira snapped the laptop shut (lie, she did it most tenderly. One doesnโt even handle bone china with such care). The sixty-one year old countenance of her mother had aged a few more years in this one hour, trepidation in the downturn of her lips and the slump of her shoulders. Nutan would never wish a life like hers for anyone, let alone Ira, who stood at the exact opposite end of this spectrum with her mien. Sure, Nutan was once as spirited if not more โ Ira, however, would rather break than bend any further.
โBhabhiโs son has a girlfriend. When I was your age, you were already three. And such a sweet child, you never gave me any trouble, if only too many curious questions to answer. But then you grew up to be so quiet and wise. Youโre doing it now- the troubling,โ she said, with a tenderness only she could muster. I donโt want you to be alone, donโt you understand? I wonโt be here too long and you have already been too picky with your choice of company.
Ira chuckled perfunctorily, willing the awkwardness away but who was she fooling? She was the very embodiment of it. โAgastya did. He even committed my share of shenanigans for you to dote over.โ
โHe too has a beloved. Iโve seen her, so much like him. Wonโt marry before you do, that boy. Seriously, think of it now, child. Not as a compulsion or a bondage, but like every accomplishment youโve owned anyway. A milestone, a celebration. To have someone worthy to love, to let someone love you.โ Nutan had now taken Iraโs slim hands in hers, and only now the latter seemed to have realized how wrinkly and paper thin the formerโs were โ as opposed to the mildly calloused ones that had once braided her dense tenacious hair. She had smooth ones, one of her motherโs sparse genetic contributions to her looks apart from her almond eyes and straight nose. Most of her looked like her father.
Something in the touch made her wish she could shrink and retreat into herself, unobtrusive to the common eye. Nothing to see, just a woman. Ordinary Ira, self sufficient and busy.
It seemed, however, that there was no escaping it today.
Ira took a deep breath in, โIf-โ
โWhen.โ
She sighed, defeated, โWhen I find someone, or you do for me, Iโll try and if it works it works. Once. If not, we shall never be extending this discursion. Hmm?โ
Nutan had that wet, soft sort of look that wounded animals do, โBut youโll genuinely try before giving up, promise?โ
โPromise.โ
~ ยฐ ~ ยฐ ~
โ-LET SOMEONE LOVE YOU.โ
The coffee mug warm in her hands again, her feet dangling against her bed, Ira would admit: that she had grown to find loneliness safe. The predictability. The fairly huge apartment. Her degree choices. The tedious routine and job of an associate professor at a prestigious university, fostering young minds to believe in themselves and subsequently, in goodness and reason. Especially in a time wherein intellectualism rapidly declined, capitalism fed on their very souls, and everything became relative โ even literature (post-modernism, you see? Lacked substance). Safe was her room, crowded with everything and everyone she had ever loved โ whimsical floral lamps, a small dollhouse she had never asked for as a child, a family picture frame, a candid polaroid of her best friend, Maya, stuck at the frame over her study table, some dried red roses from the temple in a delicate glass vase. A few suspicious looking crystals (glowing blue, third time this week) with scented candles (picking scents on their own, so it was earthy musk today), and a lone resin bust frame of a smug-looking goddess.
She screwed her eyes shut. โNo. Go away.โ
The paraphernalia alive fizzed out, taking the flicker of fairy lights with itself.
The last daring thing sheโd committed to was her doctorate. Rest, even the heavens wouldnโt be able to bribe her into another degree. Or another habitation. Another place to call home. That would mean starting something anew. A tentative reinvention of Iraโs concept of safety, with no assurance of everything falling perfectly together ever again. This initiative of her mother carried no such promise either.
Let alone a person.
Only that sheโll grow to like it. Sheโll learn to find it beautiful. Things change, my child. Change is inevitable, and uncomfortable. You understand everything, donโt you? Why be so headstrong now?
But she could not let anyone have so much agency over herself.
This godforsaken living-breathing force called magic froze her coffee again.
๐ฏ๐ โ ๐ฉ๐ฌ๐พ๐ฐ๐ป๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ๐น๐ โ
Ira Kaushik -- a 32 year old witch breezing through life with the placidity of a lotus pad atop a moss covered pond -- welcomes a charming stranger -- a beam of sunshine, as soon as her anxious parents look for an eligible bridegroom for her.
The catch? Ira knows he has a motto. Her parents don't. So while she's busy and too grown for a cat and mouse game, this might be her final way out of the marriage market.
Too bad, the charming stranger in question has motivations beyond her knowing.
Hey pardon for the disturbance i figured out your account a while ago i wanted to ask you about what back up career options you had decided while taking literature? I am a sci student but I am horribly bad at maths.
I was thinking to go for literature but I don't really know about back up options
Dw. You can go for mass communications after your bachelor's degree to be in digital/ print media, or you can go for a master's and appear for any competitive exam such as net/set/jrf if you want to be in higher academics and research. Or get a b.ed after your master's and be a high school teacher. Or teach online. Or go for law. Or you could work in publishing as editor/copywriter/copyeditor/writer. Or get a celta course so you teach English to people looking out to go to other countries. Or go for language instead of literature โ linguists also appear majorly in academics and/ or research or now train AI, also are speech-language pathologists. All these require skills in language. If you have the option to, opt for psychology as a minor so you can pivot to it too. My friend majoring in geography will be competing for a forest officer's job, my other friend in economics wants to be in finance. Translators exist too, so you may have to learn a foreign language other than English too. Other than that, look up paralegals and technical writers.
Most importantly, seek a career counselor. People on the internet will not replace them.
I want people to read my book but also, I don't want people to read my book. Does that make sense. Ts is scary. I want to publish it so bad somewhere but also what if it's actually nice so something more professional would seem good. But also what if it's embarrassing. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
*drumrolls*
I'M DONE WITH THIS RE-WRITE!
now I'll be planning that other cutie thing in my (mental) drafts.
Call me a victorian child with how often i get sick
Twin.
Mumbai just witnessed the first rains and guess who already has a temperature and inexplicable fatigue. Lmao.
Ahh itโs been raining here too since last night, I danced in the first rain last night and I am scared to be sick now lol
I didn't even go out in the rain. Yikes. This could also be my dust allergy so heh. Anyway, this place was boiling so we deffo needed the showers.
Ainโt no way! I have a dust allergy too :3
Twins fr hehe :3
Call me a victorian child with how often i get sick
Twin.
Mumbai just witnessed the first rains and guess who already has a temperature and inexplicable fatigue. Lmao.
Ahh itโs been raining here too since last night, I danced in the first rain last night and I am scared to be sick now lol
I didn't even go out in the rain. Yikes. This could also be my dust allergy so heh. Anyway, this place was boiling so we deffo needed the showers.
Call me a victorian child with how often i get sick
Twin.
Mumbai just witnessed the first rains and guess who already has a temperature and inexplicable fatigue. Lmao.
