Late soo, jaldi utho gym jao and fir pure din lete raho.
2 Years later bhi yahi halat hai. Am i doing something wrong?

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Late soo, jaldi utho gym jao and fir pure din lete raho.
2 Years later bhi yahi halat hai. Am i doing something wrong?
Fyodor Dostoevsky
i learned how to paint just so i could paint you happy
I still hold the very first painting I made of you,
Kept it inside the same box for years, never to be opened,
Never to be looked at by anyone else except me.
It was made just for my eyes, like I thought you were made just for me.
You were my first muse, my love!
As I kid, I wanted to be a savior, trailblazer, the prophecy child. I wanted a big life, with ups and ups like the breasts of mountains and lows like the depths of valleys full of forgotten debris. I was convinced the great flood was knocking at my door, beckoning me to become someone bigger. A juvenile fantasy, a hazy dream.
I'm 19 now. It's not a grand big life, I'm no hero. I love my friends and sunday mornings. I like cats and strawberries. No flood, no rapture, no calamity- just quiet weekdays and sleepy weekends. But oh my days, I am full, finally.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned
folklore is getting a sister y'all
Sister to evermore hai, ye to Saakshat Shakespeare ki behan arhi hai
Kuch bhi kar lo bas Taylor swift ki good-bad list mai mat ana!
Your life will never be normal again and BTW I am not a part of “The Tortured Man Club” iykyk
I miss your tan skin,
Your sweet smile
So good to me , so right
And how you held me In your arms that
September night🍂🍁
The first time you ever saw me cry
Maybe this is wishful thinkin'
Probably mindless dreamin'
But if we loved again
I swear i'd love you right
~ Taylor Swift , Back to December❄️
Desi parents would never say "my kid has social anxiety" they always say "isko toh kisi se baat bhi nahi karni aati hai" .
Kya mtlb "Tere muh mai zabaan nhi hai kya"😫
Ab to meri maa ne bhi keh diya hai...
"Koi ho to bta dena"
Par unko kya pta mai to unke bharose baitha tha! Ab kya bolu?
Kya matlab 'life ke kis stage mein ho?'
Bhai mujhe stage se utar Diya Gaya hai, kharab acting ki wajah se
Aur mujhe toh upar aane ka mauka bhi nahi Mila 💀😭
Aur jabtak mai stage pe pahucha meri kismat ne "packup" bol diya.
I’ll sing your song to myself in Italy. Me too.
Whisper of the Heart (1995) dir. Yoshifumi Kondō
Someone asked "What are the signs of getting older?"
"When people you know are having kids intentionally not accidentally"
Bhai abhi umar hi kya hui hai, mai hi bacha hu abhi to
Dliwali ki safai, Diwali ane tak khatam nhi hoti.
Is it a marathon? Jabtak hai sans ?
Following is a post i came across on facebook and i thought i should share it here please read it...
TRIGGER WARNING: ABUSE, SEXUAL GROOMING
It has been a strange couple of days. A professor from an esteemed University in Calcutta was called out for sexual abuse and within 72 hours, another professor died by suicide. It is like just when the discourse of power being dangerous, and blind reverence toxic was taking the centerstage, it was hijacked by a sea of obits, outlining all the ways a man has changed the lives of countless students.
I must put this out as a disclaimer that I was not taught by him neither was I a student at xx. I’d like to believe he was every bit as good a teacher as so many people are professing. I was in xxxx University though and xxxx did teach me. So did a lot of professors who are still part of the present Xxxxxx University English department faculty. To say that the last couple of days have been triggering would be to put it too mildly. It has been a nightmare that has punctured my work, disrupted my sleep and peace of mind. Because, suddenly, what me and my friends would talk about in close quarters are out in the open.
I belong to the 2011-2014 batch of xxxx University. I also did my MA in English from there. Back when I studied, there was a professor who was every bit as cool and student-friendly we read about in book and watch in awe in movies. He would chat with us after class hours, have lunch and endless cups of cha with us, drop all filters and share stories of his personal life with us. He was a friend.
Over the course of my time at xxxxxx my friend and I became close to this professor. We would chat all the time, spend every weekend at his house. To us, he represented what we did not find in our parents and peers. He was liberal, eloquent, and possessed a morality which he himself had defined. He flamboyantly told us how he could - and had - sleep with any woman he wanted to. And we, in our early 20s, took it as a trademark of charm. For three years, he was one of the closest friends I had on campus. No topic was off-limits.
We remained friends till much later. I completed my post graduation from xxxx and relocated to Delhi. Later, in 2016 he met me in Delhi. At xxx, specifically. I was alone with him in a room and following a heartfelt conversation, he forcibly kissed me. At 24 then, my only defence was, “I have to leave.”
By then our association had run too deep. I knew he was ‘this’ person…”wicked, charming, flirtatious”. I convinced myself that he was just being himself and pushed it at the back of my head. He pretended it never happened, so did I.
Two years later, my friend and I recollected our time in college. We spoke about everything that had happened to us while we both changed cities. This was close on the heels of the #MeToo movement. By now we had a vocabulary for abuse, some recognition. We realised the professor had actually spent years grooming us, a terminology Indian educational sites neither talk about nor are familiar with. If you check online, the definition reads: “when someone builds a relationship, trust and emotional connection with a child or young person so they can manipulate, exploit and abuse them.” This is precisely what he had done.
I understand that whatever happened with me did when I was technically no longer his student. And, for argument’s sake, I was an adult. But abuse hits in retrospect and age is hardly a signifier of age. Imagine, an older, more powerful man slowly alienating you from others in your class, spending years convincing you that you are special enough to be his friend. That this lifestyle is conventional, rational. It is not. It took me many more years to admit to myself and the courage of someone else speaking up to write all this. I expect to achieve nothing out of this. I just want to sleep better knowing that I did my bit in sharing my experience and that those who are in the universities will be less naive than me and my friend was. Also, let me assure you he has done worse both on and off campus. But that is not my story to tell.
I don't know why I'm not shocked after reading this. A similar incident happened when I was in my final year of college. There was an event at our college, and some guest professors were invited. One of the professors conducted an art workshop that I had enrolled in. On the first day of the workshop, I saw him painting a landscape while I watched from a distance among other students. A few minutes later, he approached me and asked about myself, my interests, and my work. We talked for a while about art techniques and other topics. He had graduated from a highly reputable fine art institution in the country, which had been one of my dreams to study at. We instantly connected, and he appreciated my work a lot. He encouraged me to paint, even though it was my first time, and he taught me some techniques and gave me tips.
As I was busy painting, he continued to check on my progress, offering suggestions and guidance. During lunchtime, he invited me to have lunch with him. I politely declined, as I had plans with my friends, but he insisted. We went out and discussed art and other topics further. Then he started asking personal questions about where I lived, how I commuted to college, and how long it took me to get there, which I found odd.
He then mentioned that the college had assigned professors private rooms nearby and that he needed some help to carry some items. We went to the room, and he suggested I could rest there, but I declined. At this point, he began touching my hand in a strange way while handing me the items, which I tried to ignore. We carried the items and left the room. On the way, he told me that he would need more help from me the next morning before college started. I agreed to come early and help him sort his stuff. However, he insisted that I stay in his room, giving reasons like "It would be hard for you to come again in morning,help me and then go back again in the evening" ( isn't this how usually all colleges work? You come in morning and leave !)
A few hours later, he and some of his student's artwork was presented, and it was time to leave. I began packing my things, but he insisted that I stay for a few more minutes. I stayed for 30 minutes, and at this point, all the professors were focused on the artwork presentation. he kept on insisting me in the background he put his hand on my back and told me it would be fun .
I was about to inform my class professor about the situation when he pushed me back and told me to leave and then i left. I still don't undertstand what happend with me that day.
I may look calm but in my headphone I'm listening All to well on loop
Until... " You kept me like a secret, but i kept you like an oath"
"And you call me up again just to break me like a promise"😫
हुस्न-ए जाना कि तारीफ मुमकिन नहीं🤌♥️
If overloaded in cuteness has a face , it will look just like her
A quick pencil drawing from my end to capture the essence of this beauty🌻
@oyeevarnika loji apki sabki fav.
Corporate Majdoor💻 apni life ko aesthetic dikhate hue ✨
Suffering with Glamour >>> Suffering with Pain