For Her
Appearance doesn't matter,
But a kind heart does.
Unwanted attention? No.
A true shoulder to lean on — yes.
Fake concerns don’t move her,
But sincere words always will.

Yes —
She may seem strange to you,
Because you can't decipher her soul.
She’s a rare gem
Amid all the world’s noisy pleasures...
She shines brightest
In the quiet kingdom of her own world.

Giving fake smiles...
Hiding pain infront of family...
Confusion of what to share and what to hide...
Fear of perspective changes...
Fed up with sympathy around...
Being unloved...
One side efforts...
Losing loved ones ...
Getting stranger vibes from close ones...
Taking blame without fault...
Lack of clarity in life...
Handling panics on your own...
Bad?
Probably the worst!!
The silent struggles people go through — especially the pain that hides behind a smile and the burden of emotional isolation.

She was not too close,
Also not so unknown.
She was not a friend for life…
Neither just friend.
But still…
She always respected my opinions
Listened to all my blabbering
Bared all my naughty antics
Secured all my secrets
Understood all my feelings

Yes!! She was special and her absence is getting hard now.

Passing clouds...
Soft blowing winds...
Melodious bird chirps...
Lushy green bushes...
Soothing cool waves...
Beautiful flower gardens...
Sunrise and sunsets...
Stary nights...
Calming moonlight...

Little things of nature yet give unknown happiness and sense of peace.

Be thankful to your parents...
Be grateful to God....
Be obedient to your teachers....
Be there for your friends...
Be available for any help....
Show gratitude to everyone you meet....
As everyone has their own perspective and policies....
Some may teach us how to behave and rest about how not to be....
There will be many to give advises on how to behave...
But it's important to learn from the one who is imperfect and show them your version of being perfect!!!

People call me strange.
They say I live in fantasies.
They call me weird, shy—
A soul who always tries to escape from reality.
An impractical, imperfect introvert.

But what people don't know is:
I’m not strange—just simple and safe in my own space.
Not a survivor of fantasies,
But someone who uses them to ease the weight of life.
Not weird, but vowful.
Not an escaper, but an exceptionist.

I am not broken—just different.
Not lost—just elsewhere.
Not weak—just layered.
Not escaping—but creating.

So let them call me strange,
But know this—
In a world that often forgets to feel,
Maybe strange is exactly what we need.

Every problem has a solution...
Every field has it's significance...
Every child has their own talent...
Every parent has their own parenting style...
Every doubt has it's clarity...
Every disease has it's remedy and medicine...
And every failure has a day of success.

I find peace in darkness...
I crave for my alone time...
I wait to get drenched in rain...
I like chopping onions...
I love taking shower...
I prefer nights over mornings...
Because these small moments allow me to let out my concerns, weep in peace and let my tears flow without others knowing and no need to give explainations to my tears.

Some things in life we carry,
Not because we care,
But because we must.
Like faded promises,
And roles we never asked for—
They cling to our spine,
Etching silence into our skin.

Not every burden is born of love.
Some are stitched with duty,
Unseen, unpraised,
Yet always there—
A shadow in the light,
A name we answer to,
Even when our heart stays silent.

We don't resent it.
But we don't cherish it either.
We simply carry.
Because someone must.

They call it pichi rathalu,
a waste of ink and time.
But they don’t see the tremble in my hands
when I hold a pen,
or the storm I quiet
by pouring pain into lines.

Each word I write
is a cry I never screamed,
a tear I never showed,
a wound I stitched
with syllables no one dared to read.

They say, “Just study, forget all this.”
But how do you forget
what saved you?

These writings—
they aren’t just thoughts.
They’re survival.
They’re scars made beautiful.


"Let Them Call It Madness"

They call it pichi rathalu.
They laugh. Say I’m wasting time.
Say I should just focus on studies, like everyone else.

But they don’t know.

They don’t know these pages hold my pain—
not drama, not attention-seeking.
Real pain. The kind that keeps you up at 2 AM.
The kind that chokes you when you're trying to smile.

I write because if I don’t, I’ll explode.
I write because it’s the only thing that listens without judgment.
Because no one asked me,
“What happened?”
They just said,
“Be strong.”
“Move on.”
“Stop being so emotional.”

So I bleed on paper.
That’s not madness. That’s survival.

Let them call it anything.
This—
this is the only thing keeping me alive.

Even after tasting all cuisines from different time squares,
Eating home food by your mom’s hand is what gives you satisfaction.
Not getting full marks,
But getting extra marks than expected is what gives you satisfaction.
Showering love and caring siblings is cute,
But teasing them and irritating them is what gives you satisfaction.
Dad buying the things we wanted is okay,
But buying them with our own hard-earned money is what gives you satisfaction.
Seeing happiness on your dad’s face is nice,
But you being the reason behind his pride and happiness is what immense satisfaction is.

A place where silence is understood,
Joy is shared,
Love is endless,
And you're never a burden—
Only someone to be cherished.
That’s the family we all dream of.
Not everyone gets it,
but everyone dreams of it—
a family that understands your silence,
spreads joy without reason,
loves you beyond measure,
and never lets you feel like a burden.
An ideal family is not just a blessing…
it's a rare kind of magic.

Getting a loving family,
Who understand your troubles without telling…
Who make efforts to spread happiness…
Who loves you more than you do…
Who feels you as their responsibility but not a burden…

An ideal family : Dream of every human being!!

"Some things can only be carried as a responsibility throughout the life and can never be out of love."

They call me shy...I call it my way.
They call me calm...I call it my composure.
They call me silent....I call it my serenity.
They call me impractical...I call it a way to escape the harsh reality.
They call me illogical...I say it's my way to handle my issues.
They call me imperfect...I call it being human.
They say I am minimal...I say I am simple.
They call me rude...I take it as my self-respect.
They say I am stubborn...but I say it's my path to pursue my dream.
They say I look unfit...I confidently say I love flaunting.
People call many,
But I don't take any.
As I am not responsible to the assumptions they make up without knowing me.

Working Moms? Na! They are Goddesses, Home-makers, Teachers, Motivators, Singers, Caretakers, Understanding Partners, and above all — the Best Moms.
True All-Rounders.
But even all-rounders have hearts that crave...
A caring partner who shares the load.0
Supportive in-laws who respect their dreams.
Loving children who see their efforts and admire their strengths.
Understanding parents who still check in.
A friend to confide in without judgement.
A solo vacation to breathe and just be.
A break from never-ending chores.
Little treats and words of appreciation.
They deserve it all.
Not just on Mother’s Day, but every single day.

Sometimes, we can’t do anything but to just
sit and miss them.
Sometimes, it’s better to
just hide all your emotions in your tiny heart.
Sometimes, opting for silence
is the best option in all situations.
Sometimes, a comforting embrace
is enough to heal you when sympathetic words doesn’t.
Sometimes, all you crave for is a hand on your shoulder
or a shoulder to lie
or a person to hear you and comfort you
when you feel low
than having the whole family to console you.
Not every pain needs words.
Not every tear needs an audience.
Sometimes, silence understands more than sympathy.
Sometimes, all the heart asks for is a quiet presence —
a touch, a glance, a gentle reminder that we’re not alone.
And in those tender moments, healing begins.