That day wasn’t anything special on paper. It was just another office day and just another tired commute back home. Yes, it was still the first Monday of the brand-new year - 2026, and I already felt exhausted.

By the time I reached my building, my body felt heavy - it was one of those feelings when exhaustion sits not just in your muscles but somewhere deeper. There was mild body pain, a faint chill, the kind that makes you want to curl up early and disappear into silence shutting out every noise.

And then, something unexpected happened. 

As I was walking through the passageway from the lift to my apartment, there is this rectangular open space between two apartments where the air moves freely, especially since I am living on a higher floor. A sudden gust of wind brushed past my face - it was cool and gentle. And in that exact moment, I was momentarily transported back. Just like the sudden flashback that happens in Bollywood movies.

It wasn’t just wind, it carried a feeling - a known fragrance, a blurred but deeply familiar core memory.

For reasons I can’t fully fathom, it felt like I was no longer standing outside my apartment door. The irritating drilling sound from some adjacent flat- yet another illegal balcony extension- slowly faded away.  

I was teleported back to a cozy winter afternoon from my childhood in Kharagpur. The kind of winter we 90's kids grew up knowing. The kind where the sun felt like it was softly cradling you, time moved lazily, and the air carried the fragrance of some unknown seasonal flowers. 

I think I might have closed my eyes without even realizing.

I could see myself coming back from school on my bicycle, around 1 or 2 in the afternoon, discussing with my best friend the events of the day and at the same time feeling extremely hungry and thinking what Maa might have prepared for lunch. Somewhere in the corner of my mind was the excitement—and slight dread—that I needed to catch that day’s episode of Aladdin before my math's tutor arrived and unleashed the most boring, dreaded hours of my day.

That same kind of winter wind was brushing against my face. The same feeling of reaching home after a long school day. I could almost hear the cycle slow down, feel my feet scrape against the gravel and waving my friend goodbye as she took the left turn toward her home.

Like a ripple effect a flood of connected memories filled up my mind. The comfort of familiar walls seeped in.

My cats - all 5 of them, sleeping somewhere in quiet corners of the house and maybe one stretched lazily across my study table. As i kept my school bag down Maa would ask me to change quickly and have lunch - she didn’t want her afternoon siesta delayed. That simple, full, unhurried life. Which seemed rather mundane that time, but now, in hindsight, it feels precious.

 For about ten seconds, I stood there, completely still, letting that wind pass over me, letting the past breathe through the present. It felt surreal—like time had folded in on itself. Like the child I once was had briefly stepped into the adult I am now, just to say, I’m still here. 

Until a strong tempering of hing hit my nostrils and jolted me out of the reverie. 

I was standing like an idiot for God knows how long in front of my apartment door, keys in hand. 

Later in the afternoon, my body gave in completely. The tiredness deepened into something heavier. I felt feverish, my bones ached, and every movement reminded me how unwell I was. When you really feel sick, you mind also starts pushing all negative thoughts and sadness which you didn't need to be reminded at that moment. I had to lie down for a while, letting the day pause me instead of the other way around.

And yet, even in that half-sleep, those memories didn’t leave.

As I drifted in and out of a power nap, I found myself returning to those same winter afternoons—moving back and forth between the present and the past. It was vivid, almost cinematic, as if that brief moment with the wind had opened a door that refused to shut so easily and yet it kept blurring out to the present moment whenever I heard the Microsoft Teams chime on my laptop.

The day, overall, had been draining—physically and emotionally. But before letting it dissolve into forgetfulness, I felt an urge to write this down (even if this is being written two days later).

Because we forget.

Slowly. Quietly. Without realizing it we forget things - especially now, when we’re conditioned to thirty-second attention spans.

Just a few days back, I had stumbled upon a small post I had written sometime around 2010 - barely three or four lines. And yet, reading it now, so many forgotten details came rushing back. Entire scenes. Entire emotions. Things I didn’t know were still preserved somewhere inside me.

That’s when it struck me - these little reflections matter. 

Maybe a decade from now, when time has eroded the edges of memory even more, I’ll return to these words. Maybe I’ll read them and be teleported again—to this day, this wind, this tired body, this gentle ache of remembering.

And that, I think, is reason enough to write.

(Image credit Paper Boat)

We don’t say miss you like we did before,

Yet the heart still misses, perhaps even more.

And it keeps calling back to that October moon,

When autumn held us gently in tune.

When two strangers walked for miles,

Beneath the autumn's fading skies,

Talking like time had no reason to fly,

Until the hour came, when we had to leave,

So many unspoken things still left to weave.

But seasons have turned, and the colors have gone,

The opaque silence stretches for long.

Inside it aches, an echo unspoken,

Heavy as autumn leaves that scatter on the streets, broken.

Once, even storms would draw us near,

Now every ripple feels edged with fear.

No words to mend, no hands to hold,

Just time passing, turning warm hearts cold.

I wonder if you still feel like I do -

Self-doubt silently settles like the midnight dew.

Yet somewhere deep, beneath this gray,

A fragile hope refuses to fade away.

But if your heart still yearns to find back the old tune,

I’ll meet you halfway, beneath the autumn moon.

We’ll turn back time and let shadows fall,

And let love be the truest word of all.

It really doesn’t take much. I don't expect anyone to do big things for me, like you don’t have to move mountains or create grand gestures. Very small things, but genuine things are enough. A good meal can make my day. An interesting thriller book that holds my attention for a few quiet hours feels like luxury. A cup of good coffee, a canvas to tell a story, working with the camera, writing some random story, sitting outside in the winter sun, a good series on the TV, a homely "macher jhol", trying out an unknown cuisine, learning a new dish - but most of my contentment, if I am being honest, revolves mainly around food and travel.

You take me out of the house, to any place at all, and I’m already happier. That's why the moment I finish a trip, I start envisioning where to go next. On regular weekdays, I am someone who works a lot—sometimes too much—and I genuinely enjoy it. I’ve seen myself perform well when boundaries are pushed. I like when a presentation comes together well, when the storyline is crisp, when something looks neat and intentional. Over the years I’ve been told many times that I balance both sides well—the technical and the “salesy” parts—and those little acknowledgements give me quiet a mental boost. 

Being the Gemini I am, I’ve also learned to compartmentalize. There were days when work stress followed me home, but now, once I log off, my mind consciously shifts gears. And that has helped me recenter my thoughts and the much needed breather to make space for things beyond work.

And yes, I need those “other things” to stay sane and functional. They are usually creative in nature—writing, reading, the occasional urge to paint, rare bursts of home organization, experimenting with a new recipe, researching places I might travel to, or more recently, editing my travel videos. I push myself to find time for these even during packed workdays. They help me decompress and give me a sense of being meaningfully occupied.

I was never a big dreamer in the conventional sense. I never had a checklist (like "40 things before 40") of things I must achieve—  onsite assignments, earning in dollars, owning a house by a certain age, buying branded clothes, collecting cars, or showing off success. Those things were never my milestones. My only aim in life was always very straightforward: I wanted to feel happy. If I felt happy, I felt content. Whether that happiness came from something small or something big didn’t matter to me.

I never really compared myself with others. A friend’s high-profile job or someone else’s expensive car never made me feel envious or inadequate. Everyone has their own journey, and I believed that long before it became a fashionable statement. This perspective didn’t come from self-help books or motivational videos. In fact, I tend to stay away from all forms of self-help literature. I once tried reading The Secret. Initially, it impressed me, but midway through I realized it was articulating things I had already been practicing in my own way. It felt less like a revelation and more like someone articulating something I already knew. Maybe such books help people who don’t talk to themselves much—but I always have. I’ve always talked to myself. And I’ve always talked to God.

I know “talking to God” can sound controversial. But my relationship with God has always been simple and deeply personal, something I learned entirely from my mother. I don’t want to turn this into a religious debate, but for me, God was never distant or complicated. God is a support system. God is a friend. God is that place I go to when I can’t cry in front of anyone else. Sometimes God feels like a mother, sometimes like a friend, sometimes just like a presence I lean on. The form changes depending on what I need at that moment, but the accessibility never does.

My mother never taught me to rely on rituals to feel God’s presence. She was deeply spiritual but not ritualistic, and that shaped my way of looking at spiritualism. I still remember how, even when I was very young, after study hours we would sit together in the patio and talk about spirituality and its nuances. She made it simple for me—to reach out when I needed strength. God was never about fear or formality. God was comfort. God was strength. God was a safe place to fall apart. And that philosophy has shaped how I deal with life even now.

I never wanted big things in life, yet somehow, things kept coming my way. I don’t know how else to explain it except that I stayed true to myself and made choices that felt right at that time—many of which I later questioned or regretted. 

I still remember the time around 2008–2009, during the recession. Everyone around me was desperate to go onsite. People were pushing managers, chasing visas, doing everything possible to get that opportunity. We were sitting in a large ODC setup—almost 150 people on that floor—and almost everyone was trying to get their paperwork done. I was probably the only person in my grade who hadn’t even asked for a visa, forget an onsite assignment. One day, my manager called me and told me I needed to get my visa done. I told him I didn’t want to travel, that I was too homesick and uncomfortable with the idea. He practically forced me to do it. And that’s how my first onsite happened. I didn’t ask for it. It came to me.

The same thing happened with my house. I never imagined I would buy a home when I did. My salary was low, and I say that without discomfort now. Buying a house wasn’t even on my radar. But I had a pet, and we were living in a rented apartment where the neighbors were irritated because my pet would wander into their space. I realized I needed to move—not for investment, not for status, but to give my pet a better, safer environment. People look at me incredulously when I tell them that I made a 50+ lakh investment because I wanted a better home for my pet. But for me, it made perfect sense. At that stage of life, I didn’t have grand financial ambitions or a family to support. The pet came unplanned and became my child. And when it’s about your child, you discover how far you’re willing to go.

But with highs come lows. I lost my pet just when I was about to move into my new home. Life suddenly felt drained. Directionless. Empty. To make things harder, my personal life was also unravelling. The emotional turbulence was intense, and even now I don’t fully understand how I made it through. As they say, God carries you through your darkest moments. But when life hits hard, you forget the things that once made you you. Somewhere along the way, I let go of my crafts, my hobbies, my small joys—not intentionally, it just happened. And I didn't even realize that I was missing a part of me. 

At some point, something unsettling dawned on me: I felt content. Not unhappy or dissatisfied, but complete in a way that felt final. I had done many of the things I once hoped to do. I had travelled, been at onsite, fell in love, fell out of love, bought a house, paid my own expenses, had no one to question my life choices and achieved more than many of my peers. I felt deeply grateful for that. And yet, there was no strong desire left for what came next. There was nothing I was chasing anymore. That sense of contentment, while peaceful on the surface, felt strangely dangerous underneath. When there is nothing left to look forward to, the days begin to blur into each other.

The idea of disappearing crossed my mind more often than I care to admit. Not dramatically, not impulsively, but almost practically. However, disappearing is not as simple as it sounds. You cannot vanish overnight. And extreme choices come with risks that offer no guarantees. The possibility of surviving in a state without control frightened me more than the idea of ending things. So the question became quieter and more persistent: how do you pass your days when you are content but still cannot leave?

The answer, for me, came through creativity. If I was going to continue living each day, I needed something that felt entirely within my control. Something I could shape, build, and return to on my own terms. That was when I found my way back to creating.

I began blogging in 2010, at a time when very few people did. Social media as we know it didn’t exist. Influencers were not a concept. Writing felt enough. Over time, words led me to food photography, and photography eventually led me to video storytelling. I resisted the shift to video for a long time. I questioned myself relentlessly—whether I really wanted to take on something that demanded so much more effort. Video meant learning editing, color grading, storytelling through visuals, choosing devices, understanding angles, and finding my voice again in a new format.

I asked myself repeatedly whether this was worth it. The honest answer was that I wasn’t sure. But I also realized that if I avoided challenges altogether, I would slide back into that dangerous comfort of contentment. So I decided to try, cautiously. I invested in a basic adventure camera, deliberately not the most advanced one. I wanted to see whether I could manage video storytelling at all, especially given that I travel only a couple of times a year.

When I finally started uploading videos to YouTube, my intention had nothing to do with views or numbers. I wanted to create memories. I wanted something tangible that my mother and I could revisit together. She has been my constant travel companion for years now, and more than anyone else, her opinion mattered to me. Watching those videos allowed us to relive our trips in detail during our evening calls. We would talk for hours about small moments, forgotten corners, and shared experiences. That joy, that shared remembering, gave me a sense of fulfilment I hadn’t anticipated.

Slowly, I improved. At least, that’s what my mother tells me. I became better at voiceovers, better at stitching moments together, better at telling a story that felt complete. And unexpectedly, a few people on the internet began watching too. They found the videos useful. That surprised me more than anything else. I have always had a tendency to over-explain, but when I realized that my detailed approach could actually help people plan their own trips, I leaned into it. That’s why my videos are long bad for the YouTube algorithm, perhaps—but honest. I try to capture the entire day, the logistics, the experiences, and the small, unfiltered moments that often get left out deliberately by professional travel vloggers who thrive on sensationalized versions.

So far, I’ve been fortunate. I haven’t faced trolling, disrespect or objectification from the audience. The numbers are still small, and I am genuinely content with that. Even small validation humbles me. Knowing that a few people, beyond my mother, find my work worth their time is enough. 

Not every day is smooth. There are still days when I question my choices, when that old sense of contentment-without-direction returns. I ask myself what the point is—of editing videos, planning trips, creating things—when all of it feels momentary. Sometimes the world feels like a facade, as if we’re all playing our parts to keep the clock of karma ticking. Like a long tunnel you must walk through until you reach an exit meant only for you; you cant escape or disappear.  

I have stopped complaining now. I know I am in a far better situation than many other women who don't have a voice, who don't have that financial independence, who are not even given their due respect by their husbands or partners, who cannot even do small things for themselves without taking prior permissions from half of the household, who cannot decide whether they can continue working after having kids. Every situation has its good side and bad side and the funny thing is we never know on which side we are. And on nights like this—typing this vlog at 12:38 a.m.—I feel grateful again. In a parallel world I might have ended up as a deeply distressed housewife, mentally tortured and exhausted with her life but Instead, I chose to break away from prescribed norms and gifted myself this silence, this freedom, this moment.

Looking back, I realize I’ve always lived this way—quietly choosing what feels right over what looks impressive. I’ve been content with small things, grateful for what came my way, and deeply anchored in my own sense of happiness. I don’t like chasing noise. I don’t seek validation anymore. I like my world small, my joys simple, and my faith uncomplicated - like my pash balish: simple, familiar, and comforting every single time I hold it close.

#notarecipepost

We had heard that this time around the winters will be harsh. Till December it kind of looked like every other year. Expected cold at night and warm in the day. But from the new year onward Pune seems to be under a spell of massive cold. The last couple of days has been exceptionally cold. Super windy throughout the day and the air feely icy. Yesterday around noon suddenly there was a weird kind of haze all around. It looked as if a layer of fog was spreading. But fog at 12 PM seemed a bit out of the place. I thought it might be smoke but then it remained the same way all through the rest of the day. So that possibility was also ruled out.

It was only from today morning's paper I found out that Pune was hit by a dust storm. In one of the rare instances, the city has been shrouded by a strong dust storm that originated from Saudi Arabia and the air quality index became poorer than that of Delhi. I remember something similar happened last or last to last year when there was a dust storm in Rajasthan and it carried all the way to Maharashtra. 

It feels so cold now a days that it seems as if Christmas has come back and it might start snowing anytime! I am not kidding you. When I stepped out in the balcony today morning, I felt frozen instantly. The air was so cold it reminded me of when I was in Omaha and it was nearly 0 degrees outside, I felt shivers even after being inside a puffy long coat.  We were staying in Marriot Omaha for a business trip and I had to step out to get some fruits and bread from the nearby Whole Food market. It was unbelievably cold outside, I felt my nose becoming numb and face turning red in the short 5 minutes walk to the store. That night we had snow. Thus when I felt the same kind of numbing feeling on my nose in the morning I jokingly told this friend of mine, that if it starts snowing tomorrow I am not going to be surprised. Well the surface temperature of Venna lake (Mahabaleshwar) did almost reach 2 degrees last week after all!

With the omicron and the cold wave weekend plans now mostly look like being at home and binge watching some good movie. This time it was Happy Potter Reunion. I had been meaning to see it from the time it was promoed, watchlisted it in January first week and finally could make it this weekend. The teenage starcast of the movie looked so different from the last time we saw them in the 7th part - more matured and elegant now. The special traces the franchise’s journey through all eight movies, making callbacks to particularly beloved movie moments and staging recreations of elaborate sets for the actors to marvel at together as they reminisce. 

But half way through I got so nostalgic that I switched to watching the actual movies to to corelate to what the actors were reminiscing about. And I have noticed a peculiarity of the Harry Potter movies - your perspective & understanding of some of the events happening in the movie transforms when you watch it at various ages. But I discovered no matter what the given age is, I always love to watch the series and get glued to it. And out of the 8 parts I think the first two part will always remain as my favorites as these two movies make me feel the childlike innocence and wonder associated with a fairytale wizarding world.

With the grand feasts going on in the movie, I was super tempted and needed something to satiate my cravings. So I got these gorgeously sinful red velvet pastries delivered from Sweet Truth. Don't laugh but this was the very first time I tasted a red velvet pastry/cake and I was blown away! I don't know why I never tried red velvet earlier but I should have. I have had the chocolate pastries form the same brand earlier but this particular pastry was really really good. And they were so pretty that I could stop myself from shooting them with a Christmas themed setup. Its shot in artificial light in the evening and I loved the way it turned out post edit. The cold winter evening turned into a magical one with Chamber of Secrets and the slice of Red velvet pastry. Enjoy the pictures.

11 September

- No Recipe Post ~

|| ॐ गं गणपतये नमो नम: 

श्री सिध्धीविनायक नमो नम: 

अष्टविनायक नमो नम: . 

गणपती बाप्पा मोरया ||

Presenting some of my favorite Ukadiche Modak shots from this year's Ganesh Chaturthi. This is more a photoblog.

There were many firsts this year in terms of shooting the prasad and Bappa. Last year I remember when the pandemic had hit us and we spent Ganesh Chaturthi in the confines of our home, for the first time I brought out my DSLR to shoot food photos. Before that my DSLR was purely used for travel photography. I had never imagined in my wildest dreams that one day I would start food photography, open an Instagram page and becomes suddenly so passionate about food photography, techniques, editing, composition etc. I started taking food pictures with my phone around the time pandemic hit, because like everyone else I was feeling stressed locked at home and needed some good energy through creativity. It was just a casual hobby until I took the first food photo with my DSLR.

You must be wondering why I didn't use my DSLR to take photos earlier. It was out of sheer laziness. Getting the camera, putting the right lenses, setting up a tripod just to take a food picture didn't sound too enticing to me. Point and shoot was more my genre. Plus I didn't know then that to take one single food photography there would be so many steps right from cooking till the final editing. This all changed when I took the Rawa modak shot on the first day of Ganesh Chaturthi last year. I observed that the photos of food which were taken with the DSLR were much more crisp and with beautiful depth of field. Even minimal editing made the final shot look superb. That was the beginning, after that it had been a long learning curve if 1 year so far and there are so many things I have picked up by observing other food bloggers. I feel proud at times looking at some of my recent compositions, how far I have come from last year in terms of food photography. But then there is so much more to learn, this is just the starting line. And this entire learning process is such an exciting journey. Especially, its magical what you can achieve on the editing board. While the composition needs to be good, but still with a little bit of imagination you can practically create amazing pictures. It fascinates me to no extent. When I got my hands set on Snapseed I was excited. When I learnt Lightroom, it felt exhilarating and finally when I edited the first ever drip shot in Photoshop I felt like a speck in the wide universe. Photoshop is absolutely stunning in itself. I mean don't laugh on me because I am gushing about a software which everyone knows is brilliant. But just feel from the eyes of a person who is beginning on their photoshop journey. Its simply amazing. It is a different world altogether and now I am hooked. Technology has really made magic available at fingertips. 

These lovely modaks were made by Pooja Parsewar Bachewar. 

I always wanted to create a perfect drip shot. But my tripod had been giving me some pain and I never felt confident about pulling it off. This time I took Ganapati bappa's name and plunged into the idea. The only challenge was, since my tripod was not helping me I had to find someone to hold the spoon with the ghee while I took the shot. The default choice was mom. But to convince her to hold the spoon, make her wait till I got the perfect shot after trying for N number of times, keeping a check on the receding light on a rainy afternoon and wrapping up shooting before my mother's patience ran thin was a humongous task. I think all you photographers who engage their mothers for making action shot would empathize with me right now. It is a tedious job , but at times things do fall in the right place. I do not have any BTS (behind the scene ) for this shoot because of the above mentioned reason. I had to clean up everything before she got ticked off :D. But someday, I promise, some of these days I will try to do a detailed BTS and put it up on my blog. Fingers crossed.

Bappa came in his bal avataar this time. The cute little Bappa really made us all fall in love with him.