Unfiltered Musings

Let’s get this out of the way: I love technology. It’s my miracle worker. It delivers groceries, keeps my kid entertained, reminds me to drink water (which I never do), and even remembers birthdays I forgot. But here’s the thing — for every good thing tech does, it throws in a ton of nonsense. It’s like that friend who’s super helpful one minute and a total dumbass the next. Take passwords, for example. Every website has rules like it’s running a secret society. “Must include a capital, a symbol, a number, a hieroglyph, and a drop of dragon blood.” And when I finally make a password that looks like nuclear codes — it says, “Weak.” Then there’s the “forgot password” cycle. Reset the password. Click the link. Link expired. Try again. “You’ve tried too many times.” Really? Now I need to sleep on it and try tomorrow? Fine, whatever. And the “Are you a robot?” test… I swear, one more blurry traffic light and I’m done. How many crosswalks do I need to click before proving I have emotions? Bu...

Every few weeks, another young name becomes a headline. Some jump, some are found hanging, some simply disappear. Some are bullied until they break. Some are silenced by hands that were supposed to protect them. And the world scrolls past — another student, another tragedy, another investigation that leads nowhere. These children aren’t dying only from exams or grades. They’re dying from the absence of kindness. From homes that stopped feeling safe. From schools that punish before they understand. From a society that’s too busy surviving to notice who’s slipping away. --- A Childhood on Trial The modern child is born into a checklist. Before they can even dream, they’re assigned expectations. Good marks. Good manners. Good college. Every mistake becomes a warning. Every emotion becomes an inconvenience. There’s no room for confusion, no moment to simply be. Childhood has turned into a permanent audition for love and approval. And when that love doesn’t come, they search for it — anywhe...

 You know what really cracks me up? People — usually the sanskaari kind — who say, “Women should love doing household chores. It’s her duty. It’s her joy. It’s her divine calling.” Arre bhai, are you okay? Blink twice if Dettol has entered your bloodstream. Who on Earth loves chores? No one wakes up stretching their arms, saying, “Ah yes, what a beautiful day to scrub the bathroom tiles and spiritually connect with the pocha.” Please. Even the mop looks tired of life. Let’s be honest — chores aren’t therapeutic. They’re traumatic. You don’t “love” cleaning, you just don’t want your house to look like it was raided by raccoons. And then they say, “Women shouldn’t complain. It’s part of life.” Oh really? So basically I’m supposed to smile like a detergent ad while I’m elbow-deep in dirty dishes, whispering, “Waah, kya sukoon milta hai is grease mein.” I mean, who says stuff like this? “Oh, kneading dough is so therapeutic.” Really, Shalini? Then why do you look like you’ve fought wit...

Let’s be real — most of life’s lessons aren’t taught in school. You either learn them the hard way or by being thrown into situations where you have no choice but to figure things out. Like hostel life — you learn to manage your time, money, laundry, friendships, and emotions all by yourself. No one pays you to survive, but somehow you do. And that’s the kind of learning that truly builds character. Now, here’s a thought — if household chores were paid jobs, would most men actually do them? Honestly, some might, but let’s be honest — most wouldn’t. They’d still wait for someone else to do it. And that’s where it gets interesting. People are quick to blame mothers for raising “raja betas” — boys who never had to pick up after themselves. And yes, sometimes that’s true. But not always. Some mothers do everything right — they teach discipline, empathy, and responsibility — and still, their sons grow up entitled. You can’t blame a mom for how her adult son turns out forever. She’s not rais...

 "So… how does your kid socialise?" That’s the question I get a lot. And every time, I smile politely, but in my head, I’m already rolling my eyes. When I first took my son out of regular school, the only thing I felt guilty about was him leaving behind his little boy gang — the ones who’d make up secret games when the teacher wasn’t around. They were the kind of boys who’d whisper, laugh, and build their own world — while a few “teacher’s pets” ran off to complain about them. But even then, they didn’t stop having fun. Secretly. And that’s what hit me — why secretly? Why did fun have to be something done in whispers? Why did “socialising” mean learning when to hide your joy, when to stay silent, when not to be caught being a child? Lunch breaks weren’t “breaks.” They were silent-eating sessions monitored by “lunch in-charge kids” — yes, literal child informants making sure no one dared to talk. Tell me, is that socialising? Because if it is, I’ll pass. What I saw instead was...

 15 Kids and Counting: How Women in the Olden Days Didn’t Even Know “Enough” Was a Thing Once upon a time, in an era before Netflix, air conditioners, or literally any personal space, women had children like humans had fingers — plenty, and always more than you counted. And somehow, they managed to produce 15 kids or more without turning into zombies. Let’s unpack this ancient mystery. Step 1: Entertainment Was Optional… Babies Were Mandatory Back then, there was no Netflix, no TikTok, not even a crossword to distract you. A woman’s “fun” consisted of laundry, cooking, and being perpetually pregnant. Her husband? He had one job: make more babies. Family planning, as he understood it, was basically: “pray and hope for a boy this time.” Step 2: Contraception Was Mythical Birth control was either a suggestion from the priest or a folk remedy involving weird herbs and hope. Sleeping on opposite sides of the bed? Ha! About as effective as using a sieve to carry water. And thus, the stor...