Unfiltered Musings

Let’s just say it: If you're a grown man who still thinks that cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, or even picking up groceries is “women’s work,” I don’t even have the words — wait, actually I do: you’re a full-grown, walking disappointment. I don’t care if you're a CEO or a cab driver — if you live in a house, eat food, wear clothes, and shit in a toilet, then you are responsible for maintaining that house. Period. What exactly do you think women are? Personal assistants with breasts? "Oh, but I earn." Great. So does she. And even if she doesn’t, being a stay-at-home mom or homemaker isn’t some chill yoga retreat. It’s unpaid, nonstop labour, 7 days a week, no holidays, no sick leave — and the boss (that’s YOU) barely lifts a damn finger. And don’t even get me started on the “I do help!” tribe. Help? You live here too, bro. You’re not “helping,” you’re just finally doing the bare minimum after months of ignoring the pile of dishes like it's invisible. You ...

 I believe in being human first —before any nation, before any religion. I come from a deeply religious Hindu family. For more than half my life, I was an ardent follower of everything my religion taught me.  Yes, I am a Hindu—and I’m proud of it, just as I am proud to be an Indian. But I’ve never chosen my friends or judged anyone based on religion. For me, humanity has always been the foundation. After losing my family, something within me shifted. I stopped going to temples. I stepped away from the religious practices that once anchored my life.  Not because I lost love or respect for my religion, but because my personal connection with God—my higher self—was shaken . It wasn’t about hatred or denial. It was grief, and the silence that follows it. I don’t preach my beliefs. I don’t impose them. My faith is deeply personal. My relationship with the divine is mine alone—private, sacred, and not open to unsolicited advice or judgment. I don’t put myself in boxes—I’m not...