Archana writes about life’s meaning, human connection, politics, random discoveries and reflections on the world. When not writing, she’s reading, obsessively watching the news, or starting arguments to see where they go.
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I stopped writing for years, and when I finally returned, I slipped back into the habit as if no time had passed at all. Filling the page every day feels natural again, almost necessary. Now, skipping even a single day without writing a few lines feels like a small failure,
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Lately, I’ve been consumed by a single thought: I think I’m finally ready to write a book and publish it. Over the years, I’ve gathered snippets, stories, and reflections, fragments of moments that now feel ready to take shape. I can picture someone picking up this book
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Despite having little interest in Charlie Kirk or his ideologies, I was shaken to my core when I heard that he had been shot. The news arrived late at night (IST). I have a friend with whom I often discuss politics, but she wasn’t available to chat, leaving me
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I lie down on the sylvan floor, to hear the ancient call. I listen to the lore, through winter, spring, summer and fall. Through the pit I bore, embraced the past in thrall.
Spotted you across the room, put a spell on you, led you to the mossy forest ground. You danced to my beat on our first meet. Dangerous but exciting. Time to embrace or leave the maze. So, what will it be? Leave or stay, we'll always have this
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This time last year, when my best friend and I were discussing how pretty sundresses were, I didn’t anticipate a trend starting in the United States, where young men and women have become equally obsessed with colourful, graceful sundresses. In a world where we can all wear whatever we
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One of us will leave first; I pray it is I. Prepare the coffin and lay me to rest. Look upon my face one final time. Cast the sand we gathered by the sea, and let fall a single tear for all the years I will not see.
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I was listening to Yellow by Coldplay when I started thinking about the colour itself. Blue used to be my favourite when I was a child. Then it was green as I grew older. For the past six or seven years, though, it’s been yellow. I can’t help
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A little poem