Witty Whispers

The previous year has been nothing short of an exhilarating journey marked by the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. There were moments that challenged me, surprised me, and pushed me to grow in ways that I hadn’t anticipated. As someone who spends an embarrassingly large amount of time overthinking- or, for the purpose of this blog, ✨reflecting✨- I felt compelled to put these moments into words before they could fade into the recesses of my memory. In the true fashion of a writer, I shall use this space to preserve those experiences, make sense of them in hindsight, and share parts of my journey while also setting intentions and goals for the year ahead. 2025, being my final year of undergraduate college, was marked by several firsts- and lasts. Being at the helm of several beloved college committees and fests gave me the opportunity to interact with many incredible people- some of whom I now have the privilege of calling my closest friends. I’m especially proud of the way I...

Going out for a film with your loved ones-be it family or friends, has always been a precious activity, a ritual almost, which I'm sure most of us are acquainted with. If you , dear reader, belong to the Gen Z, then you surely must have heard countless tales narrated by your parents and grandparents about the entire buzz that surrounded the act of watching a film in cinemas.They would wait for hours in unending queues, merely to secure a ticket. Oftentimes, this wait would not yield the sweet fruit of securing a ticket, which thereby inevitably led to frustration and a sense of several hours lost. With the advent of the Internet and the digitization of nearly every sphere of our lives, laying hands on movie tickets has become an increasingly simple task. Convenience is indubitably an advantage, coupled with the benefit of being able to view all the upcoming films, which theatres they air in, and a colour- coded map that enables you to understand which seats are taken and which aren...

Picture this: a woman enrobed in flowers with a grief-stricken expression painted across her face as she floats over a water body. You probably thought of the iconic painting of Ophelia by the Pre-Raphaelite painter John Everett Millais, didn't you? We've all seen this painting, whether or not we know about the story of the tragic character of Ophelia, who barely finds a place in the pages of (and the hearts of characters) in Shakespeare's Hamlet.  As an English literature student who has done a detailed study of the text and considers this play my all- time favourite literary text, it has been long overdue that I did a comparative analysis of this overlooked character as depicted in Shakespeare's play vs Taylor Swift's latest hit:  The Fate of Ophelia . In the play , Ophelia seems to float through the world, bowing down to the whims and fancies of those around her, without any standing of her own. Her identity is shaped entirely by the pressures around her, and she...

It has recently come to my attention that reading in public is apparently now an act, done for ' the aesthetics. ' Which, honestly, is a strange way to describe something that mostly involves squinting at small text while trying not to spill your coffee all over the page. The word 'aesthetic' is being thrown around these days- aesthetic cafés, aesthetic notebooks, aesthetic lighting. And now, it seems, reading too, has been aestheticized. If you’re reading in public, someone somewhere will probably assume that you’re being performative. This notion is extremely odd- when did the act of reading, what we once considered near sacred, become a problematised hobby? Maybe this is the inevitable consequence of living in an age of relentless documentation. The line between doing something and being seen doing it  has become extremely thin. You cannot even sip on a cappuccino without some stranger assuming it is for content. So, when I open a book in public, I sometimes sense an...

Every year, sometime in late October, the festive spirit takes over. The streets sparkle as if stitched with star, the air carries a hint of the aroma of roasted nuts and incense, and WhatsApp groups are flooded with messages that say “Diwali party when?”  And that’s when you know- the Diwali season has officially begun, that it brings with it chaos and calm both at once.  However, the festival of lights we celebrate today is not quite the one we grew up with. Don't get me wrong- at its core, it is still the same, it is merely the intricacies that Gen Z has altered to fit its own understanding of the world. Diwali has been remixed, filtered, and (let’s be honest) posted on Instagram, with the glow of ring lights replacing the glow of diyas. It continues to be, indubitably, a celebration of light, but it now comes with captions, playlists, and colour themes. Right at the center of this evolution stands a ritual that has been increasingly popularized over the last couple of year...

People who text you when they get home, even when you didn’t ask- because care is in the little things. The ones who say, “I saved you a seat” in crowded rooms and “Let me know when you’re home” after long nights, making the world feel a little less lonely. The people who send voice notes because they know words on a screen won’t do justice to the story. The ones who remember the way you take your coffee, your oddly specific childhood dreams, the song you once called your comfort track. Those who notice when your silence isn’t peace but exhaustion. People who give you space without making you ask for it and pull you back in when you start to drift. The ones who meet your chaos with warmth and your fears with patience. The ones who wait for you when you’re tying your shoelaces instead of walking ahead. Friends who squeeze your hand just before you step on stage, who instinctively share their charger without being asked. Those who know when to sit in silence with you, when to make you la...

The room is closing in.   It starts like it always does- a whisper,   a prickle under my skin,   a thought I wasn’t supposed to have.   But now it’s here,   and it won’t leave.   The room is closing in.   My chest is a locked door,   and someone’s thrown away the key.   Breathing feels borrowed,   my ribs caving in   like a house sinking into itself.   I claw at the edges of calm,   but my hands find nothing.   The room is closing in.   It clings to my spine,   a second shadow that twists and tightens.   My pulse races like it’s trying to outrun me.   It wins every time.   And I am left,   stumbling after myself.    The room is closing in.   The walls pulse like a heartbeat,   steady and relentless,   but it isn’t mine.   The air tastes wron...