Stop Thinking Start Doing

We have been suffering from severe climatic changes in our day to day life. We face the extreme of every seasons, you may call it as the cyclic process of the nature but I call it as a man made destruction. We have been going through so many information, campaigns, lectures and seminars on the topic climatic change but what have we done is just to sit in a room (may be an A/C room) drink water from a plastic bottle use plastic pens and listen to them. The actions of youth should sound loud not in network but in streets and homes. Let's begin our campaign inside ourselves. We support Greta Thunberg sitting in our room but never dare to think like her. We post #prayforamazonia but never go out and plant a tree so Is this the right way to do for ourselves.
The problem is we should stop thinking and start doing. Change yourself before you post something.. Keep one question in mind
How long can you live in this Earth?
Make it a place to live not a graveyard

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Woman Without D

The sun rays fought their way through the gap in the curtains, slicing across my eyes like a physical blow. My alarm screamed—a digital screech that seemed to vibrate inside my teeth. I swiped it off, the silence rushing back in, but the relief didn't follow. I lay there, staring at the ceiling fan cutting through the stagnant air. Which day is this? I wondered. It felt like the same day I had lived for the past six months. A gray, heavy loop. "Get up, Sruthi," I whispered to the empty room. "Just get up." I am Sruthi. On paper, I am a twenty-eight-year-old Senior Analyst at a top-tier firm. I am supposed to be in the prime of my life—ambitious, vibrant, climbing the ladder. But as I peeled the duvet off my body, I didn't feel twenty-eight. I felt ancient. I had slept eight hours. I had gone to bed at 10:00 PM like a disciplined child. Yet, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, gravity felt twice as strong as it should be. There was no "ready to ...

Name the Pain

They came with laughter in their hands, With hearts like lanterns, glowing bright, To carve a moment out of time, Beneath the stars, beneath the light. A mother’s prayer, a lover’s gaze, A child’s delight in winding roads, A dreamer’s pause where silence sang— All scattered now like fallen oaths. A ring still warm upon a hand, A father’s hand, now cold, let go— Life torn away, so sudden, stark, Mid-laughter’s rise, mid-lover’s kiss. What law of man, what claim to cause, Can stand where joy was laid so bare? What twisted creed could sanctify The breaking of a breath so fair? No faith commands this kind of fire, No flag flies high on bloodied peace This isn't faith, this isn’t right— No God would bless this kind of fight. So mourn we must, for lives now gone, But vow we shall, with burning cry: That never shall such horror reign, These tears will cost you far. This terror has a name, a ...

To the One Who Taught Me to Unlearn

I come from a middle-class family in Kerala. My skin is brown — brown enough to not fit the beauty standards this society has so rigidly defined. As I stand in front of the mirror, I see curves that are "too much," hair that is "too frizzy," skin that is "too dark." I have been conditioned to believe that this body — my body — is not enough. The voices around me were never kind. Relatives, neighbors, even parents, in their ignorance, made remarks that stuck to my skin like scars. “You’re too dark,” they would say. “You’re fat, your back isn’t straight, your body isn’t right.” They’d tell me not to wear white — it doesn’t “suit” me. They’d mock me for applying kajal, saying it blends into my skin tone. Red lipstick? Unthinkable. All too bold for a girl with this skin. Strangers stared. The media reinforced it. And slowly, I thought it was normal — all of it. Somehow, I grew immune to these comments. Maybe I’d just heard them so often that my ears stop...

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