While It Rains

       Stories, often a tool for description that has a narrative, a structure and flow. But seldom do we realise them as not just the kind we read, hear or see, but the ones we live. Everything we feel every desire, fear, hope, or heartbreak is, in some form, a narrative absorbed through our senses. Stories shape us. They teach us how to love, what to fear, who we are, and even what to long for. And more often than not, we mistake these borrowed scripts as our own. Stories are unique to humans and their strength, this collective strength more often is conformity. We absorb tales through culture, religion, media, and upbringing. But when the narrative of every short story we come accross are bound by bigger make believe stories of power, money, survival, and greed, maybe the player might as well once step behind to understand the narrative of the frontman of these Squid games of Identity. Every passing day becomes a process of adaptation, subtly shifting ourselves to...

     For the longest time, I believed the world was driven by the survival instincts of states. Wars, as Realists thought, happened because borders were threatened by Anarchical structure, identities were wounded, or ideologies clashed. International relations appeared to be a series of defensive reactions in a chaotic, unpredictable world. But over time, I’ve begun to doubt that narrative. When I observe global politics today, when I look at the endless wars, the diplomatic deadlocks, the shifting alliances, and the sudden peace deals, I no longer see states merely trying to survive. What I see is something far more disquieting: economies pretending to survive. These are not systems surviving through real production, equity, or tangible value, but economies that are performing survival, held together by the illusion of stability. It’s a carefully maintained mirage, where what matters most is not the well-being of people, but the appearance that capital is flowing, that c...

        There was a time when I believed that experiencing poverty, really living it, was a rite of passage. Something you go through to earn wisdom. Maybe even to feel more human. That belief led me to a night train journey, ticketless, slipping through compartments, sleep-deprived, watching others like me shuffle silently to avoid being fined. For a moment, I felt I had tapped into something profound, the rawness of human endurance. But hindsight is ruthless and honest. That night could have been spent in a cabin, with people I love, resting, talking, living. If I had spent my skills, not just my time , on making money, it would’ve been a memory of warmth, not weariness. That’s when it struck me: money isn’t for material happiness. It’s a tool to buy quality time. Mental peace. Safety. Stability. Better experiences. People who struggle passively often find a strange comfort in blaming the system. It's easier than decoding it. But real struggle is not in surrenderin...