I’ll die of the grief, guilt and regret that i carry in my heart…it weighs heavy on me and swallows me whole.. I try to lift it up to run from it to forget about it but it always finds me…it lurks around the corner in the dark waiting for me. It has become a ghost that’s haunting me forever and waiting for the day I give up and let it consume me.
Category: Copywriting, Advertising, Blogging, Marketing
Darkness
Once upon a time, I had a lone star, the one that shines brightest even in an otherwise dark sky. The lone star symbolised hope, it meant that even on the darkest night of my life, there would always be hope. I could fall even from the sky because I knew that someone would catch me, but for the first time ever I am scared to fall.
The sky is empty, and all that remains is darkness, a dark cloud looms over my head, and the darkness is waiting for me with its mouth wide open, ready to swallow me whole.
I have been running away from it, fighting it, dreading it all because I saw the Lone Star but can you really change your destiny? I guess not! Because I tried everything but fate seems inevitable now.
Maybe I was destined to fall, maybe the flicker of Lone Star was just my imagination, maybe hope doesn’t exist, maybe….
एक दिन की भक्ति
आज सावन का पहला सोमवार है।
सुबह ही मंदिर के बाहर
लोगों की भीड़ एकत्र थी —
हर किसी के हाथ में कुछ अलग,
दूध, बेलपत्र, घी, फूल, सिंदूर।
जैसे हर वस्तु
भक्ति का प्रमाणपत्र हो,
श्रद्धा की गहराई नहीं,
उसकी मात्रा बोल रही हो।
मैंने पहली बार
भगवान शिव को सिंदूर से सना देखा।
आश्चर्य हुआ —
क्या यह भी किसी नई विधि का हिस्सा है?
या लोगों ने महादेव को
अपनी सुविधा का देवता बना लिया है?
कुछ चेहरों पर देखा
एक मौन प्रतिस्पर्धा —
जिनके पास अधिक सामग्री थी,
वे स्वयं को अधिक भक्त समझ बैठे।
घमंड था आँखों में —
जैसे भक्ति अब तुलना की चीज़ हो।
शाम को आँधी थी, वर्षा थी,
हवा में भी एक तरह की व्याकुलता थी।
फिर भी मंदिर में भीड़ थी —
लोग जल चढ़ा रहे थे,
मानो जल न चढ़े तो शिव न मिलें।
किसी ने न पूजा रोकी,
न एक पल को ठिठका —
शायद श्रद्धा थी,
या फिर वही डर,
कि कहीं कोई दूसरा न दिखा दे
अपने भक्ति का बेहतर असर।
पहली बार
शाम को जलाभिषेक देखा।
वह भी उस भीषण तूफ़ान में —
मन में यह प्रश्न गूंजा,
“यह भक्ति है, या कोई झूठा इम्तिहान?”
ऐसी भीड़ मैंने
केवल महाशिवरात्रि के दिन देखी थी —
लंबी कतारें,
हर हाथ में कैमरा,
हर आँख में एक इंस्टा-योजना,
हर कथा में एक ही पंक्ति —
#महादेव_के_दीवाने।
परंतु अगली सुबह —
मंदिर एकदम सूना था।
बस एक पुजारी,
कुछ बुझते दीप,
और मैं।
कल रात जहाँ आस्था उफन रही थी,
आज वहाँ मौन की सरिता बह रही थी।
कल जिनके हाथ भक्ति से कांपते थे,
आज वही कहीं और व्यस्त थे।
शायद कल वैसी ही
सुबह फिर देखने को मिलेगी।
तो क्या समझूँ?
क्या भगवान भी अब
हमारी ही तरह
भीड़ में कुछ क्षणों को चमकते हैं,
और फिर अकेले रह जाते हैं?
क्या वे भी
मनुष्य की क्षणिकता का भार उठाते हैं?
क्या वे भी प्रतीक्षा करते हैं —
किसी ऐसे आगंतुक की
जो बिना तामझाम,
बिना फ़ोटो,
केवल मौन लेकर आए?
एक दिन जल के लिए संघर्ष होता है,
और अगले दिन
नाम तक नहीं लिया जाता।
क्या ईश्वर भी अब
मानव के अभिनय का पात्र हो गए हैं?
जो सदा से मोहमुक्त थे,
क्या अब मोह के मापदंड से तौले जा रहे हैं?
मैं कोई बड़ा भक्त नहीं हूँ।
नहीं हूँ।
परंतु यह प्रश्न भीतर स्थिर नहीं रहता —
क्या उनकी निर्ममता में
पीड़ा की कोई रेखा नहीं खिंचती?
जब उत्सव समाप्त हो जाता है,
दीप बुझ जाते हैं,
मंदिर फिर से मौन में लिपट जाता है —
तो क्या वह शून्यता
केवल मेरे भीतर होती है,
या महादेव के भी हृदय में?
The Broken Blueprint
This week I found myself spiralling again. Not into panic but into memory, into thought. Into the parts of myself I often shut the door on.
There are places inside me I don’t visit often. Not because they are unfamiliar but because they are too known. They echo with memories that don’t need names only feelings. And when the world goes quiet, I hear the voices again.
There’s something about silence that opens the locked rooms. You think you’re alone, but suddenly you hear whispers from the past. Not voice – just echoes. Moments. Mistakes. Victories no one clapped for. Grief that came and stayed as an unwanted guest. That’s when I started thinking about the architecture of who we are.
I’ve always believed that we’re built by what we endure. That the soul isn’t some abstract cloud of light but something real. Brick and breathe. Fire and fracture. A blueprint constantly redrawn by grief, loneliness and survival.
Somewhere beneath the surface, beneath skin, bone and breathe, there’s a map I carry. Not drawn by ink, but with experience. Etched by days I thought would break me and nights that almost did. It’s not a map anyone else could read. This one twists and spirals, it carries scorch marks and cracks. It doesn’t bend outward, but inward.
I’ve walked to this place many times. Some days by choice. Other days because there was nowhere to go.
The rooms are strange, some are filled with light. Others are lines with silence so thick it hums. In one, laughter still clings to the walls – faint but golden like old sunlight caught in a glass. In another, grief sits quietly, as it always has. Not dramatic, not loud – Just Present. A familiar weight against the ribs. It doesn’t ask for attention, it waits. And when I return, it welcomes me like I never left.
Loneliness has its own corner. Not a gaping emptiness, but something subtle. It drapes itself across furniture, leaning against the doorframes. I’ve met it in crowded rooms and in silent ones. I’ve felt it while laughing, while writing, while simply breathing. It’s not always sadness. Sometimes it’s just the absence of being seen.
I used to think that something was wrong with this place inside me. That I had to repair it, fix the cracks, paint over the walls. But the more time I spend it in, the more I realise that the imperfection is the soul of the place. That this isn’t a ruin, but a living structure – breathing, breaking, and rebuilding all at once.
Even the shadows here serve a purpose. They give shape to the light. They reach me where I’ve come from. I don’t chase them away anymore. I let them speak and I let them stay.
There’s a window in this place that looks out onto nothing, yet aches for everything. It’s where I leave pieces of longing I don’t know how to name. And just beneath that window, a small flame flickers. HOPE – Not loud,or heroic but insistent and stubborn. It’s burned through storms before. It still burns.
This blueprint isn’t static. It shifts. It grows. And I grow with it.
This house is still a work in progess. A living structure, shaped by ache and resilience. Every scar, a foundation; every dream, even the broken ones, part of its design.
I used to long for a simpler and cleaner path. But now, I see the beauty in this unfinished, fractured design. The way it holds space for sorrow and still makes room for joy. The way it bends without breaking. The way it carries I’ve known and everything I’m still learning.
Maybe that’s the whole point! Maybe we aren’t meant to be symmetrical or neat. Maybe we’re meant to hold contradictions – joy stitched into sorrow, love tangled with loss. Maybe we are not meant to be completed but inhabited. Fully. Fiercely. As we are.
And if that’s true, then I will keep walking these halls. I will open the doors I’ve sealed shut. I will sit with the ghosts and golden light alike.
Because even broken blueprints can still build something enduring.
Something whole in its own way.
Something that breathes.
Dreams Written in Ink
As kids, we have a million aspirations, often confused with ‘dream’. Some say they want to be astronauts, scientists, or maybe Miss Universe. Well, I wanted to be Miss Universe, not for the fame but because I wanted to wear a tiara and a gown. If I am being honest, I wanted to be a princess.
Most kids like me had unrealistic dreams or they idolised someone, they looked up to someone, whether it was a family member, a celebrity, or even a fancy name they came across in a book. For a phase in my life, I idolized my mother. She was the managing director of a hospital. When she walked in, people wished her good morning, brought her files to sign, and looked to her for decisions. I wanted to be that, the most important person in the room. I was in class 5 at the time.
But I saw my first true dream when I was ten years old, in class 6. I had just finished reading my first novel, Black Beauty and that’s when I decided I wanted to be a writer. That’s what I want to do for the rest of my life. Why a writer? Because I realised that writers are magicians. You don’t always need a wand, sometimes, you just need a pen to create a whole new world. A world full of possibilities, surprises, and magic. Be it the magical world of Hogwarts or the secret cupboard that led to Naria, all of it were created by writers with powerful imagination.
Growing up in the small town of Jharkhand, when I told I want to be a writer in a class full of 48 students, everyone laughed. But I didn’t care. I was inspired by the stories of Tolstoy, Dickens, and later, Shakespeare. The back pages of my school notebooks were filled with poems and stories.
My grandfather taught me how to write how writing needs to come from the deepest emotions. I wrote my first poem for fun when I was 13, and soon enough, I was exploring different topics in my writing. When I was 16, I won first prize in a poetry writing competition. The topic was shared on the spot by the judging panel, and I still remember how proud I felt when mt words won.
Even when my father wanted me to pursue an MBA, even when I was told that writing was something that I could do for “fun” or later in life when I get old and wrinkly or when my friends called it unrealistic or when my relatives and teachers were disappointed in me for choosing Humanities, I knew I wanted to be a writer. And I was certain that one day, would be.
In college, I majored in English Literature, and every passing day my fascination with writing and writers grew. I wrote my first major poem Good Old Days in 2018. I was inspired by Wordsworth’s simplicity and reflected on the bittersweet nature of childhood memories and passage of time. I was influenced by his words “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feeling.” I still believe that poetry is just that, raw, powerful emotional expressed through words.
It was during my internship however, that I discovered how writing could truly be anything I wanted it to be. My mentor introduced me to the world of SEO-based blogs and professional content writing. That’s when it clicked, I don’t need to write a novel to be a writer, I can write anything, writing could evolve, expand, and take many forms. From poems, to blogs, to research articles, AD copies and beyond, writing is limitless.
As a child, I dreamt of living in the Mount and writing for a living. Last year, I got to live that dream. The 10 year old me would have been so proud and it made me realise one simple truth, Dreams Do Come True!
Some people have goals, some have aspirations, but there are also very few who dare to dream. Out of those daring few, only the rarest achieve it. I am not exactly where I want to be yet, but every word I write brings me one step closer to the dream my younger self believed in.
The Quiet Breath of Landour
In Landour’s cradle, ‘neath skies soft and pale,
Where mountain winds weave an untold tale,
The pines stand sentinel, steadfast and true,
Their whispers like sonnets in the settling dew.
The earth here breathes slow, in a rhythm divine,
A pulse that stirs both heart and mind.
Each leaf, each stone, speaks of quiet grace,
A hymn to the artist in this sacred space.
The mists unfurl like thoughts left unsaid,
While clouds kiss the peaks, where angels once tread.
Oh, Landour, sweet muse of the wandering soul,
In your still embrace, I’ve found myself whole.
Like Wordsworth’s wild hills, your slopes softly call,
And Keats’ yearning odes in your shadows fall.
In your tranquil arms, I’ve learned to be free—
To dream, to create, to simply just be.
The Timeless Relevance of Munshi Premchand: A Mirror to Indian Society
Munshi Premchand, often hailed as the “Upanyas Samrat,” is more than a literary figure; he is a phenomenon. His writings transcend the boundaries of time and language, continuing to resonate deeply with readers today. But what is it about Premchand’s work that makes it so timeless, so universally relevant? How do his stories, penned a century ago, still manage to hold up a mirror to the realities of modern-day Indian society?
A Legacy Rooted in Reality
Born Dhanpat Rai in 1880, Premchand’s journey from a humble government schoolteacher to one of India’s most iconic writers was shaped by the socio-political climate of the time. His writings reflect a society struggling with colonial rule, poverty, corruption, and rigid social hierarchies.
Yet, the questions he raised remain startlingly relevant even today. What has changed? Or, more disturbingly, has anything changed at all?Premchand’s works force us to confront the uncomfortable truths about the society we live in.
Through his characters, he exposes the moral decay, the deep-rooted corruption, and the inequalities that still persist in India. His works are not just narratives; they are social commentaries that compel the reader to think, question, and introspect.
The Power of Simplicity: Panch Parmeshwar
For many, the introduction to Premchand’s literary genius comes through his short story Panch Parmeshwar, a deceptively simple tale about village life, friendship, and justice.
The story centers around two lifelong friends, Jumman and Algu, whose friendship is tested when one is appointed as a village judge in a case against the other. In its simplicity lies its brilliance—Premchand’s ability to illustrate complex moral dilemmas through the lens of everyday life.
In contemporary society, where personal biases often influence decision-making, Panch Parmeshwar asks: Can true justice ever be achieved when human emotions are involved? In a world where power and wealth often skew the scales of justice, how much progress have we truly made?
Corruption’s Tight Grip: Gaban
As I grew older, I encountered Premchand’s novel Gaban, a scathing critique of greed and corruption. Ramnath, the protagonist, is a man trapped in the pursuit of wealth and status, leading him down a dark path of moral compromise. What struck me was the eerie parallel between Ramnath’s journey and the corruption we witness in contemporary India, whether in politics, business, or even in personal relationships.
The novel raises an unsettling question: Has corruption become an intrinsic part of our society’s fabric? In a country still grappling with large-scale scandals, Premchand’s depiction of a man’s slow descent into dishonesty feels eerily prescient. Despite the progress we’ve made, how much of our societal structure still echoes the corrupt systems of Premchand’s time?
The Shroud: A Reflection of Social Rot
The story that truly unsettled me, however, was “Kafan” (The Shroud). I read it in college, and its raw portrayal of human desperation left me deeply disturbed. In the story, a woman dies in childbirth, and her husband and father-in-law, too poor to afford her funeral, decide to spend the money they collect on food and alcohol instead of a shroud.
What makes Kafan so impactful is its portrayal of moral degradation born out of poverty. When faced with extreme deprivation, human ethics and emotions blur. While reading it, I couldn’t help but draw a parallel to a real-life case I had heard of—a housemaid neglected by her family in her final days, much like the wife in Kafan. This resemblance forced me to ask: Has society truly progressed if such inhumanity still persists?
Are we still turning a blind eye to the marginalized, just as society did back then?
A Mirror to Indian Society
Premchand’s stories are not just confined to the pages of literature; they are a mirror that reflects the soul of Indian society, both past and present. In every tale, Premchand poses a question to his readers: Are we any better than the society he described?While modern India may pride itself on technological advancements, economic growth, and global recognition, the issues that Premchand highlighted—corruption, poverty, social inequality, and moral decay—remain pervasive. His works challenge us to consider whether true progress has been made or whether we are simply covering old wounds with new bandages.
Premchand’s Relevance Today
Why does Premchand’s work continue to resonate? Because the issues he wrote about—corruption, poverty, injustice, and social inequality—are still very much a part of our reality. Premchand’s works are not just stories; they are moral questions that demand answers. Are we truly progressing as a society, or are we simply spectators in an endless cycle of human suffering and injustice?
In today’s fast-paced world of social media, where bite-sized content dominates, Premchand’s in-depth exploration of human emotions and societal issues may seem out of place. Yet, his work offers something that much of today’s literature lacks—depth. His stories compel us to look beyond the veneer of modernity and ask ourselves uncomfortable questions. If the same social ills persist today, then how far have we really come?
By revisiting Premchand’s stories, we not only reflect on the past but also challenge ourselves to engage with the present. His works serve as both a mirror and a guide, reminding us of the progress we still need to make.
Web of Lies
Isn’t it strange how life can feel like a game we never agreed to play? A web spun so effortlessly around us, always in sight but somehow just beyond our control. We spend our existence evading its grasp, believing that through effort or persistence we might escape its reach. Yet paradoxically, the more we struggle, the more deeply we become entangled—much like a fly unwittingly ensnared in a trap far beyond its comprehension. This web, omnipresent and patient, surrounds us while we chase fleeting distractions, unaware of how seamlessly it draws us in. It is only when we pause—when the momentum of our resistance subsides—that we realize the web was never something we could flee. Instead, it was a reality we were always moving toward, blind to its inevitability until the moment it fully envelops us.
The girl who changed her Destiny…
Imagine standing at the edge of a precipice, your heart pounding with a mix of hope and fear, knowing that one leap could either shatter your dreams or bring them to life. This was my reality when I left my small hometown, suitcase in hand, carrying not just my aspirations but also the weight of my family’s expectations. It felt like being a pressure cooker ready to burst at any moment. But what if I told you that sometimes, it’s the moments when we’re about to explode that we find our true strength?
Leaving home to prepare for competitive exams is a journey filled with both hope and fear. For many of us, it’s not just about achieving a dream but about carrying the collective expectations of our families. The pressure can feel overwhelming, and for me, it was no different. Moving to Delhi, with my family’s aspirations and trust, I felt the immense weight of their hopes.
Throughout my life, I was lucky to have teachers who believed in me. In college, I was my professor’s favorite, and she encouraged me to pursue literature. In my coaching center, I excelled in English, earning the admiration of my mentors. However, when preparing for the CAT exam, my focus shifted away from my strengths. Fear of failure consumed me, diverting my attention from the actual preparation to the anxiety of results. The stakes felt incredibly high, especially as a small-town girl who had fought hard to get to Delhi. My parents provided everything I needed, placing their faith in my success.
As the exams approached, my stress levels skyrocketed. I concentrated entirely on DILR and Quants, neglecting English (VARC), which had always been my strength. The mounting pressure from the looming cut-offs and my academic background only made things worse. Consequently, I botched my first attempt, scoring lowest in English. This failure shattered my confidence, and the situation worsened when I lost my mother just 15 days later.
Despair set in, and I was on the verge of giving up. However, my father’s words reignited a spark in me. He advised me to approach English the same way as maths, starting from scratch and giving it my best effort. Motivated by his encouragement, I made a second attempt at the CAT exam, securing a 92 percentile. Yet, life had other plans for me…
What I’ve learned through this journey is that the amount of effort you put in or how hard you work is less significant than your mindset. The real challenge is how quickly you can recover from setbacks. While there may be countless reasons to stay down, finding that one reason to get back up is crucial.
Today, I am a successful writer, living my childhood dream. I also work in corporate, just as I would have after completing an MBA. I even had the strength to turn down an offer from one of the largest MNCs, choosing instead to follow my own path.
My family now looks at me with pride. I became the girl who left home saying, “I promise I’ll change my destiny.” While some doubted me, claiming no one can alter what’s written in destiny, my grandmother always believed in me, saying, “I believe in my Rudrani. Everyone will see what my ladoo is capable of.”
When you achieve your goals, no one cares about the number of attempts it took. They only see the success. Despite the challenges, heartbreaks, and obstacles, fighting through and winning at life is what truly matters. It takes immense courage to give yourself a second chance, but that one leap of faith, that one moment of self-trust, is transformative. It’s in that moment that you gain the strength and power to challenge and change your destiny.
Watching Kota Factory took me back to those days, reminding me of the pressure and perseverance required to chase dreams away from home. The show’s portrayal of students like Vaibhav, who battle immense pressure, sleepless nights, and moments of doubt, is incredibly relatable for anyone who has faced similar challenges. It inspired me to write this blog and share my journey, hoping it resonates with and motivates others to keep fighting for their dreams, no matter how tough the road gets.
From Concept to Cause
The D&AD Awards celebrate the very best in advertising and design. From creative ideas to effective execution, these awards showcase the power of communication to move people and make a difference. Three campaigns that particularly captured my attention at the 2023 and 2022 D&AD Awards are A British Original by British Airways, Newspapers Inside The Newspaper by Lebanese journalists, and Flags of Generosity by Cadbury. These campaigns all stood out for their creativity, social impact, and ability to resonate with audiences and drive positive change.
A British Original: Celebrating Authenticity and Heritage
A British Original by British Airways is a campaign that celebrates the airline’s heritage, its people, and its customers. The campaign uses a variety of media, including print, digital, outdoor advertising, and even short films, to tell the story of what makes British Airways special. The campaign’s focus on its employees is particularly heartwarming. By showcasing the dedication and passion of its staff, British Airways is able to build trust and loyalty with its customers. This campaign is a great example of how a company can use advertising to not only promote its
products or services but also to build a strong brand identity.
Additionally, the campaign’s multifaceted nature deserves praise. It utilizes print, digital, outdoor executions, and evocative short films, demonstrating how a single concept can be adapted across platforms with finesse. This omnichannel approach created a sense of immersion for audiences, effectively embedding the ‘British Original’ concept in their minds. A British Original transcends mere product promotion; it becomes an affirmation of a shared cultural identity and the legacy of an entire nation.
Newspapers Inside The Newspaper: A Voice Against Silence
The Newspapers Inside The Newspaper campaign is a story of resilience and determination. In the face of a government shutdown of their newspaper, a group of Lebanese journalists came together to create a new publication. Their new newspaper, cleverly titled “Newspapers Inside The Newspaper,” included articles from their previous newspapers. This campaign is a powerful reminder of the importance of a free press and the lengths that journalists will go to in order to
continue reporting the truth. It is also a testament to the power of community and collaboration. By working together, these journalists were able to find a way to keep their voices heard.
The brilliance of this campaign lies in its defiance and symbolism. It’s a testament to human ingenuity and its power to prevail over adversity. Furthermore, it serves as a chilling reminder of the fragility of free speech and how far those in power might go to control information. The campaign garnered international attention, highlighting
the censorship issue and bolstering the journalists’ fight against suppression.
Flags of Generosity: Mobilizing Compassion
Flags of Generosity by Cadbury is a social good campaign that addressed a very real need in Malaysia during the COVID-19 pandemic. People in need were flying white flags to signal that they lacked food and money. Cadbury created purple flags for people with extra food to give away. People with purple flags could then donate to
those in need flying white flags. This simple yet effective campaign helped to
connect people with the resources they needed during a difficult time. It is a great example of how a company can use its marketing muscle to make a positive impact on society.
The campaign’s beauty lies in its visual language. The flags created a stark yet
powerful symbol system that transcended spoken language and cultural barriers. It galvanized a sense of community empowerment, showing people that even small acts of kindness create a ripple effect. Flags of Generosity reminds us that sometimes the most effective advertising campaigns are those that tap into basic human empathy and facilitate tangible change.
These three campaigns are all very different, but they share some common themes. First, they are all about telling stories. A British Original tells the story of British Airways and its people. Newspapers Inside The Newspaper tells the story of a group of journalists who refused to be silenced. And Flags of Generosity tells the story of a community coming together to help each other in need. Second, these campaigns are all about emotions. A British Original evokes feelings of pride and nostalgia.
Newspapers Inside The Newspaper evokes feelings of anger and defiance. Flags of Generosity evoke feelings of compassion and generosity. Finally, these campaigns are all about impact. A British Original has helped to solidify British Airways’ position as a leading global airline. Newspapers Inside The Newspaper has helped to raise awareness of the importance of a free press. And Flags of Generosity has helped to provide much-needed assistance to people in need.
In conclusion, the D&AD Awards showcase the very best in advertising and design. The three campaigns discussed in this essay – A British Original, Newspapers Inside The Newspaper, and Flags of Generosity, exemplify the true potential of advertising. They demonstrate that the industry can go far beyond just selling products or services. Through storytelling, creativity, and addressing real-world problems, these campaigns make an enduring impact, resonating with hearts, and minds, and inspiring genuine positive action.
References:
https://www.dandad.org/awards/professional/2023/237629/a-british-original/
https://www.dandad.org/awards/professional/2023/237571/newspapers-inside-the-newspaper/
https://www.dandad.org/awards/professional/2022/236167/flags-of-generosity/
Poetry, Blogs, and Books 