Caps Lock Creativity

Nirashraya Hostels are strange creatures. They pretend to be just buildings, but really, they’re living diaries filled with thousands of overlapping stories — some loud enough to wake the floor, others buried so deep even the walls pretend they didn’t hear them. Everyone talks about the “fun” — the midnight Maggi runs, the gossip marathons, the festivals that feel like home away from home. And yes, that part exists. But there’s also another chapter no one volunteers to read aloud: the chapter where the walls close in, and you can’t tell if it’s the lack of space or the lack of warmth that’s suffocating you. Roommates? Ah, that’s a lottery you never signed up for but still have to play every single day. Some people win — they get sisters, partners-in-crime, midnight therapists. And then there are… the others. The “polite nod and nothing else” category. Mine? Let’s just say we could live in parallel universes and still talk exactly the same amount we do now — which is zero. You learn qui...

 It's not just a thread, it’s Tom chasing Jerry  not to catch, but to keep him safe from the world’s bigger cats. rakhi isn’t about rituals, it’s a quiet pact made louder with every shared secret, every side-eye across the room, every fight that ends with “okay, but don’t tell mom.” sometimes it’s blood. most times, it’s not. sometimes it’s that one friend who became family when they stood between you and heartbreak, like a firewall of soft threats and unmatched loyalty. this bond? it doesn’t need a surname, just shared laughter, a few bruises healed in silence, and the unspoken oath: i got you, always. it’s protection— in passwords, in prayers, in presence. be it physically standing tall, or spiritually standing by. may this rakhi season plant love in the soil of every stubborn heart grow it wild, grow it real. happy rakhi. to the threads, the hearts, and the people who tie them together in ways the world still doesn’t understand.

  Sākhyam You know what’s funny? We spend years thinking that friendship is about hanging out during breaks, tagging each other in memes, remembering birthdays, and sitting next to each other in class. We often picture a friend as someone from our age group, someone who shares our vibe, our college, our batch, or maybe even just our favorite songs. But life—thankfully—is far more poetic than that. As I grew up, I realized that friendship isn’t confined to shared lunchboxes or selfie folders. It’s not limited to who knows your current crush or who texts you "reached home?" after a hangout. A real friend doesn’t always laugh at your jokes but they understand your silences. They don’t just say, “I’m here,”—they stay when everyone else walks away. Friendship is not a tag; it’s a presence. A presence that believes in you when you don’t. That disagrees with you, corrects you, but still stands by your side. That doesn’t fuel your ego but nourishes your growth. Sometimes, your truest...

 Mondays With Meaning  Oh, it’s Monday . Tilak on forehead, mantra on tongue, you walk barefoot to temples, chanting names of the one called Pashupati Nath, Lord of all creatures, right? All creatures… except the one on your plate, of course. Tomorrow the same lips that whispered prayers will now sip gravy made of screams. The same hands that folded before a deity will scroll through menus with roasted bones. Devotion on weekends. Dissection on weekdays. What a divine balance. You fast during Shravan, skip meat for a month like it buys you a lifetime of innocence. But what happens when the calendar flips? Is your compassion date-bound? No, no, don’t worry. You don’t kill them yourself. You only fund the massacre while someone else becomes your butcher proxy. You didn’t hold the knife, but the blood still clings to your hunger. Oh, you call it “ just food ”? Strange… I call it a funeral. And let me guess, you love animals too.  Shares reels of puppies, you cry when a stree...