I turned 24 on a Friday of the previous week, and for the weekend that followed it, I found myself celebrating with friends, feasting on basil dumplings, marveling at the deliciousness of my pizza, posing before my camera and laughing at every joke I heard.
What style means to me..
When I was 4, I remember my mother wearing a black wrap, full length jumpsuit for an award function. When I was 9, I remember her suiting up in a white shirt for a work meeting. At 13, when she changed careers and started selling art, I remember her putting on a flowery embroidered kimono, while sipping wine during an art opening. When I turned 18, she wore a black dress for my birthday dinner and sometime during this year, she held up some red velvet fabric and excitedly said, ‘I’m going to make this into a sari!’
Not many have noticed, but I have been absent from social media – namely my Instagram page – for over 3 months now.
The last time I posted was on Feb 11th, 2018. 
While there are many factors that lead to this decision; in the time I was away, I could actually articulate my thoughts.
It goes all the way back to 2016, when I was working in social media and understood the level of visibility it gave me through the internet.
Another year gone, and although each year end marks the passage of time; for me it is marked as a box of lessons I’ve learned, labelled and sealed, pushed under my bed, for the years yet to come.
If I had to look back at 2017 and how it played out, I can easily say it was one of my tougher years.
In light of what happened in Manhattan,
A wound was struck deep with a carving fork,
Our minds are wild, but our hearts are sadden’
Starting with 26/11, now to New York.
Like a trail of blood for everyone to see,
A scary sight, from which we flee.
But let’s face it,
the Taj Oberoi attacks were deadly scary,
With 164 dead and 308 wounded,
It’s natural that it would make us wary.
But what happened to dear departed Kasab?
If he’s watching this,
Like salt in our wound, I see him rub.
