Heartbeat of a raindrop

I was probably exposed to my love language very early in life, though it took me 25 years to truly understand what it meant. It wasn’t until I moved to Kharagpur for my master’s that I began to realize its depth and value. As a child, I loved eating vada and sambar, especially the sweet, Mangalore-style variety. Even today, I could sip through buckets of it without pause. Sadly, I couldn’t find that exact taste in Kharagpur or here in Edmonton, but that never stopped me from eating or loving food. In India, food is more than sustenance, it is an emotion, a celebration, and often, a silent expression of love. As author Chitrita Banerji puts it in her book Eating India,  "Food in India is not just a means of satisfying hunger,  it is a cultural expression, an offering to gods, a gift to others, and a language of bonding." In Kharagpur, I began experimenting more in the hostel room with a portable induction stove, cooking with whatever ingredients I could find. That’s how I en...

I’m not talking about the people we share a few hours with on a journey, but about those with whom we travel for months or years. We often hear that some people come into our lives to teach us, love us, fix us, or help us grow. Yet, in all these narratives, we rarely discuss the ones who hurt us. The world tends to shed light only on the positive lessons others bring, leaving the hurt and betrayal locked away, treated as a matter for therapists—if we even believe in therapy. For many, it’s a burden carried alone, stored away until it overwhelms us. But is this how we should approach life? Some of us have trusted family and friends who genuinely care, but not everyone is blessed with such a circle. And when betrayal strikes, it becomes difficult to believe in anyone. Can we slowly unravel our sorrows, little by little, instead of letting them build until they crush us? The truth is, you don’t need a single person to be your all-in-one solution. Share your burdens like you would do chore...