The Divine Riddle: A Conversation with the Architect!!

 

A Note on "Mood Swings"

​Before you tell me that women have mood swings and it's visible in my posts, let me warn you: I have great competitors like Mr. Trump and Mr. Macron. One gives a statement and backs out in a single day, and the other says, "Let’s go on a trade bazooka!" Then there's our nearest neighbor, constantly highlighting a trade surplus of billions in China while the ground shifts beneath them.

​So, don’t blame just me for being a woman. I see more mood swings in men with power these days than in any "High Value" algorithm.

​Sometimes, though, the "mood swing" isn't about politics or digital traps. Sometimes, it’s a quiet conversation with something much higher than a world leader. It’s the moment when the digital deception fades, and you’re left looking at the signs carved into your own life.

A Conversation with the Architect:-

Lord, years ago, You wove a thread,

Of coincidences I misread.

A trail of breadcrumbs, soft and fine—

I followed them, thinking, "This is mine." But the path was hollow, the signs were skewed,

A grand redirection I hadn't pursued.

And when You finally turned the wheel,

The courage I needed wasn't real.

You watched me struggle, You watched me fail,

As I walked the wind and braved the gale.

Each phase a mountain, each step a test,

I carried the weight, hoping for rest.

I told myself, "The end is near,"

While wiping away the grit and fear.

Now, years have passed, and the silence is gone,

The same old signals are turning back on.

But my heart is weary, my eyes are wise,

I see the trap beneath the disguise.

And now, that number stands in wait,

Carved in stone beside my gate.

Is it a promise? Or just a design?

I used to beg for a tangible sign.

But I am tired of the maze and the "nearly,"

Of waiting for You to speak to me clearly.

So, I’ll leave the riddle right there at the door,

I won’t ask for meanings or maps anymore.

If the silence is Your answer, then let it be deep;

I have promises to myself I must keep.

Whether it’s a gift or a trick of the light,

I’ll trust my own soul to get through the night.

For the peace that I feel when I stop seeking "why,"

Is the only true signal I need to get by.

YouTube Thinks I Need an Upgrade (And My Ego Has Some Questions)!!

 

​I opened YouTube today, expecting a recipe or perhaps a relaxing video of a cat playing a piano. Instead, the algorithm slapped me in the face with a video titled: "How to Become a High Value Woman."

​Excuse me?

​First of all, YouTube, who gave you the right? Second of all, what does that even mean? Is there a stock market for women now? Am I currently trading at an all-time low? Do I need to wait for a quarterly earnings report to see if my "value" has gone up?

​The Algorithm’s Identity Crisis

​As a content creator, I understand how algorithms work. They track your every move. So naturally, I spent the next ten minutes spiraling: What did I search for that made a robot think I was "Low Value"? Did I look up "how to get stains out of pajamas" one too many times? Did I linger too long on a video about DIY 5-minute crafts?

​As a High Value Woman, I did the only logical thing: I closed the app and sat with my own thoughts. No scrolling. No binge-watching. Just me, myself, and my "un-certified" value.

​The Great Value Deception

​We live in a world where everyone wants easy money and even easier fame. The digital world has turned into a marketplace of flesh and fakes. If you want billions of views, apparently you just need to show some skin and talk about "psychology" while actually tearing people down.

​These creators love to give you a checklist to "scale" yourself.

• ​Do you walk like this? +10 points. * Do you speak like that? -5 points. * Do you have the IQ of a toaster but the confidence of a runway model?
• Congratulations, you’re Elite!

​I want to know where these people get their confidence. It must be a lack of intelligence—it’s much easier to be confident when you don't have enough brain cells to realize you’re being ridiculous.

​The Storm vs. The Status

​Here is the truth the digital world doesn't want you to know: You cannot measure a human being on a sliding scale. Your "measuring scale" might track status, height, weight, and bank accounts, but it has no setting for "Storms Weathered." It can’t measure the strength it took to survive a bad year or the dignity of someone who works a "low-status" job to feed their family.

​A certificate of "High Value" from a YouTuber with a ring light and a script is worth exactly zero.

​Final Thoughts

​Digital world, I am officially frustrated with your deceptions. You try to make us feel like we’re "low-tier" so we’ll click your links and buy your courses.

​But here’s a free tip for the Mystery Eaters and the Algorithm Architects: My value isn't a stock price. It doesn't fluctuate based on your "tips." I am the one who decides my worth, and I’m currently not for sale.

Agent 420(the tiffin taster)!!

 If my marriage had a soundtrack, the percussion would be the sound of Tupperware lids clicking shut, and the lead melody would be my husband saying, "Hey, have you seen my lunchbox?"

Most people lose their keys or their phone. My husband? He loses lunchboxes. It is his superpower. He treats lunch containers like disposable tissues. Ever since we got married, I’ve watched a steady parade of high-quality plastic enter his office, never to be seen again. At this point, I’m convinced there is a secret underground society in his office building made entirely of his "lost" water bottles, helmets, and lunchboxes.

But last week, the universe threw us a plot twist.

The Great Pre-Lunch Heist

Usually, he loses the box after eating. This time, someone snatched it before lunch.

He called me, sounding like he’d just witnessed a heist. "It's gone! Someone took it!"

While he was panicking about his missing calories, I was actually flattered. I started laughing. My cooking is so legendary that we now have corporate spies stealing it before the noon bell? I told him, "Look on the bright side—someone finally appreciates my hard work enough to commit a crime for it!"

I told him to go buy lunch. For the first time in history, he didn't come home with a brand-new box. I think he knew that if he brought one more "mismatched set" box into my kitchen, I might lose it. My cabinets are already a chaotic museum of "The One That Got Away."

In a building with over 5,000 employees, the odds of seeing that box again were zero. We all know the drill: you assume someone took it by mistake because they have the same generic blue lid, or you quietly blame the "system."

But then, the miracle happened.

Today, the box was returned to security. Not just returned—cleaned. I have so many questions for this Mystery Eater:

Did you enjoy the spices?

Did you find the salt levels adequate?

Did it take you a full week to "muster the courage" to drop it off at security, or did it just take that long to scrub the turmeric stains out?

A Missed Bollywood Opportunity

Honestly, I’m a little disappointed. This could have been a real-life The Lunchbox movie moment. I was half-expecting a handwritten note tucked inside: "The dal was life-changing. Please send more Jeera rice on Wednesday. Sincerely, Cubicle 420"

I wouldn't even have been mad! If the Mystery Eater is reading this: I’m open to starting a private "Dabbawala" service just for you. I’ll even send an extra box with my courier (aka my husband) every day.

The only catch? It’s going to be chargeable. And for the love of all things holy, please don't make me wait a week for the box to come back next time.

P.S. To the Mystery Eater: If you’re reading this, thank you for the dishwashing services. Next time, leave a review! 4 stars? 5 stars? Or was it just "better than the cafeteria food"? My husband is already prepared to be your daily delivery driver—for a small fee, of course.

Honestly, you should probably just give me a 1-star review and be done with it. I know the complaints already:

The "Sambar" Scandal: You probably thought, "Who puts raw papaya and potatoes in sambar?!" It’s a total identity crisis, right?

The Flavor Gap: Not enough salt, zero spice, and absolutely no tamarind.

The Bean Fry Fiasco: Again with the potatoes! And without coriander powder, does a dish even legally count as "tasty"?

But here’s the thing: That wasn't your standard South Indian meal—that was authentic Odia homely food.  In our kitchen, that’s exactly how we love it! Whether it stands up to your idea of "proper" sambar or not, it’s a taste of home for us. Never mind, though—I hope you enjoyed the change, even if you missed the cuisine memo entirely!

However... if you happen to be a fellow Odia who actually enjoyed the Dalma and the simple flavors—then you are more than welcome! Feel free to place your regular dabba service order with us, yet I warn you salt will be in lower side as that's my signature style. 

The Clever, The Foolish, and the Hollow in Between!!

 I was reading a story to my son today about two characters: Neing and Asu. It is a story as old as time itself. Neing is the "foolish" one—the one who gives, the one who works, the one who yields. Asu is the "clever" one—the one who receives, the one who tricks, the one who masters the art of letting others serve him.

In the logic of the story, Neing’s "foolishness" is presented as a virtue. He works harder because he doesn't know how to demand. He gives up his share because he cannot bring himself to force his needs upon another. In the world of children’s books, we call this kindness. But in the world of adults, we call it a deficit.

In the fables, a great storm eventually comes. The clever one’s greed leads to his downfall, and the foolish one is rewarded for his endurance. We tell our children these stories to make them "good." We tell ourselves these stories to justify our own silence.

But as I closed the book, I looked at the reality around me. In the real world, the storm often never happens. The "Asus" of our lives don’t lose; they accumulate. They move from one success to another, building their empires on the backs of those who were too "good" to say no. They occupy the rooms, they claim the credit, and they sleep soundly while the "Neings" are left with the labor.

The tragedy of the "Neing" isn't just the extra work. It is the hollow that grows within when they realize their "goodness" was used as a tool for their own depletion. By not forcing their needs on others, they effectively told the world that their needs didn't exist.

As I read this to my son, I feel a deep urge to change the narrative.

Neing cannot go back in time. He cannot undo the years where his hard work was harvested by the clever. Those chapters are written in stone. But he is learning that while he cannot change the past, he can certainly change the terms of the future.

I am teaching my son this story, but I am also teaching him the lesson Neing learned late: that goodness is only sustainable when it is protected by boundaries. Neing is finally learning to build a fence around his efforts. He is learning that his hard work is a treasure to be guarded, not a commodity to be handed over to the first clever person who asks. The storm may never come for Asu, but Neing is busy building a house that finally belongs to him.

वक्त की रेत!!

 सपने इतने ऊँचे देखो, आँखें न मूँद पाएँ,

जब तक मंज़िल मिल न जाए, नींद न पास आए।

पर हकीकत बड़ी कड़वी है, ए दोस्त ज़रा देख,

ढलती उम्र में नींद और ख़्वाब, दोनों छोड़ जाएँ।

सब यहीं छूट जाना है, फिर ये कैसा मलाल है?

नींद और सपनों का साथ चलना, बस एक सवाल है।

हम तो वहीं ठहरे रहे, पर वक्त भागता गया,

हमें पीछे धकेल कर, अपना रस्ता नापता गया।

इस दौड़ में अक्सर, मुस्कान भी खो जाती है,

सपनों के साथ अपनों की पहचान भी खो जाती है।

न जाने क्या-क्या संग लेकर, ये गुज़र जाता है,

पीछे बस यादों का एक धुंधला सा साया छोड़ जाता है।

जब अंत निश्चित है सबका, तो ये कैसी बेबसी है?

जाने क्यों दिल से जाती नहीं, ये जो अजीब सी उदासी है।

कोई आए और ले जाए, इस खामोश दर्द को अपने साथ,

अब ये बोझिल रूह मेरी, माँगे उम्र भर की मात।

The medal of the minute: a lesson from the Rama Setu!!

 They say we humans have a brain that can think, and that is why we are the mightiest creatures—the best creation of the Supreme Lord. However, time and again, the animal kingdom has proven its ability to think, often outsmarting the very humans who claim superiority.

​Consider the squirrel present during the making of the Rama Setu. Did it not display a profound ability to think and feel?

​Indeed, it did. In fact, being one of the tiniest of creations, it didn't seem bothered by its size or its impact. It didn't wait for permission or compare its stature to the task at hand. It simply did exactly what it could do. Driven by a genuine intention to contribute, the squirrel took a dip in the sea, rolled in the sand to cover itself, and then hurried onto the Setu to shake itself clean. Each grain of sand was its silent offering to the bridge.

​The squirrel was not discouraged by the humongous vanaras, the giants who could uproot massive stones and toss them into the abyss. While the magnitude of the giants surely accelerated the construction, the tiny squirrel possessed a purity of purpose that the "Grand Creation" required.

​This tiny act did not go unnoticed. In a world of chaos and boulders, the Lord Himself paused. The squirrel was picked up by the Divine hand and received a pat on its back—gentle strokes that left three permanent lines.

​For all its fellow species, and for all of us who feel petite in a world of giants, those lines remain. They are not just fur; they are a medal to be remembered always. A mark that proves that while the world measures the weight of the stone, the Universe measures the weight of the heart.

हक छीनने से पहले (Haq Chheen Ne Se Pehle)!!

 Today, I watched a movie called "Haq". But the screen faded into the background as the word itself got stuck in my throat. I had to pause the film because my own life was playing a much more painful script and I felt like scribbling a poem out of it.

The tears came silently—the way they always do. Not a loud cry for help, but a quiet leak from a foundation that has held too much for too long.

हक जताना पड़ता है? पर किसके आगे?

जब कोई अपना, जाने से पहले एक बार बोले न...

जब कोई अपना, बोझ की तरह किसी और को दे दे,

जब कोई अपना, 'चीट' करने से पहले एक पल सोचे न...

तो कैसा हक? जिसे हमें ज़ाहिर करना पड़े।

पर जो प्यार दिया हमने, क्या उसका कोई हक नहीं?

क्या जो सम्मान दिया हमने, उसका कोई मान नहीं?

क्या जब हम पीछे खड़े थे ढाल बनकर, उसका कोई वजूद नहीं?

फिर किसी को क्यों नहीं दिखा हमारा हक?

क्यों ज़ाहिर करनी पड़ेगी अब हमें अपनी इबादत?

वाह रे किस्मत, वाह क्या खेल खेला है तूने—

हक मारकर पूछता है: "क्यों नहीं जताया तुमने?"

कम से कम ये पैंतरे समझा तो देता... 

मेरा हक छीनने से पहले।

Translation:

They say one must claim their right... but before whom?

When our own "person" leaves without a single word,

When they hand us over like a burden to someone else,

When they don't pause for a second before they betray...

What kind of "right" is that, which needs to be explained?

Was there no right in the love I gave so freely?

Was there no honor in the respect I offered blindly?

When I stood behind them, a silent pillar, was that existence invisible?

Then why did no one see my right back then?

Why must I prove my worth to the world now?

Bravo, Destiny! What a cruel game you play—

You crush my rights, and then ask: "Why didn't you speak?"

You could have at least explained these tactics... before you stole what was mine.