THE BENCH TALK

The Bench Talk...........


The breeze was softly flowing through the park like a graceful lady walking down a road. The dried leaves rustled over the cobbled stone path, kids laughing in the distance, and the sky slowly melting into shades of orange. Anirudh, a 60 year old man, sat on his usual stone bench near the walking track, sipping chai from a steel tumbler and humming “Yeh Shaam Mastani” with his eyes half closed and seemed to be enjoying every note of the song. His cotton kurta fluttered gently in the breeze, and his leather chappals tapped a slow rhythm on the ground. Just then, Anaya, a 20 year old girl, walked up, slightly agitated. One of her chunky sneaker laces had snapped, and she slumped down beside him with a sigh. “Ugh, this is so annoying,” she muttered, pulling out her phone. “Gonna order new laces on BlinkIt. Should be here in like 10 minutes.”


Anirudh looked at her, amused. “You’re ordering shoelaces? In ten minutes?” She nodded, not looking up. “Yeah, quick delivery. It’s a thing. I can’t walk around like this, it’s giving ‘hot mess’ energy.” He chuckled. “In our time, if something broke, we fixed it. No apps, no panic. Just jugaad.” She raised an eyebrow. “Jugaad? I think I have heard this before. Aaah you mean getting around something.” He smiled. “It means clever fix for you. Why not tie the broken ends in a knot? Make it look cool and artistic.” Anaya paused, "How do we go about it? I mean, I don't have the tools to do it. Okay, wait... this actually slaps. Like, it’s giving DIY streetwear.”


He smiled and signalled her to remove the shoes. With some deft moves, Anirudh tied the broken ends of the lace to resemble a bow and did the same to the other shoe. "This is so cool, man." Anaya was amazed and started clicking the picture of the lace. Instantly posted it on Instagram with the caption "Not just tied. Styled" and showed it to Anirudh. He was spell bound with her speed with which she posted the picture and had coined the caption.


After a few more pictures and a few more captions later, they started talking about music, life, and how everything had changed. Anaya was talking to him with Arijit’s “Heeriye” scrolling on her phone screen. Showing the scrolling image, she said, “This one’s trending right now. Everyone’s making reels with it.” Anirudh nodded. “Romantic, no? We have grownup listening to Kishore da. His songs are like poetry to the soul. ‘Yeh Shaam Mastani’ was our anthem for slow evenings and stolen glances.” She smiled. “Your vibe was handwritten letters, isn't it? Ours is blurry soft-launch pics and cryptic captions.” He looked puzzled. “Soft launch?” She giggled. “Ya, it’s when you post a pic with someone you’re dating but don’t show their face. Like it keeps things mysterious, you know.”


As the sun set lower, their conversation drifted to varied topics. Anaya spoke about how her generation lives online like they are always connected, yet often so lonely. “We talk about mental health, go to therapy, post memes about our feelings, but still feel kinda lost.” Anirudh listened quietly. “We never had any words for it. If we felt low, we would just keep quiet. Smiled through it. Lived through it. Grow through it” She looked at him, surprised. “That’s rough. Like, we do overshare sometimes, but at least we name it.” He nodded. “That’s brave. But don’t forget beta, healing takes time. Not everything can be delivered in ten minutes.”


They sat in silence for a while, watching the sky turn dusky. Anaya looked at her sneaker lace again, the bow was looking prettier. “This was nice,” she said. “Unexpected, but kinda grounding.” Anirudh smiled. “We call it soulful. Come next Sunday. I will get some old photo albums so that you can have a peek into my sepia world.” She grinned. “Bet. It’s a vibe.” Anaya's phone pinged rapidly, she glanced at the notifications and exclaimed, "OMG, can't believe it. Uncle, see, I got so many likes for my shoelace. Isn't that cool?" Anirudh nodded with a smile.


Just like that, the broken lace became a thread connecting two strangers, two eras, and one quiet bench in the middle of a noisy world a bridge between the two worlds.

BREATHING ROOMS, LIVING MEMORIES

 

Breathing Rooms, Living Memories ........

After weeks of business travel, I finally stepped back into the sanctuary of my home. The moment I crossed the threshold, a wave of familiar scents wrapped around me—warm, grounding, unmistakably mine. The air itself felt like an embrace, soft and intimate, stirring memories tucked into corners and cushions.

During my journey, I had stayed in a variety of hotel rooms, each space offering its own palette of sensations—distinct textures, moods, and subtle olfactory whispers. I found myself attuned to the energies of each place, absorbing their quiet stories through scent and atmosphere.

Now, back in my own space, I could feel the difference—not just in comfort, but in resonance. Home doesn’t just smell familiar. It feels like truth.

Homes Are Not Built—They Are Breathed Into Being

A home is so much more than a structure with walls and a roof. It’s a living entity, sustained by the emotional rhythms of those who inhabit it. As we spend our days and nights within a space, our energy—our hopes, worries, laughter, and silence—seeps into the very foundation.

Every chai shared in the cozy confines, every tear shed during a tough time, every quiet moment of reflection—it all leaves a mark. That’s why a newly bought house often feels cold and empty until it’s infused with our unique vibrations. We are the ones who give it a soul, making it a sanctuary that reflects who we are.

The Invisible Imprint of Emotion

When you step into a house that has been lived in before, you can feel it immediately. It’s not just the furniture or the layout; there’s a certain feel in the air. Maybe the rooms feel warm and welcoming, like someone left behind love and laughter. Or maybe there’s a heaviness, a quiet discomfort you can’t quite explain—like the eerie stillness in a thriller film.

These aren’t just spooky stories. They’re subtle energies absorbed by the walls, the floors, even the air. Just as you can sense tension after a fight, homes carry emotional fingerprints. And as new occupants, we have a choice: to ignore those energies or to gently shift them.

Transforming Space with Intention

The beautiful part is, we have the power to transform any space. Just like we clean the floors and repaint the walls, we can also cleanse the emotional atmosphere. Playing music, lighting a diya, laughing with loved ones, or simply sitting quietly with good thoughts can shift the mood of a home.

Even placing fresh flowers or cooking a meal with love can bring warmth into the space. Think of it like planting seeds in a garden—what you nurture will grow. You can’t control what happened before, but you can choose what happens now. Your energy becomes the new heartbeat of the home.

The Sacred Responsibility of Atmosphere

Ultimately, the atmosphere of your home is your responsibility. It’s up to you whether you want to create a space that feels like heaven or one that drains you. If you fill it with kindness, patience, and joy, it becomes a place of healing and comfort. If you let stress, anger, or fear take over, it can feel like a trap.

A home is a living thing—it listens, it responds, and it reflects. The energy you put into it is the energy you get back. And that simple, powerful exchange is what makes a house truly a home.

THE HEALTHY PEOPLE DIET

 

The Healthy People Diet........

Advait had always been the quiet one in his group. He wasn’t loud or flashy, but he had dreams—big ones. He loved books, ideas, and the feeling of discovering something new. But lately, being around his friends, Rohit and Vikas, felt heavy, as if he was carrying a backpack full of stones.

They never shouted at him or called him names. No, it was more subtle than that. A quick eye-roll when he spoke. A smirk passed between them like a secret. When Advait shared something he was excited about—a new book, a thought, a dream—they didn’t listen. They judged. Silently. Sharply. It was like being in a room where the lights were always dimmed, no matter how brightly he tried to shine.

One rainy afternoon at their usual café, Advait told them he was joining a story writing club, where he would learn and hone his writing skills. His eyes lit up as he spoke. It felt like the beginning of something beautiful. But Rohit just sipped his coffee and said, “Story writing? Seriously? Writers are born, not made.” Vikas laughed and added, “Yeah, stick to your job, man. Don’t get into that creative shit, it's just a passing fad.”

That moment felt like a slap wrapped in a smile. Advait saw it clearly—this wasn’t friendship. It was slow poison. Their words didn’t just hurt—they shrunk him. Made him question his worth. Then, something clicked.

He remembered a line he’d read once: “Feed your soul only what lifts you. Choose a Healthy People Diet.” And suddenly, their words felt like junk food—greasy, stale, and harmful. He didn’t argue. He didn’t explain. He just smiled, nodded, and stood up. As he walked away, he felt something strange… something light. Like he’d dropped that heavy backpack at last. The change wasn’t loud. It was quiet, like a sunrise, slow, reassuring and beautiful.

Advait stopped replying to their messages. He didn’t go to their meetups. Instead, he spent time with Sushant, a colleague who loved writing too. Sushant listened, encouraged, and never mocked. Advait joined a local writing club, where people clapped for each other’s stories and shared ideas like gifts. The room felt warm, like home. It was after a long time in years, Advait felt seen. 

Without Rohit and Vikas’s shadow, Advait began to shine. His writing grew stronger. His confidence grew. He felt alive again. He started waking up with purpose, scribbling ideas in his notebook, and dreaming of stories that mattered.

And one day, while journaling, he understood something deep: Rohit and Vikas weren’t mocking his dreams because they were silly. They were mocking them because they were scared. His courage reminded them of their own fears. His growth made them feel stuck. Advait didn’t hate them. He just chose better. He chose kindness, support, and light. 

He chose a Healthy People Diet. And it was the best decision he ever made.

Months later, Advait sat in the same café, this time with his writing club friends. The air felt different—lighter, warmer. As he read a short story aloud, the table burst into applause. He smiled, not just because they liked his work, but because he finally liked himself. He had learned that the right people don’t just hear your words—they help you find your voice.