O you brave men or the most hateful individuals, Whether you are engaged in a religious war, Acting as the agents of some authority, Or dancing to the tunes of your Master's Voice, What have you accomplished? For money? Then ask the tailor to sew a pocket onto your last garment. If you believe you have months to live before reaching heaven, Realise that in pursuit of a paradise, that no one has seen, You have turned 'Heaven on Earth' into hell.
Have you seen the image of the innocent face, Still adorned with chura in her arms, Henna on her hands, and the fragrance of fresh rose petals Showered on her during her marriage just days ago? Now the head of her husband rests in her lap. They came to Pahalgam to create beautiful memories of their marriage, But what has become of that hope? May the Almighty spare your loved ones from such a fate.
Reflect on what you truly gain from such actions. Do you consider how the noble souls who have perished in this violence Will console their families? O Kings of the Kingdom of Hatred, Cease this horrific war; do not play with the lives of innocent people. O Heaven on Earth, today the lovers of humanity are ashamed of the actions of misguided individuals. Grant them a sense of compassion, if you can.
“We need to generate leads.” Sounds familiar? If only I got a penny every time clients & potential clients have said this to me. Here’s the catch: 97% of your audience isn’t ready to buy today.
So why keep microwaving content like instant noodles & expecting a five-course meal? Demand generation isn’t about forcing leads— it’s about planting seeds. Here’s how to grow them right:
1. Awareness First, Leads Later:
Forget instant conversions. Start by positioning your expertise, experience & unique value through content that educates, not sells. Think blogs, videos & webinars that answer burning questions.
Example: A SaaS company creates a YouTube series on “How to Reduce Customer Churn” instead of pushing a product demo.
2. Know Your Ideal Customer Profile (ICP) Inside Out:
Guessing your audience’s pain points? That’s like baking a cake without a recipe.
Do this: Use intent data to track online behaviors and tailor content to what your ICP actually needs.
Pro tip: Narrow your ICP as much as possible. A vague audience = generic messaging that falls flat.
3. Show Them What They Need (Before They Know It):
Your audience might not be searching for your solution yet. Create demand by highlighting problems they’re ignoring.
Tactic: Publish ungated “how-to” guides (e.g., “5 Signs Your Sales Process Is Leaking Revenue”) to build trust.
Case study: Brands like Seiko used targeted display ads to boost keyword searches by 110%— by focusing on customer needs, not products.
4. Relationships > Transactions:
People buy from brands they trust.
Host webinars or workshops to engage prospects face-to-face (even virtually).
Leverage LinkedIn ads or email sequences to nurture leads with personalized content, not sales pitches.
5. Measure, Iterate, Repeat:
Track everything— content engagement, ad performance, lead quality. Double down on what works.
Tool hack: Use retargeting ads to re-engage visitors who consumed your content but didn’t convert.
The Bottom Line
Demand generation isn’t a 2-minute noodle hack. You can’t just pour hot water on half-baked content and call it a meal. It’s a slowsimmer— educating, earning trust & staying on their radar until your ideal customer wakes up one day thinking, “Damn,Ineedwhatthey’reserving.” So stop fishing for instant leads. Start cooking real demand. Also, read my last article on Content Creation Challenges.
This piece is a heartfelt reflection on the unseen emotional and mental labor mothers carry in silence. It sheds light on how society often glorifies motherhood with ideals of strength, sacrifice, and selflessness, while failing to recognize the immense personal cost these expectations can bring. The writing challenges the romanticized notion of the “supermom,” emphasizing how this narrative contributes to the invisibility of a mother’s emotional struggles. Through vivid expressions and honest admissions, the writer gives voice to countless mothers who feel unheard, overwhelmed, and undervalued, despite giving their all to their families.
The final sections underscore the urgent need for acknowledgment, compassion, and open conversations about the realities of motherhood. The emphasis is not on seeking pity but on reclaiming the space to feel, to rest, and to be human. It encourages mothers to speak up, ask for help, and allow themselves to exist beyond their roles. The message is clear: in order to build a better, emotionally healthy future for our children, we must first start by nurturing the emotional well-being of mothers themselves. Recognizing their invisible load is the first step in honoring not just the idea of motherhood, but the women who live it every single day.
We talk about how beautiful motherhood is. But what about the weight no one sees?
Let me say this upfront: this is not a pity piece. It’s not about “poor moms” or “motherhood is suffering.”
I love being a mom—with all my heart.
Motherhood is powerful. It’s transformative. It’s sacred.
But somewhere along the way, culture wrapped that sacredness in silence— in expectations, in myths we never questioned.
And because of that, motherhood can feel… invisible.
Over the years, we’ve turned mothers into superheroes. And that sounds like a compliment—until you realise: Superheroes are expected to do it all. Without a pause. Without asking for help.
The Invisible Load We Carry
You do everything:
Pack the lunchboxes. Fold the little socks. Remember every birthday, every doctor’s appointment, every school event.
You cheer the loudest. You love the hardest.
And somehow… you’re still the last person to get a “How are you doing?”
That’s the disadvantage. The part no one warns you about.
We hear it all the time:
Mothers are selfless.
Mothers always put family first.
Mothers are meant to be strong.
And so, we do. We give. We bend.
Because strength has been romanticised. Because sacrifice has been worshipped.
It’s the idea that you’re not allowed to feel overwhelmed by it all. That if you do somehow, you’ve failed.
Motherhood slowly becomes an identity that swallows every other one you had. You’re no longer the writer, the dreamer, the dancer, the girl with silly quirks. You’re just—“mumma.”
A beautiful title, yes. But also a heavy one.
The Silent Sacrifices
It’s in the way the world expects you to be okay. All. The. Time.
You’re expected to keep the ship sailing, even when you’re drowning below deck. To smile through exhaustion. To juggle everything with grace.
We’ve been conditioned to believe that motherhood means being the eternal caretaker, even at the cost of our well-being. Somewhere along the line, self-care became a luxury instead of a necessity.
This isn’t about blaming anyone. Our grandmothers did it. Our mothers did it. And now, we’re expected to continue—without questioning the weight passed down from generation to generation.
The silent strength of holding it all together while coming undone.
There are days when the weight of motherhood feels heavier than I can carry. There are nights when I lie awake, wondering if anyone truly understands the mental load I carry.
There are moments when I question whether I’ve lost parts of myself in the process—whether I’m still me, or just a collection of roles.
It’s a constant balancing act: Trying to nurture your family while also trying to nurture yourself. Trying to be everything to everyone, without completely losing yourself in the process.
And no matter how much we try, the guilt creeps in. If we take time for ourselves, we feel selfish. If we push through exhaustion, we feel like we’re failing at motherhood.
The unspoken disadvantage? We’re not allowed to feel both exhausted and loved. Both burned out and worthy.
The Quiet Strength We’ve Come To Expect
There’s a certain quiet strength in motherhood.
It’s the strength that says, “I’ve got this,” even when you’re on the brink of collapse. It’s the strength that keeps you going, even when you feel like you’ve given all you have to give.
And yet—it’s the very thing that makes it hard to ask for help. To show weakness. To admit when you’re struggling.
Because we’ve been taught that if we don’t make it look easy, we’re failing.
I’m here to tell you: You’re not failing. No one has it all together all the time. Not even superheroes.
And maybe it’s time we stop expecting ourselves, as mothers, to be superhuman. Maybe it’s time we start acknowledging the weight we carry— and stop pretending it doesn’t exist.
What’s Missing: Acknowledgment, Pauses, And Support
Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade motherhood for anything.
But I do wish for: More acknowledgment. More pauses. More hugs.
So here I am, saying it out loud. Not for sympathy. But for love.
The real weight of motherhood isn’t in everything we do— It’s in everything we silently feel and don’t share, Just because our emotions might be ‘too much’ for the world.
Motherhood is all-encompassing. But that doesn’t mean it should take everything away.
It’s okay to say, I need a break. It’s okay to feel tired, overwhelmed, and unsure. And it’s okay to take a moment.
Because when we do, we create space for ourselves and our families. Space to breathe. To be honest. To be heard.
And that honesty? It makes our relationships stronger. It helps us let go of silent grudges. It helps us release the blame. It helps us accept, with love.
If we want something better for our daughters, our sons, and ourselves, We have to start talking. Out loud and unfiltered.
Because motherhood deserves honour that’s worth protecting. But mothers? They deserve to be seen, too.
Even the strongest hearts need rest, and even the kindest souls deserve to be seen. Acknowledgment can be the beginning of healing.
Girish Karnad (May 19, 1938 – June 10, 2019) was an incredible Indian actor, filmmaker, and writer who made a huge impact in the world of Kannada literature and beyond. He was a Jnanpith award winner and worked across various languages like Hindi, Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, and Marathi. When he started writing plays in the 1960s, it was a big turning point for modern Indian playwriting in Kannada.
For around forty years, he wrote plays that often mixed history and mythology with today's issues. He even translated his works into English and got a lot of praise for them. At the time he began writing, Kannada literature was really influenced by Western literature, and many writers were choosing topics that didn't feel very local or connected to their roots. But then, after reading C. Rajagopalachari's version of the Mahabharata in 1951, something clicked for him. Karnad discovered a fresh way to use historical and mythological stories to explore modern themes and the existential struggles of people today. He created characters who faced deep psychological and philosophical challenges, making his work resonate with many.
One such play of his is ‘The Fire and the Rain’, which is counted among Karnad’s most popular and highly acclaimed plays. Originally written in Kannada as ‘Agni Mattu Male’, this play takes its story from the later chapters of the Mahabharata. During the Pandava’s pilgrimage to the heavens they pass through a sacred spot and Sage Lomaasha narrates to Yudhishthira the story of the death and resurrection of sage Yavakrita.
The Story of Yavakrita
Once there were two sages who were friends—Raibhya and Bharadwaj. Raibhya had two sons, Paravasu and Aravasu, while Bharadwaj had one son, Yavakrita. Yavakrita envied the respect that Raibhya and his sons received. He wanted to be wiser and more knowledgeable. Instead of taking the traditional route of studying under a guru, he decided to go into the jungle and commit to deep penance to force the gods to grant him knowledge.
Indra, the king of the gods, came down to teach him about the flaw in his approach. However, seeing Yavakrita's stubbornness, Indra ultimately granted him knowledge of all the Vedas and beyond.
Later one day Yavakrita is passing by Raibhya’s hermitage and finds that his daughter-in-law, alone, and rapes her. When Raibhya learns of this he creates two creatures – a beautiful woman who entices Yavakrita and a rakshasa who kills him. Upon seeing his son dead Bharadwaj is grieved and dies, but not before setting a curse on Paravasu that he will be the cause of his father Raibhya’s death.
The curse comes to fruition when, one day, Paravasu returns home utterly exhausted after performing a yajna for a king. In the darkness, he mistakes Raibhya for a wild animal and, in self-defense, shoots an arrow, accidentally killing him. To protect Paravasu, Raibhya’s younger son takes the blame for the death, allowing Paravasu to continue with his yajna. In his grief, Aravasu prays to the gods and manages to bring his father, Bharadwaj, and Yavakrita back to life.
The story illustrates how, despite possessing extensive knowledge, Yavakrita ultimately had no control over his senses because he failed to follow the proper path of serving a guru, leading to his downfall.
Book: The Fire and the Rain
Girish Karnad significantly alters the story to incorporate themes of love, betrayal, jealousy, and revenge. The play is set against the backdrop of a prolonged drought affecting a kingdom. Paravasu, the chief priest, is conducting a seven-year-long sacrifice to appease Indra, the god of rain and the king of all deities. The action begins as the sacrifice is nearing its conclusion.
The Fire And The Rain
Upon reading the play, we observe that the relationship between Yavakrita, referred to as Yavakri in the play, and Paravasu’s wife, Vishakha, is altered. In this version, Yavakri and Vishakha were lovers before he left for a ten-year penance. She is later married off to Paravasu and endures an unhappy life, striving to be the ideal wife and daughter-in-law. When Yavakri meets Vishakha again, they engage in a conversation. Vishakha reveals that during the first year of their marriage, Paravasu hardly spoke to her. He was perpetually in search of knowledge and used her body to satisfy his physical desires. And then he left for the sacrifice and has not seen her in seven years. By the end of their conversation, Yavakri manages to coerce her into having intercourse with him.
Then there’s Raibhya. Here the highly revered sage is presented as a vile old man. When he learns about Vishakha’s infidelity he calls her a whore and slaps and kicks her. He is angry at Yavakri for ruining his family's reputation and awakens a Bramharakshasa, a Brahmin soul stuck between the mortal world and the afterlife, to kill Yavakri. When Vishakha goes to warn Yavakri about the danger to his life, he reveals how he did this as revenge, because he believed that his father Bharadwaja deserved more respect than Raibhya.
After Yavakri’s death Paravasu comes to the hermitage in secret at night. This leads to a scene where Vishakha has a conversation with him where she conveys her feelings of loneliness and misery. She reveals that Raibhya was envious of his own son for becoming the chief priest in the sacrifice instead of him, and he expressed this jealousy by sexually assaulting his daughter-in-law. Additionally, she highlights that both he and Yavakri exploited her body for their selfish needs. After Vishakha's heartfelt outburst, she asks Paravasu to kill her with an arrow to free her from her disgrace. Instead, Paravasu shoots the arrow at Raibhya.
One might assume that he killed Raibhya out of anger. However, he reveals that he was aware of Raibhya's jealousy. He says that Raibhya had killed Yavakri to divert his attention from the sacrifice, ultimately ruining it. And that is why he killed Raibhya. He tells Aravasu that he mistakenly thought their father was an animal in the dark and shot him. Later, he placed the blame for Raibhya's death on Aravasu.
And then we come to Aravasu, the younger son of Raibhya. He is portrayed as the simple and innocent younger son of Raibhya, caught in this convoluted drama. He has no interest in learning the scriptures; instead, he dreams of dancing and performing alongside his lover, Nittilai, a tribal girl. Aravasu wishes to marry Nittilai and is even willing to abandon his Brahmin caste for her. However, due to a series of unforeseen events, he is unable to do so, and Nittilai’s father has her marry another man.
Nittilai is not merely a love interest for Aravasu; she is given a voice and actively questions the rules and traditions that bind her. She questions Yavakri’s search for knowledge, asking why he did not ask Indra to end the drought, helping all the people in misery. Ultimately, when she is married against her will, she chooses to run away to be with Aravasu.
The most significant change that Karnad makes to the story is the ending. In this version, Indra is pleased with Aravasu and grants him a boon. The scene depicts the souls of all the dead characters standing, hoping to be brought back to life. However, the Bramharakshasa then begs Aravasu to ask for his freedom from the cycle of life and death, which Aravasu does. So, opposite to the original story, Yavakri is not resurrected. He faces the consequences of his actions.
Reading the original story and then the play, it is not hard to tell why Karnad made the changes. The most prominent reason is that the original tale entirely sidelines the woman who was sexually assaulted. Paravasu’s wife is a plot device that leads to Yavakrita’s death. The story tells us that Since Yavakrita gained knowledge through a shortcut, he had not achieved the control over his senses that comes with proper study under a guru. That is why he raped the woman. In the end, he is brought back to life, and it is presented as a happy ending
The play provides the wife with an identity by giving her a name, Vishakha, and a voice of her own, allowing her to express herself as an individual, which is absent in the original narrative. Her voice is presented as the voice of rebellion against the patriarchal society that reduces women to nothing but tools for pleasure. He does the same with the character of Nittilai as well. She is put into a marriage against her will, however, she dares to not accept that as her fate.
Karnad depicts the casteism prevalent at the time, and unfortunately still exists today in the play. It is earlier established in the play that actors are of low caste, just because they indulge in pretense. Even if a person is born a Brahmin, he loses his caste if he becomes an actor. Earlier in the play, when the character of the actor-manager comes to offer to perform a play to please Indra, he is asked not to look at the sacrificial pyre, as it will pollute the sacrifice.
The story of Nittilai depicts casteism but from a different angle. Aravasu is supposed to be present in front of Nittilai’s whole village and ask for her hand. Nittilai’s father, who is the village chief is distrustful of Brahmins, as he believes that they only like to use women from lower caste for sex, but would not marry them. Later when Aravasu is unable to come, Nittilai’s father has her married that very night. Because of the exploitation from the upper castes, the chief becomes extremely distrustful of the Brahmins.
Girish Karnad, in his play ‘The Fire and the Rain’ is a perfect example of his humanistic approach to seeing the world. Despite presenting the world as a place full of suffering, selfishness, and betrayal, in the end, there is a clear commitment to moral values. Karnad explores the very unfortunate ills of modern society through using mythology as the backdrop.
It’s 5:00 AM in a middle-class family: It’s 5:00 AM in an Indian middle-class family with an artistic inclination. These families are different from the non-artistic ones. They hang Ajanta wall clocks in their drawing rooms—just one. The non-artistic families hang one only if it is gifted to them at a wedding, theirs or someone else’s. Otherwise, they don’t bother. The music annoys them when it is paid for. Why would someone pay for annoyance? Free is musical; paid is nonsensical.
Ajanta Wall Clock
So, at 5:00 AM, the Ajanta wall clock sings its usual tune. Only background music, no lyrics—karaoke style. The whole 1300-square-foot house fills with its melody. Such homes have grown up with Ajanta; they sense time by hearing it, not seeing it. Ajanta Group understood this middle-class pulse well in the 1980s. They remain profitable to this day.
I have belonged to an artistic family for the past 18.5 years. Because we have had an Ajanta wall clock for the past 18.5 years. It hangs in the same place, singing every hour. Each hour has its distinct tune, from 1 to 12, repeating itself. We don’t mind repetition. A 12-hour gap offers enough eternity to make it fresh again. The middle class is happy with that—more than happy. Time gets melody. Their lives may not, yet their time does. Sometimes, the clock sings with a sore throat. That’s when it’s time to replace the battery. The battery, which, nine out of ten times, is either missing or cannot be found when needed. But it must be replaced. Not because time has gone awry, but because the music has lost its charm. Eventually, during an Amazon Sale Day, batteries are bought in bulk, and Ajanta gets its cough syrup. It recovers instantly.
The companionship of Ajanta with the middle-class family hinges on its hourly tunes. To the middle-class soul, it is heart-rending. Followed by intermittent sounds. Usually, the first is the sound of thunder. Not from the sky, but from the kitchen—the whistle of a pressure cooker. A 5-litre pressure cooker sits on the largest burner of a 3-burner stove, more often than not the only one that burns with adequate flame. The flame roars, the cooker whistles and thunders. They complement each other, made for each other since the historic beginning of cookers. This episode is usually brief unless the rubber gasket is in an avenging mood.
One cannot estimate the power of this thin rubber ring until one has dealt with it twice a day for three months. A bit of slackening, and you are stuck with leaking water forever. The sound of trapped steam, which should escape through the whistle, instead comes from everywhere except the whistle—threatening. At 6 o’clock, already late morning for the middle class, nothing is scarier than a cooker that won’t whistle on time. It’s a nightmare in broad daylight.
The next few hours are filled with other sounds—bedsheets being shuffled, water gushing from every tap, the clatter of vessels, the zipping and zapping of school bags. The middle class finishes its never-ending work, tasks running in parallel. Important ones squeezed between routine ones, like morning family talks, which happen in the brief pauses between the wash and dry cycles of the washing machine. Otherwise, they go unheard. Zero-noise washing machines in middle-class homes run at 100 decibels. They are vocal, like everything else—the bedroom fan that needs a complete overhaul, the tube light humming for the past two weeks, the sparking mixer wire wrapped in tape, sometimes throwing 500-volt sparks of agony. Everything competes to drown the others out. In a middle-class home, nothing is ever silent.
And then, at the end of the month, there is another sound—the sound of currency. A near-silent sound, yet powerful enough to silence everything else. The middle class loves this sound, whether in the form of crisp notes in hand or bank balances glowing on glass screens. This sound gives them a voice. It lays the foundation for future decisions—decisions about which new sounds will be added, which will be fixed, and which will be silenced. It is always the near future that worries the middle class. The far future moves too fast, too silently, becoming the near future before they know it. And yet, they hear it—just in time.
Fast forward 7 hours. It’s 7:00 PM.
There are sounds again. The sounds of people. The sounds of footsteps moving between rooms and the kitchen. The dining table fills with voices. TV sounds take over—not just ours but also our neighbors’. We listen to our TV and theirs. We discuss similarities and differences in our TV sounds. Discussions start with TV shows and lead to mindsets—inevitably. Then come the sounds of mindsets—ours and our neighbors’. Each believes their sound is better. Ignoring the similarities, which are so close they could be interchangeable. This is the song of bonding that connects middle-class families.
Within the confines of ‘upper middle class’ and ‘lower middle class,’ they move slightly up or down, never crossing the upper or lower limits. Collectively, they form the ‘mid-middle class.’ Beyond the upper limit, sounds are so silent they seem nonexistent—yet they are extremely powerful. Below the lower limit, sounds are so loud and public that middle-class sophistication finds them embarrassing. So, the mid-middle-class sounds stay within their confines, ever-changing and yet never changing.
Time moves at triple speed—three hours in one hour. It’s 10:00 PM. The Ajanta wall clock sings again. Each song piles onto the already triggered anxiety. The day is ending. The sound of time mixed with the sound of anxiety speeds things up like a catalyst. Ten hours’ worth of work gets squeezed into four. The resulting screech is terrifying to an outsider, like an overloaded machine about to collapse. To the middle class, it is an everyday ritual. They are unbothered.
These sounds, in different notes and tones, say different things. All mixed up, yet distinct. The sound of frustration and the sound of calming down. The sound of missing books and stationery and the sound of desks being ransacked. The sound of hopelessness and the sound of hope. These sounds prevail for a few hours. Then, they submerge into silence.
The middle class sleeps. To relive the same sounds the next morning. With Ajanta wall clock, at 5:00 AM.
Are Musk and AI reshaping democracy? Surveillance, privacy, and productivity challenges loom as technology changes how we live, work, and govern ourselves.
This afternoon, I sat in my chair again to admire the beautiful surrounding nature. It seems as if spring is making its appearance in the Netherlands earlier this year. I find it very admirable how nature follows its course every year. Spring, summer, and winter come every year, yet this time there is something that prevents me from fully enjoying this process. My mind distracts me from these beautiful seasonal changes.
While watching a Danish police series on television, a whole new world is opening up to me. I had noticed many things individually before, but suddenly I began to see the bigger picture. It may sound strange to say, but the election of Donald Trump in America and his appointment of Tesla boss Elon Musk as one of his advisors, in particular, opened the "door" for me. The way Musk is now trying to restructure the U.S. government through various technical AI tricks, which I consider almost scandalous, caught my attention.
Do we still live in a democracy?
Picture: CNN & The Guardian (Elon Musk, Donald trump & Yuval Noah Harari
You probably know from the news how Musk is doing. According to him, the world must and can be much more productive. After that, I don’t completely blame Musk, because that wouldn’t be fair. Of course, in almost every country in the world, there are industries and people who lag behind in productivity. Many areas could be done much better in a "Tesla" way, but will there still be enough work in the world for all the billions of people, or are we heading toward "new" poverty? Where will people without work and income go in this world? But, okay, many people in Africa also "survive" in poverty without food and drink, right?
The developments in America also made me think about what’s happening in my own country, and perhaps in all of Europe. Before I continue, I want to tell you that even my mother, who passed away far too early, used to tell me as a young boy that “there is usually a ‘good’ side to every bad decision.” So, I try to keep thinking optimistically, but that is not always easy, I can tell you. As I looked out my window at the beautiful nature, I had to reflect on how we, as humans, are being managed by a few “figures” who act "for our good."
Are we going back to a situation like before the Second World War?
Many people may have fortunately forgotten the situation in Europe before the Second World War, but in my view, it consisted of pure poverty and an almost inhuman life. People worked as slaves for a pittance, and when there was no more work? If I am to believe Yuval Noah Harari in his latest book, Nexus, the system was entwined by government spies, especially in the former "Eastern Bloc." People constantly checked on each other on behalf of their governments. There were spies at every "meeting," and you couldn’t trust anyone. You could only work hard until the job was done and keep your mouth shut.
What were the things that made me think? At that moment, I thought as I looked out the window into the garden: "Can we, as humans, still do things in freedom?" Sure, some form of data and privacy protection has been established, but what is the government quietly doing to control the so-called small group of criminals? Smartphones can now be traced everywhere. Any home camera that might not be pointed at the neighbor’s garden can be monitored by the police, and the recorded images must always be available to them. Every new car is (supposedly) equipped with a tracking system that can also be accessed by the police at any time.
There are fewer and fewer officers on the streets in the Netherlands. I’ve written about this before—police are increasingly being replaced by so-called BOAs (special enforcement officers) and computers. There are cameras on the highways that can pinpoint our exact location based on our license plates. Companies can remotely track how many keystrokes per minute their employees make on word processors, and the cameras in laptops can be accessed by companies at "desired" times. Don’t you think this is a threat to your privacy? What good is so-called privacy protection as a stopgap measure? Yes, criminals should be punished, but what about the rest of the population and their privacy? People can only perceive what they see, but where is the development of our world heading, and who is pulling the strings without our influence?
On my wedding night, as the guests were leaving one by one, Mita walked up to catch me by the hand from behind. With a garland of bell flowers tied around her bun, dressed in a cream coloured sari with golden borders, she looked stunning.
"Shubhrada, come with me. I've something to offer your bride." She took me by the hand to an adjacent room and led me to a shelf on the wall. She pulled out two colourfully-wrapped packets before breaking into that infectious smile of hers.
“I couldn’t think of anything better than this.” She told me putting the packets down on a nearby table. I shook my head vehemently. I had always approved of her taste and choice, most often than not, secretly.
The next night, as we were preparing to go to the bride's house for the Bau Bhat (the day when the Bride's parents throw a Party), Rina was busy arranging the room while my niece and a couple of relatives helped her unwrap the gift boxes. I saw Rina picking the smaller of the two packets given to her on the previous night by Mita and heading my way.
"Subho, have a look at this." She told me while fetching out what looked like a diary. My heart skipped a beat as the diary was a gift from me for Mita when she and Rina were studying in the same college.
Sorry again, I didn't tell you about us Threesome. I was introduced to Rina, a good friend of Mita's when most of my friends and relatives thought that I was going to marry Mita. Though Rina was undoubtedly the more attractive of the two, Mita was fast turning out to be the soothing influence on my life. There was simply something serene about this Bengali beauty.
The greatest mistake I made was telling Mita that I didn't believe in love. Though heart-broken, I must say that she reacted to the news with a lot of grace and poise. A month after this, Mita came to my house with her mother. I was told that she was getting married to someone perfect for her after two months.
On reaching her home that afternoon, she pulled out a grey suitcase from under her bed and showed me the diary I had gifted her some months ago. The diary was half full with the entries written in her beautiful handwriting. As I was about to sneak a peak inside, she snatched it away from my hands, uttering :
"No, not now. Some other time." I thought I heard a sigh escaping from her mouth.
On the day Mita got married, Rina dropped in my house. God! Didn’t she look amazing?
"Aren't you coming to Mita's wedding?" She asked me from beneath the kameni tree, outside the main door. I shook my head.
"Don't be a baby. You can't let others take you for a Devdas ( the eternally betrayed lover). Let's go."
For reasons unknown to me, my heart leapt out at her suggestion. I hadn't even shaved for nearly a month. Anyway, I threw on some clothes and bought a flower bouquet from the florist’s on the way to the Reception Party.
That was the night when we two were walking side by side for the first time and the local rascals near the Time House cast a hungry look at her. I decided to be her Prince Charming and Protector forever from then on.
Rina has just gone down accompanied by my niece to have her first dinner with my parents.
I pick up the diary from the side stool where I don't know if she left it on purpose.
As I leaf through the pages, my eyes get glued to an entry written a few days before Mita's marriage:
I have to free myself from this tangle. Rina, my bestie, told me last night what I have been dreading all these months. She told me she loves Shubhoda. She is the perfect one for him as she loves him like crazy. I know…I am sure that she will make him happy. That is all I need to know and keep in mind from now on…..
With my eyes blurring, I put the regifted diary on the top shelf of my almirah as I hear Ma calling out to me from downstairs. Only I will know for the rest of my life that no one could have made a greater sacrifice than Mita!
Sunday, January 5, 2025 is Golden Globes Night At 5PM, I decided to watch the Golden Globes awards show, even though there is an encore performance at 8PM. The 82nd Golden Globes took place at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, hosted by Nikki Glaser.
As I watched this year’s Golden Globes, I noticed I haven’t seen or even been aware of most of these movies. I haven’t even heard of some of the actors. But the only movie that I have watched in the movie cinema was WICKED, mostly because I read the novel. I kind of watched the movie, The Substance, on YouTubers’ reaction videos, which was interesting and entertaining because it gave me an idea what the movie was about as well as an overall summary of the movie, even though I thought the movie was disgusting, weird, and strange. But I thought the actors were good in the movie, portraying their crazy characters. If the other movies come on the Indie Channels, I might check out these movies.
The 82nd Golden Globes Awards: Know The Greatest World Known Talents Across Movies, TV, Drama, Comedy & Musicals
Female Supporting Actress in a Motion Picture: Zoe Saldana in Emilia Perez
Female Actress in TV, Musical or Comedy: Jean Smart in Hacks
Male Supporting Actor in Motion Picture: Kieran Culkin in A Real Pain
Male Actor in TV Drama Series: Hiroyuki Sanada in Shogun
Female Supporting Actress in TV Series: Jessica Gunning in Baby Reindeer
Male Supporting Actor in TV Series: Tadanobu Asano in Shogun
Male Actor in TV Series, Musical, or Comedy: Jeremy Allen White in The Bear
Screenplay for Motion Picture: Peter Straughn for Conclave
Standup Comedy Performance: Ali Wong in Ali Wong, A Single Lady
Motion Picture—Non-English: Emilia Perez, France (Netflix)
Actor in Limited Series, Anthology Series, Made for TV Movie: Colin Farrell in The Penguin
Female Actress in Limited Series, Anthology Series, or Made for TV Movie: Jodie Foster in True Detective, Night Country
Female Actress in Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy: Demi Moore in The Substance; it is her first movie award at 62.
Male Actor in Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy: Sebastian Stan in A Different Man
Animated Motion Picture: Flow
Director for Motion Picture: Brady Corbet for The Brutalist
Original Score in Motion Picture: Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross for Challengers
Original Song in Motion Picture: El Mal in Emilia Perez
Cinematic & Box Office Achievement: Wicked
Limited Series, Anthology Series, or Made for TV Movie: Baby Reindeer
TV Series, Musical or Comedy: Hacks
Female Actress in TV Drama Series: Anna Sawai in Shogun
TV Drama Series: Shogun (FX/HULU)
Cecil B. DeMille Award: Viola Davis
Female Actress in Motion Picture Drama: Fernanda Torres in I’m Still Here
Male Actor in Motion Picture Drama: Adrien Brody in The Brutalist
Motion Picture Drama: The Brutalist
Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy: Emilia Perez (Netflix)
In 2024, I did watch Blink Twice, but on the Indie Channel. I wasn't aware it was a 2024 movie because I wasn't aware of it when it came out in the theaters. I just noticed some Youtubers talking about this film, comparing it to the Diddy White Parties. Therefore, it got my interest when I suddenly noticed it on the Indie Channel. It was an interesting thriller movie, fun to watch. But this movie wasn't nominated for a Golden Globe.
Karla Sofia Gason is a transgender male to female actor, formerly known as Juan Carlos Gascon. He/She is from Alcobendas, Spain, but he/she worked as an actress in Mexico. He/She is married to Marisa Gutierres and they have one daughter. This is confusing. A man married a woman and they had one daughter. Then, the man transgenders to a woman. Does that mean he is now a lesbian?
Also Read, The Indian nominated movie "All we imagine as light" snubbed in categories and did not win the golden globe award. Payal Kapadi as a best director award lost to by Brady Corbet.
Once upon a time, there lived a boy named James. He was very enthusiastic, athletic and had a very sharp mind. Even though he was almost an all-rounder, he was most popularly known for his key feature- his sparkling blue eyes. His eyes were as blue as the ocean, and whenever he would step out in the daylight, his eyes would shine like the ocean glistening under sunlight. He always caught the eyes of the crowd with his ocean eyes and slowly gained maximum fame because of it. In his family, there was- his mother, his father and his little sister,
Sarah. James and Sarah were very close siblings, they shared everything with each other and always supported each other no matter what. James was academically brilliant and was also very good in athletics. He was also very popular in his class and had a large friend circle, leading to much laughter and joy during his school hours. He was very friendly and thus got his way with almost everyone he had to meet everyday.
However, at the age of 14, James’ father had to transfer to another country due to work-related commitments. This ultimately led to their whole family transferring to the new area, forcing James and Sarah to quit their old school. Once they were settled in, the two siblings were enrolled in a new school named ‘Bluelock Highschool’. James was initially a bit upset about having to leave his old friends but equally eager to make new ones along the way. He had already made two very close friends over the first few days of the semester- Ron and Oliver. One day, it was their mathematics class test. Everyone had settled down beside their assigned seat-mates and as soon as the teacher started noting the questions down on the board, everyone hurriedly scribbled them onto the paper. However, James was not clearly able to see all the questions. But as it was a supposed test, he couldn’t ask for help from even his seat-mate! He had struggled for almost half-an-hour, which only gave him the next ten minutes to finish the ten questions.
The realization that he had only one minute to solve each equation hit him like a freight train and he quickly solved as many problems as he could. Once he returned home, he reached out to his parents about the matter. His parents neglected the negative possibilities and tried to calm the frightened boy down by explaining that this problem was occurring due to his seat being at the back and that they will talk to his class teacher to change his seat. Soon, James’ class teacher shifted James’ seat from the back to the third bench, but the problem kept persisting.
His condition grew worse by the passing days and close to the point of seeing almost nothing but a blurry piece of scribbling on the board. James finally mustered up courage and decided to take matters in his own hands, as he knew reaching out to his parents would be of no use. He also asked his sister for help, considering that she was indeed interested in Ophthalmology. His sister had heard James and had concluded that all his signs add up to the possibility of him growing into partial blindness, laced with an audible concern in her voice. The thought of becoming blind scared James, the mere thought of even being able to only sense objects but not see them clearly made his body tremble and shiver in fear and led his hands to growing ice-cold and numb in horror. He immediately consulted the web, and his jaws dropped when he saw the same thing written there. The words ‘Partial Blindness’ burned into his very brain, leading him to always stay frightened and frustrated. His sister had talked to their parents and only then, they took James’ condition seriously and decided to visit an ophthalmologist.
The ophthalmologist studied his signs and came to the result that sooner or later, James will indeed go partially blind. He also told the family that if they had consulted treatment facilities a bit sooner, James could have gotten a possible full recovery. This fact made James’ parents hearts shatter into a million pieces due to getting stabbed by the dagger of guilt, grief and horror as they knew they were the ones who had ignored the signs. The doctor also advised to help James learn writing in an aligned manner without the need to clearly be able to see his writing which will help him when that unfortunate and dreadful moment will take place. James was completely heartbroken- How could he possibly top in class without the ability to even properly read anything without external support?
What about his athletic feats? Will he just let his talents and ambitions go to waste? “No, this can’t be. This is just an awful nightmare!” James thought to himself, but deep down he knew he couldn’t fool himself. He knew all of it was real in his very presence of being. But he also knew that no matter what, he’ll succeed one way or another. He was determined to chase his ambitions, no matter how exhaustively he had to practice for he was not scared of working hard and tirelessly. The next day when he went to school, everyone was shocked by the breaking news. The news spread like wildfire that James, the boy who had the prettiest eyes was about to lose their value forever! James initially felt ashamed, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, but he soon overcame it with the love and support provided by his best friends Ron and Oliver.
The first semester exams were knocking on the door, which made James equally nervous and frightened but also somewhat heightened his anticipation of testing his skills. Soon, the day of the first exam approached. It was his favourite subject, English. However, when he gathered all the study materials to sit down and start his study sessions, alas! His English book was nowhere to be seen!
He quickly contacted his seat-mate and it turned out that he accidentally took James’ English book to his dwelling! This led James’ behaviour to grow into a manic frustration and nervousness. His anxiety built into a fever pitch by the passing minutes. While he was listening to the lecturing of his father, an idea came into his mind. He quickly called Ron for help. Ron agreed and came to James’ dorm to provide him with his own book.
“B-but I asked for a copy of the book. How will you study now?” James asked with curiosity. “Oh, don’t worry! I have my brother’s old book at my home, I can read from there!” Ron reassured James and left. James and his parents were equally impressed and grateful towards the selfless act of the boy.
James did face some difficulty in the exams, but the training and practice did pay off as he got straight A’s in all the subjects! His parents were extremely proud of him, but the thing which mattered most was to see the smile of sheer joy on his sister, the person who has always been on his side’s face.
Just before the winter vacation, their school planned to arrange an annual sports day.
It was a really big event which showcased the school’s history and legacy, as the school had been awarded ‘Best Annual Sports Day Celebration’ multiple times in a row. Even though James was a really good athlete, he was scared to approach the teacher because he thought that he would be nothing but a total failure due to his partial blindness. However, he knew his best friend Oliver was a really good athlete and had his own team. He was hesitant to reach out to him at
first, but after procrastinating a lot he finally followed his heart. He talked to Oliver and asked if he could help him regain his confidence and take him in the team. Oliver asked James to display his skills and a normal sprint around the whole track in only one minute. And to his surprise, James did it in only fifty-five seconds! Oliver was even more impressed by seeing how smoothly James could do a baton exchange, indicating he could participate in the group relay race. After seeing some of the tricks James had up his sleeves, Oliver promised James that he was going to train him, guide him and enroll him in their group. James trained exhaustively hard for the final day, regaining his confidence and composure while on the field.
Even though the other few group members were not really happy with James being on their team, seeing his incredible skills in front of their own eyes, they completely stopped whining about it.
The day finally arrived. Everyone was extremely excited and the air was heavy with anticipation and mystery. James and his team on the other hand, were extremely calm and composed. They didn’t rush anything, and they knew deep down that they had practiced hard enough to win a prize and their efforts were what mattered to them the most.
Finally, the teams for the relay race assembled. There was the eagle team, the parrot team, the macaw team and the capybara team. Among all the teams, James was in the Eagle team. Soon, they took their positions in the field. Unfortunately, the first athlete had a late start but he did manage to pass the baton to the next sprinter, who raised their position from last to being third. Then, it was Oliver’s turn. Oliver tried his best, but he couldn’t help to overtake the other players. Meanwhile, James in the anchor leg realised that if they wanted to have a prize, then he had to give his best and run faster than ever before.
As soon as the baton came into his hands, he unleashed the pent-up longing and competitive spirit. When the race was about to come to end, it was a battle between the Eagle team and the Parrot team. However, James could sense nothing but the wind passing by his sides in a swoosh and the unquenchable thirst to win the race. James’
determination fuelled his speed which ultimately led to him overtaking the athlete of the Parrot club and claiming first prize! All his teammates and the supporters of Eagle club burst into cheers as soon as it was declared that Eagle club will be raising the trophy. Out of honour and respect, James was given the opportunity to hold the trophy. That day, James had proved that if someone is really determined to do something, they won’t try to find an excuse, they will try their best and prove all the people wrong who had demotivated them.
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