I’m Riya Kumari, a graduate in Multimedia and Mass Communication from Indraprastha College for Women. From a young age, I found myself drawn to people’s stories. “Saving people” was never just a dramatic idea; it was a quiet instinct that kept growing. Friends, classmates, even strangers would come to me, and somewhere in those conversations, I discovered my voice. Not just to speak, but to guide, to comfort, and to inspire. Over time, that voice turned into a deeper purpose: to write. But not just for the sake of writing. I write to leave a mark. I want to create words that people carry with them long after they’ve finished reading. If something I write helps someone take one step forward, feel a little less lost, or rethink something that matters, then I know I’m doing what I’m meant to do.
I’m Riya Kumari, a graduate in Multimedia and Mass Communication from Indraprastha College for Women. From a young age, I found myself drawn to people’s stories. “Saving people” was never just a dramatic idea; it was a quiet instinct that kept growing. Friends, classmates, even strangers would come to me, and somewhere in those conversations, I discovered my voice. Not just to speak, but to guide, to comfort, and to inspire. Over time, that voice turned into a deeper purpose: to write. But not just for the sake of writing. I write to leave a mark. I want to create words that people carry with them long after they’ve finished reading. If something I write helps someone take one step forward, feel a little less lost, or rethink something that matters, then I know I’m doing what I’m meant to do.
By Riya Kumari
Some people suffer because they see too much. They look at people and notice the wound before the weapon, the fear before the harm, the abandoned child before the adult who causes pain. They don’t excuse evil but they understand it. And understanding becomes a slow poison when you mistake it for duty.
Some people suffer because they see too much. They look at people and notice the wound before the weapon, the fear before the harm, the abandoned child before the adult who causes pain. They don’t excuse evil but they understand it. And understanding becomes a slow poison when you mistake it for duty.
By Riya Kumari
Marriage doesn’t break people. It shows you who entered a partnership to build and who entered because they couldn’t sit alone with themselves. It exposes men who wanted a family versus men who wanted a witness to their ego, their anger, and their unfinished childhood. This isn’t advice for “good husbands.” It’s a reality check for men who think commitment starts at the wedding and accountability ends there.
Marriage doesn’t break people. It shows you who entered a partnership to build and who entered because they couldn’t sit alone with themselves. It exposes men who wanted a family versus men who wanted a witness to their ego, their anger, and their unfinished childhood. This isn’t advice for “good husbands.” It’s a reality check for men who think commitment starts at the wedding and accountability ends there.
By Riya Kumari
Nature never ceases to surprise us, flipping expectations and rewriting the rules we thought were set in stone. Among its most astonishing wonders are the rare species where it’s the male, not the female, who carries and gives birth to the next generation. This world of unexpected twists, where love, survival, and biology merge in the most mesmerizing way.
Nature never ceases to surprise us, flipping expectations and rewriting the rules we thought were set in stone. Among its most astonishing wonders are the rare species where it’s the male, not the female, who carries and gives birth to the next generation. This world of unexpected twists, where love, survival, and biology merge in the most mesmerizing way.
By Riya Kumari
Some lives are not loud. They do not announce devotion. They simply arrange themselves around another being and refuse to drift apart. Their stories are not about perfection. They are about endurance, return, protection, and the quiet relief of not having to start over again. In watching how they live, something familiar stirs - a memory of what we all hope love might feel like when it is steady enough to hold us.
Some lives are not loud. They do not announce devotion. They simply arrange themselves around another being and refuse to drift apart. Their stories are not about perfection. They are about endurance, return, protection, and the quiet relief of not having to start over again. In watching how they live, something familiar stirs - a memory of what we all hope love might feel like when it is steady enough to hold us.
By Riya Kumari
No one teaches you what happens after you start liking someone. Not the butterflies part - everyone talks about that. But the subtle shift where you stop pausing, stop questioning, stop checking in with yourself. You’re still smart. Still aware. You’re just… softer. You start calling emotional exposure “honesty” and self-abandonment “love.” Nothing looks wrong from the outside. But something inside you knows -you’re leaning forward too much.
No one teaches you what happens after you start liking someone. Not the butterflies part - everyone talks about that. But the subtle shift where you stop pausing, stop questioning, stop checking in with yourself. You’re still smart. Still aware. You’re just… softer. You start calling emotional exposure “honesty” and self-abandonment “love.” Nothing looks wrong from the outside. But something inside you knows -you’re leaning forward too much.
By Riya Kumari
Charisma is not something you add. It’s what remains when you stop performing. The most magnetic women are not the loudest, prettiest, or most liked. They are the ones who are deeply settled within themselves. Their presence feels calm, unsettling, warm, and slightly dangerous because it cannot be controlled. And that’s exactly why people remember them long after the conversation ends.
Charisma is not something you add. It’s what remains when you stop performing. The most magnetic women are not the loudest, prettiest, or most liked. They are the ones who are deeply settled within themselves. Their presence feels calm, unsettling, warm, and slightly dangerous because it cannot be controlled. And that’s exactly why people remember them long after the conversation ends.
By Riya Kumari
When you finally sit with your pain without trying to escape it, you realize something devastating and beautiful: Nothing that left you was ever meant to stay forever. Nothing that stays with you is meant to be owned. That is not loss. That is liberation. If this article hurt, it was meant to. Because Mahadev never teaches gently. And if you are going through a phase where life feels like it is taking more than it gives, it may not be punishment. It may be Shiva teaching you how to let go before attachment rots into bondage.
When you finally sit with your pain without trying to escape it, you realize something devastating and beautiful: Nothing that left you was ever meant to stay forever. Nothing that stays with you is meant to be owned. That is not loss. That is liberation. If this article hurt, it was meant to. Because Mahadev never teaches gently. And if you are going through a phase where life feels like it is taking more than it gives, it may not be punishment. It may be Shiva teaching you how to let go before attachment rots into bondage.
By Riya Kumari
Desire doesn’t die because love fades. It dies because certainty kills tension. Men don’t lose interest when they feel unloved, they lose interest when they feel unchallenged. When winning you feels guaranteed, your value silently drops in his nervous system. Not consciously. Biologically. Jealousy isn’t about drama or insecurity. It’s the brain’s ancient alarm system, something valuable might be taken away.
Desire doesn’t die because love fades. It dies because certainty kills tension. Men don’t lose interest when they feel unloved, they lose interest when they feel unchallenged. When winning you feels guaranteed, your value silently drops in his nervous system. Not consciously. Biologically. Jealousy isn’t about drama or insecurity. It’s the brain’s ancient alarm system, something valuable might be taken away.
By Riya Kumari
Some loves don’t end with goodbyes. They end with silence that keeps echoing inside you long after the person is gone. You don’t miss them as much as you miss who you became while loving them - the patience you learned, the faith you offered, the way you bent without breaking until one day you realized you were bending alone.
Some loves don’t end with goodbyes. They end with silence that keeps echoing inside you long after the person is gone. You don’t miss them as much as you miss who you became while loving them - the patience you learned, the faith you offered, the way you bent without breaking until one day you realized you were bending alone.
By Riya Kumari
You notice patterns others miss. You feel undercurrents beneath conversations. You sense when love is conditional, when honesty will cost you, when staying will require self-erasure. And slowly, without drama, people drift. Not because you are difficult. But because depth demands presence and most people are busy running from themselves. The Gita never calls this loneliness a flaw. It calls it the consequence of awareness.
You notice patterns others miss. You feel undercurrents beneath conversations. You sense when love is conditional, when honesty will cost you, when staying will require self-erasure. And slowly, without drama, people drift. Not because you are difficult. But because depth demands presence and most people are busy running from themselves. The Gita never calls this loneliness a flaw. It calls it the consequence of awareness.
By Harsh Raj
By Deepak Rajeev
By Deepak Rajeev
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By Harsh Raj
By Harsh Raj
By Harsh Raj
