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  • The Cake I Kept Waiting For

    The Cake I Kept Waiting For

    This year, I finally bought my own birthday cake.

    That probably sounds like a very ordinary thing to do. Adults buy themselves things all the time. But for me, it felt strangely significant.

    Every birthday before this one, the cake came from someone else. A partner, a friend, or a family member. And while I was always grateful, they were never quite the cakes I secretly wanted.

    Not because they weren’t good. They were.

    But we all have our own little desires.

    And if there’s one day of the year that’s supposed to feel entirely yours, shouldn’t the cake be too?

    For years, I kept a Pinterest folder filled with beautiful cakes. Vintage cakes. Over-the-top cakes. Cakes that looked like they belonged in old photographs and fairytales. I would save them absentmindedly, never really imagining I would one day order one for myself.

    This year, I finally chose one.

    Originally, I wanted a swan cake. But after much deliberation, I settled on a vintage red cake with the words “Witches Don’t Age” written across the top in icing.

    Chocolate cake with creamy vanilla filling.

    Exactly what I wanted.

    Yet when I placed the order, I felt unexpectedly sad.

    I’d spent years imagining someone surprising me with exactly the cake I wanted.

    What never occurred to me was that I could simply order it.

    I think what saddened me wasn’t paying for the cake.

    It was letting go of the fantasy that someone else would know exactly what I wanted without me ever having to ask.

    Ordering the cake felt strangely final.

    Not because I was spending money on dessert, but because I was giving up a story I’d been carrying for years.

    The story where somebody would surprise me with exactly the right cake. The exact colour. The exact flavour. The exact words piped across the icing.

    Buying it myself felt like admitting that story wasn’t going to happen.

    At least not this year.

    For a few hours, that realization sat heavily with me.

    It felt lonelier than I expected.

    After all, birthdays have a way of stirring up our expectations. They invite us to take stock of our lives, our relationships, and all the little ways we hope to be seen and celebrated. Somewhere along the way, I had attached a surprising amount of meaning to a cake.

    Not the cake itself, but what it represented.

    Being known.

    Being thought of.

    Being chosen.

    But then my birthday arrived.

    And something surprising happened.

    When I saw the cake, I wasn’t sad at all.

    I was delighted.

    It looked exactly the way I’d imagined it would. The red was perfect. The lettering was delightfully dramatic. It looked like it had stepped straight out of my Pinterest folder I had been curating for years.

    And in that moment, none of my earlier sadness mattered.

    Because the thing I wanted was right there in front of me.

    Exactly as I’d imagined it.

    That’s when I realized how often we confuse the source of our happiness with the thing itself.

    I thought I wanted someone to buy me the perfect cake.

    What I actually wanted was the perfect cake.

    I had spent years believing that the gesture was what would make me happy. That somehow the joy depended on who brought it to me.

    But standing there on my birthday, staring at that ridiculous, beautiful cake, I discovered something else.

    The happiness was still there.

    The excitement was still there.

    The only thing that had changed was who made it happen.

    There’s a strange kind of freedom in realizing that.

    Not because we stop wanting love or thoughtfulness from other people. We do. And those gestures will always matter.

    But some of the things we’re waiting for don’t actually require permission, luck, or someone else’s initiative.

    Sometimes the thing we’re waiting for is already within reach.

    Maybe growing older isn’t learning how to need less.

    Maybe it’s realizing that some of the things you’ve been waiting for someone else to give you were never out of reach in the first place.

    The cake sat on the table exactly as I’d imagined it years before, when it lived only in a Pinterest folder.

    And for the first time, that felt like enough.

    Xo,

    Yachna

  • Begin Again (and again!)

    Begin Again (and again!)

    Happy New Year

    I know it’s been quiet here. Really quiet. So quiet that you might’ve forgotten you ever subscribed to this blog. Honestly? I wouldn’t blame you. I would’ve forgotten too.

    Sometimes, you have to step away from something to remember why you started in the first place. And that’s exactly what this past year has been for me — a long pause, a reckoning, and a lesson in the hardest thing I had to learn:

    How to begin again.
    And again.

    This past year was a rollercoaster — professionally and personally. Big changes. Relocations. Uncertainty about which direction to take. It was overwhelming in ways I didn’t always know how to name. But beneath all of it, one truth stayed consistent: I’ve always known I want to build something of my own.

    When I started this blog back in 2020, I knew — deep in my bones — that I had found my calling. Writing felt like coming home. And for a while, I showed up fully. Until self-doubt crept in, quietly at first, then louder.

    Is anyone even reading this?
    Does anyone care what I have to say?
    What’s the point?

    Those questions consumed me. And so I stopped. Again and again.

    It didn’t help that I wasn’t — and still am not — making money from this blog. I started asking myself the practical, adult questions: I’ve poured so much time and energy into this… what am I getting back? Is this even worth it?

    Discouraged, I did what many of us do. I chased stability. I threw myself into “real” jobs that paid the bills. On paper, they were perfect: secure, respectable, reliable. And yes — they paid the rent. Which we’re told is what really matters.

    And yet… no matter how stable things looked, there was always a soft whisper pulling me back to this space. To writing. To creating.

    It reminded me that I wanted more than survival. I wanted authorship over my life. I wanted to create something that belonged to me — something the little version of me would be proud of.

    I kept coming back here. Opening a blank page. Hearing the same thoughts loop in my head:


    This isn’t what you’re meant to be doing.
    You’re meant for more.

    After months of making excuses, procrastination, and delayed action I decided: I will begin again. I will start my blog (again). I will be consistent (again). It was around that time; I read something that cracked open something inside me—a piece on Carl Jung and his theory on the “unlived life.”

    He talked about how most people never live their true life. They wear masks. They follow societal expectations. They hide their gifts. And they die before ever becoming who they were meant to be.

    I felt that. Deeply.

    I didn’t want to just romanticize my potential. I wanted to live it. To feel it. To own it.

    Even though I try to be bold and carve my own path, I won’t lie—fear and self-doubt often hold me back. Fear of failure. And maybe, more quietly, a fear of what it would mean if I actually succeeded. That strange, subconscious hesitation, the one where you stall not because you can’t do it, but because deep down you’re unsure you’re ready for the life on the other side of achieving it. Fear of wondering why anyone would want to read what I have to say. Fear that this blog might never become the full-time dream I once dreamed of.

    And honestly, the exhaustion of adulting and a full-time job made it even harder. Just the thought of juggling all the hats this blog requires—writer, editor, designer, marketer—was, and still is, exhausting.

    It made me realize that as kids we are so bold and unafraid to just do things no matter who’s looking or not. Irrespective of the outcome, we just dove right into whatever was in front of us. For the fun of it.  As we grow up things get complicated, we have more responsibilities, bills to pay. We cannot just be that carefree kid when the rent is due beginning of every month. But, what if the secret to our success is in reconnecting what that little child again?

    The more I thought about this, it made me realize that most people spend their lives waiting to live. Waiting for permission. Waiting to be qualified. Waiting to feel ready. And that’s how entire lives pass by… unlived.

    Reading this exactly at the time when I was internally struggling with these thoughts felt like a message from the divine. It felt as though universe wanted me to read it and push me towards starting again.

    So, this post is for all of you reading right now:

     If you’re overthinking or doubting yourself, remember this: we are more powerful than we realize. The most valuable gift we can give the world is our authenticity. As Martin Scorsese said, “The more personal, the more creative.” You don’t need to know exactly who you are before you begin, you just need to start walking toward it. And every step toward becoming more you… gives others permission to do the same.

    Xo

    Yachna Atthi

  • 10 Timeless Words From Books, Leaders, & Beyond

    10 Timeless Words From Books, Leaders, & Beyond

     

    How are you today? I was watching In The Bag with Emma Watson, and during the interview, she said something so wonderful and brilliant that it stuck with me. It inspired me to share it with you and other wise words from wise people. Here are 14 of my favourite quotes for whenever I need a dose of wisdom, and I’d love to hear yours too!

     

    “Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you’ll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you’ll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.” ― Cheryl Strayed

     

    “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” ―Maya Angelou

     

    “When I’ve really been in love with someone, it’s not because they looked a certain way or liked a certain TV show or a certain cuisine. It’s more because when I watched a certain TV show or ate a certain cuisine with them, it was the most fun thing ever.” ― Aziz Ansari

     

    “Girls, if a boy says something that isn’t funny, you don’t have to laugh.” ―Amy Poehler

     

    “I tell people this a lot – go to the gym, and just sit there, and read a magazine, and then go home. And do this every day. Go to the gym, don’t even work out. Just GO. Because the habit of going to the gym is more important than the workout. Because it doesn’t matter what you do. You can have fun — but as long as you’re having fun, you continue to do it.” ―Terry Crews

     

    “Man does not simply exist but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become the next moment. By the same token, every human being has the freedom to change at any instant.” ― Viktor E. Frankl

     

    “You’re beautiful, but you’re empty…One couldn’t die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she’s the one I’ve watered. Since she’s the one I put under glass, since she’s the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she’s the one for whom I killed the caterpillars. Since she’s the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she’s my rose.” ―Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

     

    “Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow.” ―Carrie Fisher

     

    “No is a complete sentence.” ―Elizabeth Olsen 

     

    “In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try to live so that our death brings no pleasure to the world.”
    ― East of Eden

     

    “Sometimes you just have to put on lip gloss and pretend to be psyched.” ―Mindy Kaling

     

    “You are imperfect, you are wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging.” ― Brene Brown

     

    “You can’t always be in the reaping stage or harvest stage of life. Life has seasons.” ―Emma Watson

     

    ………………………………………………..

     

    xx

    Yachna

     

    P.S.

    Timeless wisdom from The Little Prince  &  What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever read? 

     

     

     

     

     

  • Starting Fresh: 5 Habits To Quit in 2025

    Starting Fresh: 5 Habits To Quit in 2025

    If you want to predict where you’ll end up in life, all you have to do is take a serious look at your daily habits. Then, you’ll have an accurate prediction of the trajectory of your future.

    I’ve been reading Atomic Habits recently, and it’s inspired and motivated me to let go of the habits that no longer serve me. On New Year’s Eve, before getting ready to ring in the year, I took some time to introspect and journal about all the changes I wanted to make in my life. As I reflected, I identified some habits I’m determined to quit in 2025. Here they are:

     

    1. Inconsistency

    Over the past couple of years, I’ve noticed a troubling trend: I’m losing my spark when it comes to consistency. Consistency has always been one of my strong suits. I’ve taken pride in regularly posting on my blog, hitting the gym, going for walks, and staying committed to my goals. But lately, I’ve been slipping—especially with my blog.

    This year, I’m pushing myself to reclaim that consistency. My goal is to post weekly blogs without fail, just like I used to. It’s time to reignite that discipline and show up for myself and my lovely readers.

    2. Jealousy and Comparing Myself to Others

    Comparison truly is the thief of joy, and yet, I’ve found myself falling into its trap—especially on Instagram. It’s easy to get caught up in the highlight reels of other people’s lives, forgetting that social media isn’t reality. Seeing a happy couple enjoying their vacation together sometimes makes me wonder, When will I find my person? Or when I spot someone living it up at the Ritz Carlton in Cannes, I can’t help but think, I want that life for myself. These moments of comparison sometimes lead to jealousy.

    So this year, I’m striving to be more authentic in my self-expression and self-acceptance. I want to remind myself of this powerful quote from  My Love From the Star: “Jealousy is the lowest form of human emotion. It’s both crude and immature.” I’m ready to outgrow these feelings and embrace gratitude for where I am in my journey.

     

    3. Choosing People Who Don’t Choose You

    We all crave love and affection, but sometimes, under the illusion of love, we harm ourselves by choosing people who don’t truly choose us. This year, I’m making a conscious effort to prioritize relationships where I’m valued and cherished.

    As I often remind myself: Don’t let the fear of loneliness make you settle. You deserve flowers, poetry, love, affection, and kindness. So, take the bitter pill, cut your losses, and let go of those who don’t see your worth. As the saying goes, “Let go or be dragged.”

    4. Overthinking

    Overthinking has always been a part of me because I’m naturally a deep thinker. While introspection can be a strength, overthinking often becomes a burden. In the past, journaling, meditation, and working out have helped me manage this habit. But my inconsistency in these practices over the past couple of years has made it harder to cope.

    This year, I’m recommitting to these tools. By staying consistent, I hope to quiet my mind and break free from the waves of overthinking that sometimes overwhelm me.

     

     

    5. Romanticizing and Living in the Past

    The past is a place that no longer exists, yet it shapes who we are today. While I value so deeply the lessons and experiences of my past, I often find myself romanticizing it more than I should.

    This year, I’m focusing on living in the present because it’s the only truth we have. My goal is to release the past, let go of unnecessary nostalgia, and fully embrace the now.

     

     

    Creating new habits is a process, and like all good things in life, progress takes consistency, time, effort, and patience. As I’m learning from Atomic Habits, change doesn’t have to be dramatic. Start small. It’s the little things that make a big difference over time.

    Remember, it’s never too late to start fresh and rewrite your story the way you want. I’m rooting for you, and I hope you’re rooting for yourself too. Let’s make 2025 a year of growth and transformation.

     

    Happy New Year!

     

    xo,

    Yachna

     

  • Getting Over Girl Hate

    Getting Over Girl Hate

     

    Today, I want to talk about something that has been heavily on my mind and has repeatedly come up in my journal writing: Girl Hate.

    It all started when I first watched Cinderella as a little girl.

    In the movie, all the women are made to compete for the same prince, who can only pick ONE lucky girl. This leads to jealousy and resentment toward Cinderella by her “evil” stepsisters and stepmother.

    Even though I love Cinderella and many Disney movies, I noticed that pitting women against one another is a recurring theme in many movies and TV shows I loved watching as a teenage girl. From Cinderella to Mean Girls to Gossip Girl, the central theme of these stories was girl hate in the form of backstabbing, jealousy, and betrayal.

    As I was writing this blog, I couldn’t help but think about how deeply these narratives contribute to the ridiculous idea that there’s only room for ONE woman to succeed and have it all. We’re being taught to compete and tear each other down from a young age.

    Let’s not forget that the target audience for these movies is teenage girls. Now, imagine the impact of these subliminal messages on teenage girls who internalize them.

    And you know what’s the worst part? It doesn’t just end in the teenage years.

    The girl hate manifests itself into woman hate. I have seen this happen in my family and am not proud of it. But I also don’t want to be a 45-year-old woman hating on teenage girls or other women.

    I can’t help but wonder if this is a result of a subliminal patriarchy at work or a competition of our own making. What I do know is that we’re stronger when we support each other.

    So, let’s talk about how to get rid of jealousy and resentment toward each other.

     

    1) Try Girl Love

    Remember when Blair and Serena put aside their jealousy, resentment, and insecurities and became unstoppable together?

    Back in high school, I had a serious hatred for this girl I barely knew. We both didn’t like each other. It was so dramatic. Until one day, we bonded over a book. To this day, she’s one of my closest friends. The funniest part? I don’t even remember why I hated her so much. Her friendship and support are some of the best things I’ve experienced in life. Magic happens when women come together to love each other and celebrate the sisterhood.  

    Women have a fundamental responsibility to care for other women. When one of us says she’s struggling, we should offer support and kindness, not judgment.

    And, if a woman is confident and has high self-esteem does not mean she’s a bitch or a slut, or she’s better than you. She’s just confident in her skin. Last time I checked, being confident is not a crime. Personally, I  refuse to live in a world where any woman with a healthy self-esteem is labelled a whore. As quoted from the legendary masterpiece that is Mean Girls, “you all have got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it okay for guys to call you sluts and whores.”

     

    2) Separate girl hate from real hate

    We should first look to our girl hate’s structural and social origins to push for some serious change. Instead of chastising every girl who might not be like you or, as seems to be the case more often, might be too much like you.

    Why are we jealous of girls who are more pretty, smart, or successful?  It’s time to break free from that toxic, loser mindset. If you see a girl trying to be the best version of herself,  don’t be bitter; get better.

    I’ve struggled with feelings of jealousy and resentment, too. Trust me, it’s a disease. Often, that girl we hate so much just reminds us of what we could be because she’s actively working on herself.

    I am unlearning the narrative that only ONE woman can have it all. There’s so much for all of us, so we don’t have to hate and compete with each other. I have realized that my jealousy and resentment came from my insecurities.

    So, I put all this jealousy energy into growing and improving myself.

     

    3) Realize it has nothing to do with her

    I remember when I was younger, I was obsessed with hating this girl because she “stole” my man from me. I’d stalk her Instagram and Facebook and point out her flaws to make myself feel better. Eww, disgusting, I know. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.

    When I took the time to reflect on my messy behaviour, I realized that I thought she was better than me because she was my ex’s next girlfriend. It was some major insecurity on my part. So, ladies, break this terrible habit of gossiping, judging, comparing, and being jealous.

    I know I sound like a broken record when I say that someone else’s success does NOT highlight a failure in you. Someone’s happiness does not have to cancel out your own. I want people to say, ‘I’m really happy for you,’ not to be polite but because they bloody well mean it. 

    And, if not for anyone else, do it for yourself because hating people is stressful, negativity is tiring, and causing drama is dumb.

     

    4) Lastly, the most important thing to keep in mind

    She’s probably feeling insecure as well. As much as I love being a woman, I cannot deny that it’s fucking exhausting to be a woman. Somedays, I am just so tired of being a woman. Just think about all the societal pressures, family expectations, and hormonal changes we have to put up with.

    I recently read somewhere that women only have one week during which they feel good about themselves and their bodies. Come to think of it, it’s true in dealing with PMS, menstruation, and other hormonal changes, we are really deep in the trenches.

    I  want to end the post with these beautiful words by Maya Angelou,

    “Each one of us  have lived through  some devastation,  some loneliness, some weather superstorm or spiritual superstorm.  When we look  at each other we must say,  I understand.  I understand how you feel  because I have been there myself.  We must support  each other and empathize with each other  because each of us is more alike than we are unalike.“

     

    ………………………………………………….

     

    Artwork by Katja Perez

  • “Outfit for humans”: An interview with one of the coolest fashion designers in Paris.

    “Outfit for humans”: An interview with one of the coolest fashion designers in Paris.

    “We live in a world of limitations, and the only adrenaline we need to have is to break the codes and barriers in front of us.” Paris-based fashion designer Stimps Kwams talks about his fashion label Usure Project, which revolve which revolves around vintage, 90s hip-hop music & culture. Here, he shares the inspiration behind his designs and the powerful message for all aspiring fashion leaders.

    Tell me your story. How did you get into fashion?

    My story and my passion for fashion started very young.  It started when I was 12, I would say with sneakers first and later with the influence of hip hop music. Attracted by artistic things and drawing, I turned to a model designer training between Rennes and Paris with a 3-year diploma. Then in 2019, I obtained my master’s degree in Luxury and Fashion Marketing. 

    When did your journey to fashion begin?

    It all started during the Tumblr era in 2012. I had created a blog called ” No Ceiling in fashion design.” It was my mood board where I went to document myself. 

    I appreciated two accounts of Virgil Abloh * Pyrex Vision * and Nouveau Rich, managed by a salesperson from Louboutin Terry. Later, with Instagram, things had evolved a little more to connect directly to the creators.

    What’s the story of your fashion label Usure Project? Have you always dreamed of having your label? 

    Usure project is the story of two friends who meet and are driven by the same passion. But for personal reasons, one of the group members leaves the ship. But this gives even more courage to the second to continue the project until completion. This is not necessarily my first dream.  Because I had just finished my studies in styling and was coming out of a study internship that went wrong, this project allowed me to surpass myself and see how to make my place in this fashion environment. 

    Describe your journey of design from concept to construction?

     My journey begins with searching for ideas. 

    I can spend weeks in the library reading books on fashion on the evolution of the concept itself and come across an artistic image that inspires me.

     After consulting my textile printer on the possibility of making my idea real, I am also helped by my girlfriend, who is very talented in textile design and embroidery and several talented friends. I will hunt for pieces that I rework myself in a creative studio until the piece makes me dream. 

    Paris Punk and Anarchy Jeans

    Where do you find the inspiration for your designs?

    It’s a lot of research and the message that the work of art evokes in me. Most of the time, I am inspired by the music I listen to, from the art of Basquiat to Salvadore Dali. Art allows bringing a force to clothes that no one has captured before.

    Organic CHARTER Collabs
    Rework vintage jacket
    San Sebastian wearing cartoon pants. Image by Travisshuuji

    What is your favourite part of the design process? 

    When I am done with 99% of the project. I have to add a detail like the last brushstroke to perfect the piece as a work of art.

    How do you want people to feel when wearing your clothes?

    I want them to feel like the next creative people of our time. The proof, all those who bought me clothes are either designers, artists or business leaders in fashion. 

    Usure Project collabs with Maisonm66
    San Sebastian wearing cartoon pants. Image by Travishuuji

    What ethics are important to you as a fashion designer while creating your designs?

    My ethic is to never give up on my projects. Maybe the project you are proposing today does not appeal to the general public but do not stop until you come across the watchful eye of someone who understands your approach.

    Are you working on anything exciting right now?

    Of course, but I wouldn’t say more because a magician does not reveal all his magic tricks; otherwise, there is no surprise effect. 

    What advice would you give someone who wants to start their fashion label?

    I can’t give great advice only if you are able enough to do it 100%. 

    How do you define fashion?

    Fashion is the modern and contemporary art of transforming a piece of fabric into a work of art by using different molding or flat-cutting techniques according to the story that the creator wants to tell us.

    Who is your biggest fashion inspiration?

    I have in priority two personalities in mind the tenacity and the vision of Kanye West and the message that Virgil Abloh left us: “You can do it too.”

    Collaboration between Usure Project and Reine Croco

    Who’s your favourite fashion icon?

    They are several: Kanye West, Asap Rocky, Pharell and Asap Nast they dare in their style.

     They mix vintage pieces with luxury pieces. For me, they understood fashion because real fashion is vintage. 

    What keeps you motivated and inspired every day?

    People who have succeeded despite the fact that the whole world took them for fools. We live in a world of limitations, and the only adrenaline we need to have is to break the codes and barriers in front of us.

    What advice would you give to young designers just starting and hoping to make it in this cut-throat competitive industry?

    If you want to get started, do it 100%. Only the sky is the limit. Do not be afraid to do it. 

    Do you often attend art exhibitions? Who are some of your favourite artists/photographers?

    Yes, very often. 

     My favourite exhibitions are the artistic ones. 

     Installations like recently seen that of David Hammons on the Afro-American culture. A collective of young Parisian photographers who work on a project on the company AIR Afrique and that of Salvadore Dali. 

    Thank you so much, Stimps <3

    P.S.

    Beauty talk with a fashion model, a stylist, and a linocut artist.



  • I Spent So Long Longing, I Forgot to Live

    I Spent So Long Longing, I Forgot to Live

    I found this sitting in my notes app, dated over a year ago. I was in a very different place when I wrote this: burnout, debt, comparison spiraling, the whole thing. I’m sharing it exactly as I wrote it, because I think someone needs to read it today. Maybe that someone is me.

    There are days where everything just feels off.

    Not in a dramatic, crying-on-the-floor kind of way. Just in that quiet, slow-burning way where you wake up and think: this isn’t it. This isn’t what I imagined.

    You go through the motions. Pay the bills. Smile at work. But inside, it’s like a slow scream that nobody can hear but you.

    I want a break. Not a sleep-in-on-Saturday break. A real break. Lakeside naps. Sun on my skin. Reading a murder mystery in a pretty dress, my hair the way I love it: soft, effortless curls that make me feel pretty. I want to feel like I’m finally living in the soft girl dream I’ve been curating on Pinterest boards at 2am.

    Instead I’m here. Knee-deep in credit card debt and mounting stress, trying to remember what it felt like to look forward to something.

    It’s 6pm on a random Thursday and I’m scrolling through people’s lives feeling this weird mix of envy and sadness. Beautiful girls with perfectly toned, suntanned bodies spending their afternoons in a villa in France, swimming, laughing, just existing beautifully…while I’m here, working through a life I didn’t quite sign up for, doing a job I’m not passionate about, tired from overworking and undereating and going through the same dull, monotonous motions over and over again.

    And it stings.

    Not because I hate them, I genuinely don’t. But because I’ve somehow forgotten how to love where I am.

    I think that’s what longing does to you after a while. It convinces you that your real life is somewhere else. That it starts when the money comes, or when the relationship works out, or when you finally book that flight. You keep waiting for the conditions to be right and meanwhile your actual life is just… happening without you in it.

    The jealousy isn’t just envy.

    It’s grief.

    It’s this deep, quiet ache for a version of my life that feels aligned and abundant. And when you’re sitting in that feeling, the illusion that it’s better over there gets so loud. You start believing your life will begin when things finally fall into place.

    And then I was lying in bed, phone in my face at whatever time, mid-spiral, and I read this:

    “When you see your desire as separate, as distant, as something you must earn or chase, you’re reinforcing lack. And God doesn’t operate in lack. Don’t pedestal your desire. Be the version of you who already has it. Because here’s the truth: the desire is not the source. You are. The desire was born because you exist.”

    I had to stop and read it again.

    My longing isn’t proof that I’m missing something. It’s proof that I know what I want. And there’s a difference.

    I’m not going to pretend I have it all figured out. I don’t. But I’m tired of treating my life like a waiting room. I’m done sitting in the corner of my own story, waiting for permission to actually show up in it.

    So I made a decision that day. Not a grand, life-changing declaration. Just a quiet promise to myself. That I was going to start showing up for the life I actually have. Not the one I’m waiting for. Not the one on someone else’s screen. This one. I was going to intentionally find beauty in what I’d been given, instead of only keeping score of what was missing.

    Nobody is coming to save you. That’s the truth nobody tells you nicely.

    You can cry. Be angry. Be frustrated. Complain, whine, spiral. Do all of it. Feel every bit of it. But then you have to wipe your face, straighten up, and take the wheel. Nobody else is the anchor of you ship but you.

    They say the grass is greener on the other side. But I truly believe it’s greener where you water it. And I hadn’t been watering anything. I’d been so busy staring at someone else’s garden that I let mine dry out. So I’m weeding. Slowly. Pulling out what no longer serves me, making room for things that actually help me grow. It’s not glamorous. But it’s mine.

    You only get one life. One. So the question is: do you want to be a visitor in it, watching it pass by from the window? Or do you want to actually be in it?

    It’s been over a year since I wrote this. I found it a few days ago and it stopped me completely. I had to just sit with it for a minute.

    When I wrote this, I was working at a car dealership. I loved the high of that job. But I knew, somewhere deep down, it wasn’t it. I was in debt. I was tired. I was that girl at 6pm on a Thursday, scrolling and aching.

    A year later…

    I paid off my debt. I moved back to India. I started my own social club for women, and by the time this goes up, we will have hosted two fully sold out events.

    Am I proud of myself? Honestly? Not in the way people expect you to say yes. Because I still have so far to go. So much to learn. But compared to where I was — I feel the growth. I feel the progress. And right now, that’s enough.

    I won’t lie. The comparison thing is still there. I still scroll past girls living what feels like my dream life. But I’m learning to detach. Because slowly, quietly — the life I’m building is starting to feel like mine. And I know, I just know, that I too will sit in St. Tropez one day, reading a murder mystery on a lazy Thursday afternoon with the sun on my face.

    Until then… I work. I write. I show up. And I’m building a life I wake up to with joy, not dread.

    That’s enough for now.

    xo,

    Yachna

  • Where the Fuck Is the Romance I Was Promised When I Was a Little Girl?

    Where the Fuck Is the Romance I Was Promised When I Was a Little Girl?

    When I was a little girl, I was promised romance.

    Not grand gestures or fairy tales necessarily, but something simpler: a man who desired you and wasn’t afraid to show it. Someone emotionally present. Someone who called because he wanted to hear your voice. Someone who made you feel chosen.

    Instead, somewhere along the way, many of us seem to have been handed a very different reality.

    You would think that a man who has been introduced to you for the purpose of marriage would be emotionally available or at least willing to invest time in getting to know you.

    Well, you would be wrong.

    It usually starts with butterflies, roses, and rainbows. He reaches out consistently, compliments you, and gives you hope for the future. Slowly, you begin to let your guard down and entertain the possibility that maybe, finally, you’ve met the one.

    Then, just as you settle into the idea of a happily ever after, things start to shift.

    He pulls back.

    He becomes emotionally distant.

    The compliments disappear.

    The warmth fades.

    Suddenly, you’re left confused, and the emotional labor of guessing begins.

    You try to communicate. You ask whether something is wrong, and he reassures you that everything is fine.

    So, you convince yourself of the same.

    “Maybe I’m just overthinking,” you tell yourself.

    But, the distance remains. And, no amount of reassurance changes the reality of how you feel.

    And sadly, this isn’t just my story.

    When I started talking to other women…the serial daters. The happily married women. The unhappily married women. The divorced women. The single women.

    The details changed, but the stories felt remarkably similar.

    There was a common theme in all these conversations: there seems to be a growing absence of emotional availability.

    A reluctance to go deeper.

    To be vulnerable.

    To talk honestly about fears, family history, past wounds, or emotional needs.

    A friend recently told me how frustrated and exhausted she was because her husband barely called or texted her for weeks at a time. Weeks?!

    I used to think dating was rough, but when married women are struggling to receive basic communication from their own spouses, we’ve completely lost the plot.

    There’s a pattern I can no longer ignore: men who won’t fully choose you, but won’t fully let you go either. They give you just enough attention to keep you around and just enough distance to keep you confused. They breadcrumb you into lingering, hoping, and waiting.

    Maybe this sounds familiar.

    Maybe right now you’re thinking about someone who’s just not that into you. You’re waiting on that person to choose you.

    Or you’re teaching someone how to love you. How to talk to you. You tell yourself, “Maybe they’re just not good at expressing their emotions.” They disappear anytime things start to get real and deep.

    You wait for them to come back.

    To choose you.

    To want you.

    You are convinced that this is the real deal. You convince yourself that he’s just busy at work. But in reality, that’s just bullshit. We all know men who really love and want you will go through the depths of the earth to get to you if that’s what it takes. If he wanted to, he would.

    The truth is, when someone genuinely wants to be in your life, you rarely have to spend this much time dissecting their intentions. We all know people make time for what matters to them. We all know what effort looks like when it’s freely given.

    They say they are into you. But then act like talking to you is another chore to be checked off their to-do list. And some can’t even be bothered. They won’t fully commit or leave, but leave you in this limbo state to do the emotional guesswork.

    It’s exhausting.

    And, I am here thinking: Is he into me?

    He must be, or else he wouldn’t be calling, wouldn’t be investing time. But as it turns out, I am wrong.

    And that’s the trap, isn’t it?

    We take crumbs of effort and build entire castles out of them. We fill in the silence with our own hope and then blame ourselves when the foundation collapses.

    So how did we get here?

    How did we collectively accept the idea that modern men are incapable of emotional depth?

    Particularly because men historically have been really great poets, writers, philosophers, authors, painters, and composers. They wrote about love, longing, heartbreak, beauty, grief, and devotion with extraordinary depth.

    Clearly, the capacity exists.

    The older I get, the more I think the problem begins in childhood.

    I remember watching a little boy cry while his father immediately told him, “Stop crying like a girl. Strong men don’t cry.”

    Excuse me?

    How did we decide this was normal?

    We teach boys from an early age to suppress vulnerability, disconnect from their emotions, and equate emotional expression with weakness.

    Then, years later, we wonder why so many grown men struggle to communicate their feelings, navigate intimacy, or sustain emotional closeness.

    Meanwhile, women are often conditioned to interpret this emotional absence as compatibility. We’re told he’s mysterious. Stoic. Independent. Hard to read.

     Emotional unavailability isn’t a romantic mystery — it’s conditioning.

    I’m sorry, but if someone is incapable of showing genuine interest, communicating consistently, or investing effort into getting to know me, I refuse to call that compatibility. I refuse to romanticize emotional unavailability or mistake confusion for chemistry.

    Patriarchy doesn’t just harm women; it stunts men’s emotional growth as well. It teaches them that vulnerability is weakness, emotional expression is embarrassing, and detachment is somehow attractive.

    Then, it rewards them for performing indifference while women are left doing the emotional heavy lifting.

    And yet women are constantly expected to accommodate it.

    Why are women responsible for managing everyone’s emotions?

    Why is emotional maturity treated as our responsibility while emotional avoidance is excused as masculine nature?

    Most women aren’t asking for the moon and the stars. We aren’t demanding perfection. We simply want emotionally intelligent and emotionally available partners.

    When I got back into dating after almost six years, I thought I was the problem. My softness, my “easy-to-talk-to” personality, could be the reason why men (singular, him) didn’t want to invest in me as much.

    What I’ve observed is this: most men want attention without any real intention of committing. They want emotional support without emotional responsibility. They want access without accountability.

    Looking back, even with boundaries as strong as mine, I found myself “teaching” an emotionally unavailable man how to treat me. I was chasing clarity, knowing full well that when it’s not given freely, I already have my answer.

    I explained my feelings to someone who had repeatedly shown me he wasn’t interested in understanding them.

    I spent far too much time waiting for effort that never arrived.

    I wasn’t asking for anything extraordinary.

    I wanted to feel adored.

    I wanted thoughtful communication, genuine interest, and affection that wasn’t dragged out of someone.

    I wanted someone who was excited to hear from me, not someone who treated texting me like another task on a never-ending to-do list.

    Women, meanwhile, are labelled needy for wanting more.

    Too emotional.

    Too demanding.

    Asking for too much.

    But wanting communication isn’t asking for too much.

    Wanting affection isn’t asking for too much.

    Wanting emotional availability isn’t asking for too much.

    Wanting to be loved without constantly questioning where you stand isn’t asking for too much.

    Perhaps the most uncomfortable realization wasn’t that emotionally unavailable men exist. It was recognizing how many women, including myself, are willing to wait for love that is clearly not being offered.

    Why do we stay?

    Why do we cling to potential instead of reality?

    Why do we continue hoping that someone will eventually become the person they’ve shown us they are not?

    Women are taught to hope.

    To nurture.

    To be patient.

    To see the best in people.

    Sometimes we become so attached to the possibility of who someone could be that we ignore who they actually are.

    It’s depressing.

    But hope cannot create intimacy where willingness does not exist.

    Real intimacy doesn’t require endless waiting, fixing, teaching, convincing, or proving your worth.

    It requires presence.

    It requires two people who are both willing to show up emotionally and meet each other halfway.

    When you finally step outside the cult of the unavailable man, something shifts.

    You realize your worth was never dependent on someone else’s capacity to love you.

    Their inability to meet you where you are is not evidence that you are difficult to love. It is evidence that they are unwilling or unable to show up.

    And that is not your burden to carry.

    Ladies, we have to stop accepting breadcrumbs and calling them romance. We have to stop celebrating bare-minimum effort as though it deserves a standing ovation.

    We have to stop waiting for emotionally unavailable people to become emotionally available.

    We deserve consistency.

    We deserve reciprocity.

    We deserve partners who communicate, who care, who are willing to grow, and who aren’t afraid to show us that we matter.

    Most importantly, we deserve to stop confusing potential with love.

    Because I don’t know about you, but I’m still wondering:

    Where the fuck is the romance I was promised when I was a little girl?

    If this resonated with you, share it with a woman who needs to hear it. And subscribe for more.

    xo,

    Yachna

  • Book Review: The Virgin Suicides

    Book Review: The Virgin Suicides

    The Virgin Suicides has been on my to-watch list for several years now, and before I watched the movie, I found out it was based on a novel. Naturally, being a book lover, I knew I had to read the book first and then watch the movie.

    As soon as I read the first sentence, I was hooked. The book begins with the ending, yet I still found myself surprised by how the events transpired.

    The story is told through a deliberately vague narrator. It’s a group of men, now approaching middle age, who are haunted by an episode from their teenage years in a suburban neighborhood, when the glamorous Lisbon sisters, a source of captivation for the boys, took their own lives.

    The narrator(s) always refer to themselves as “we,” and never “I,” drawing the reader in with them. We don’t know who’s speaking. It could be any of 10-12 boys. I think this kind of first-person-plural narration was an interesting choice of narration. It’s so rare and works extremely well for this book. It allows the reader to actively participate in the mystery and confusion as the boys try to come to terms with the deaths. By the end of the book, I felt just as haunted by the girls as the boys were.

    The boys, now well into adulthood, never fully recovered from the events of that year, as evidenced by the carefully catalogued evidence they’ve collected over time: photographs, scraps of paper, newspaper clippings, etc. What the author captures so well is the mystery of the secluded sisters as seen through the eyes of neighborhood boys. This is important to understanding the novel. It’s not necessarily the Lisbon sisters’ story, but rather the boys’ story, and how the suicides affected them.

    While reading the book, I kept thinking that the boys and everyone else in the neighborhood knew these girls desperately needed help. So why didn’t anyone truly help them?

    The only answer I could come to was this: the girls were never fully seen as people. They were possessions, idols, projections. Objects of fantasy, desire, and obsession onto which the boys projected whatever they wanted. The descriptions for the sisters were always drawn so sexually for them doing the simplest tasks.

    Even the boys who were “so in love” with the girls and communicated with them every night didn’t bother with sending help or getting them out. They were too consumed by the fantasy of possibly being chosen by one of the sisters to see them as individuals who were clearly suffering.

    Still, there’s one small moment that stayed with me. At one point, the boys notice that one of the girls looks thin and quietly remark that they hope she’s eating enough. It was one of the few moments where the girls briefly felt humanized in the eyes of the boys.

    However, I think the novel ultimately places more blame on the culture surrounding the girls than on any one individual person. The mother traps the sisters within a deeply restrictive idea of womanhood that feels both suffocating and degrading. Eventually, the girls are no longer allowed to go to school, leave the house, or maintain connections with the outside world. They become isolated, malnourished, and emotionally trapped. The parents’ extreme religious beliefs: taking apart the television, forcing the girls to burn their rock albums only deepens that isolation and mental deterioration.

    One of the most important themes in the novel is the centrality of the male gaze. The story is told entirely through the perspective of teenage boys who idealize the girls while remaining emotionally distant from them. Instead of truly interacting with the sisters, they observe them, spy on them, and romanticize them from afar.

    What makes the novel so tragic is that we never truly understand the Lisbon sisters because the story is filtered entirely through the boys. We know nothing about the girls, their inner lives, thoughts, or feelings. In many ways the book doesn’t feel centered on the female experience either. Because that would require actually getting to know the girls and care about their struggles. If anything, the book is about how society IGNORES the female experience, their struggles and their stories.

    I also found it fascinating how the book frames tragedy through nostalgia and memory. The boys remember the beauty and mystique of the sisters more vividly than their suffering. They romanticize the girls during moments when they could have genuinely tried to know them. Their voyeuristic perspective turns the girls’ pain into something mysterious and tragically beautiful rather than something real and urgent. They only treated them as damsels in need of saving, but neglected their cries for help. The girls never had a voice in their own stories, even after death.

    The whole point is that nobody actually gets to know the Lisbon sisters and what is happening in their lives, either because they’re not interested or it becomes impossible due to their isolation. The novel ends with their realization that they never understood them or truly knew them.

    While reading the book, I was reminded constantly of Malèna because of how similarly both stories operate through the male gaze. In Malèna, we never truly know Malèna herself. Only the fantasies, projections, and perceptions placed onto her by men. Similarly, in this novel, we never truly know the Lisbon sisters either. And strangely, that mystery is exactly what keeps both the boys and the readers drawn to them.

    This book left me mesmerized, bewildered, and pleasantly melancholic. I loved the writing: the rich symbolism, poetic storytelling, and dreamlike atmosphere that constantly invites deeper thought. The prose is so vivid that you can not only picture what’s being described, but almost smell the air and feel the texture of that suburban world.

    I especially loved the symbolism throughout the novel. As the story deteriorates, so do the structures surrounding it. Buildings decay. People become increasingly unstable. Everything slowly spirals toward an inevitable tragedy, moving quietly but relentlessly toward its devastating conclusion.

    The poetic style of writing was almost whimsical or dream-like, and allowed me to immerse myself in their town as if I were one of the boys experiencing everything with them. And,  I, too, found myself being captured by the mystique of the Lisbon sisters.Even though we  know the girls are going to die in the end, but that’s not the point of the story.

    “It didn’t matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were girls, but only that we had loved them, and they hadn’t heard us calling, still do not hear us, up here in the treehouse, with our thinning hair and soft bellies, calling them out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.”

    The Virgin Suicides is not a book that gives answers or closure. It leaves behind memories, nostalgia, obsession, and the unbearable realization that some people can live beside us and still remain strangers. Long after finishing it, I still find myself thinking about the Lisbon sisters. Not as the boys imagined them, but as girls nobody truly made an effort to understand.

    xo

    Yachna


    P.S.

    If you loved this, you might also enjoy these reviews on Sidewalks: The Palace of Illusions & Mother Mary Comes to Me

    .



  • The Sidewalks Guide: New York City

    The Sidewalks Guide: New York City

    A few years ago I fulfilled one of my dreams: spending a summer in New York City. Not as a tourist, but as a local. I enrolled in a screenwriting course at NYFA, writing a screenplay from scratch, and what followed was one of the most exciting and surreal summers of my life.

    New York, for me, became a city of little rituals. Walking endlessly, going out constantly, and somehow always finding something cool tucked into a corner I hadn’t noticed before. Most of my time was split between school and everything I managed to squeeze in around it — which meant a lot of spontaneous plans, solo dates, going out with a girlfriend, drinking wine, eating dessert, and following my mood more than any itinerary.

    I’ve since gone back a couple of times and slowly started compiling a list that I should have shared sooner. But hey, better late than never! I’m sure there will be another NYC guide at some point because that city keeps choosing me and I keep going back for more.

    This isn’t a perfect guide to NYC. It’s just a collection of places I kept going back to, things I loved, and moments that made the city feel like mine.

    What I Ate in NYC

    Food and dining collage from New York City — a plate of ravioli with herbs and parmesan, a dimly lit restaurant bar with colourful pendant lights, a wine glass and candle on a table in moody red lighting, and a dessert of pancakes topped with vanilla ice cream and almonds in chocolate sauce.
    Good food, good lighting, good times — NYC delivered every single time.

    Joe’s Pizza — The most classic New York slice I had and exactly what I wanted after walking all day.

    Magnolia Bakery — Touristy, but the banana pudding had me going back again and again. It lives up to the hype.

    Paris Baguette — I kept finding this bakery no matter what part of the city I was in. I went back again and again for their jalapeño cheddar croissant — the perfect savoury breakfast or snack. I even took my cousins here when they came to visit.

    Ladurée — one of my absolute favourites and honestly a non-negotiable stop in New York. The macarons are as good as everyone says they are, and the whole experience feels so indulgent and Parisian in the middle of the city. The kind of place that just makes you happy the second you walk in.

    Lafayette Grand Café & Bakery — We stumbled upon this place on a stroll after dinner and decided to stop for wine and dessert. Their pistachio croissant was so good, even for someone who rarely has a sweet tooth.

    Ralph’s Coffee (Madison Ave) — This place is the definition of chic. I usually stopped by the one on Madison Ave after wandering around the Upper East Side. It’s exactly what you’d imagine a Ralph Lauren café to be: sophisticated, and very “Old Money” New York. Even if you’re just grabbing a quick latte, it feels like a whole experience. Definitely a spot where you want to dress up a little just for the coffee run.

    The exterior of Ladurée in New York City decorated for Christmas, featuring a mint green macaron cart displaying gift boxes and confections, a tall Christmas tree with blue and gold ornaments, and ornate teal and gold arched doorway.
    Ladurée in New York — as Parisian and indulgent as you’d imagine.

    Collage of four photos from iconic NYC spots — a Ralph's Coffee teddy bear mascot dressed in a striped shirt and white apron inside the Madison Avenue store, a slice of pie with cream and raspberry sauce on a white plate, a Magnolia Bakery branded white tote bag held outside a shop, and a Joe's Pizza box showing the Greenwich Village Institution logo.
    New York in four photos — Ralph’s, Magnolia, Joe’s, and a slice of the best pumpkin pie ever!!

    Collage of four elaborately decorated cakes from Magnolia Bakery NYC — a pink ruffled cake, a yellow sunflower textured two-tier cake, a yellow cake with blue and pink floral piping, and a white two-tier cake with delicate lace detailing
    The cakes at Magnolia Bakery are almost too pretty to eat.

    Juliana’s Pizza (Brooklyn) — New York is full of pizza, so it’s hard to say what’s best, but Juliana’s was definitely one of my favorites and a must-try. We waited in line to get seated and it was worth every bite!!! The pizza came out literally steaming hot from the oven with a thin crispy crust and fresh mozzarella melting into the sauce. Perfect touch.

    Da Nico — I stumbled onto this little jewel-box Italian restaurant in the heart of Little Italy during a festival. It’s family-owned and full of charm. The Caesar salad was crisp and fresh, the pasta was mouthwatering, and they brought us zeppole on the house after our meal…such a thoughtful touch.

    The Bao — We went here for a quick munchie craving since it was right across the street from where we were staying. My friend and I ordered a bunch of food, but the vegetarian dan dan noodles were definitely the winner of the night.

    Lin & Daughters (West Village)— Some of the best Asian food I’ve had outside of Asia. This place is tiny but packed with flavor. We loved everything so much we were almost speechless. I still think about the crispy vegetarian dumplings and the dan dan noodles. The quality and authenticity blew me away.

    Cafe Habana — We stopped here on a casual morning stroll while doing some shopping and decided to grab a light breakfast. I tried the tacos with rice and beans and it took me straight to the streets of Cuba. It’s that good.

    Parm (Upper West Side) — A terrific spot for classic comfort food. I ordered the vodka rigatoni with Italian fries on the side and I was in heaven. Cannot recommend this enough.

    Interior of a New York City restaurant featuring two large framed artworks on the wall — one a collage of black and white photographs, the other a fashion portrait of a woman in a striped swimsuit surrounded by a floral border — with a crystal chandelier and wall sconces visible above.
    Came for the food, stayed for the walls.

    Table spread at a New York City restaurant featuring a bowl of rigatoni vodka pasta with breadcrumbs, a bowl of Italian fries with herbs, a glass of white wine, and a piece of toasted bread, shot from above.
    My NYC camera roll is 90% pasta and fries and I have absolutely no regrets!!!

    TAO Uptown — I stumbled upon this place after an intense study session at a nearby library. Even though I went solo, this would be a great date-night spot. The restaurant is stunning and the vibes are immaculate. I had an appetizer and a cocktail, both great. I’d love to come back here on a date or with a group.

    Khaosan (Brooklyn)— I found this on a day when I was craving spicy Thai food and it hit the spot!! I fell in love with their drunken noodles, and after eating them here the bar is definitely higher now. Don’t settle: not for noodles or men.

    LTD Pizza — From the first bite, I knew this place was special. The crust was perfectly crisp on the outside but soft and chewy inside, just the way it should be. The sauce was rich without overpowering, and the cheese melted perfectly. It’s a true hole-in-the-wall spot, but I promise the pizza is absolutely worth it.

    Zaza — Super impressed with their pancakes, and that’s coming from a breakfast diva. Definitely a must-go for breakfast in NYC.

    Two photos of pastries at a NYC bakery — a close up of white meringue desserts with lavender on a cake base, and a display of golden croissants and pastries on a white cake stand.
    When the pastries look this good you order one of everything.

    Clark’s Diner (Brooklyn) — I became a brunch regular at this spot. Their waffles, pancakes, and hash browns always hit the spot. I think this is one of the places I went to the most during my stay in NYC, and it really became my place.

    Mia’s Bakery — One of the best pumpkin pies I’ve had in my life. It was so good that I still get random cravings for it on a Tuesday…years later. I even have a picture of the slice on my phone. I genuinely cannot put into words what that pumpkin pie did to me.

    Bevacco (Brooklyn) — Found this place totally by accident while looking for dinner. The vibe pulled me in, and I’m so glad it did. One of those rare random finds that actually lives up to the hype. It’s officially on my Brooklyn favorites list.

    Oscar Wilde — Walking into this place feels like stepping straight into a Victorian dream: lavish, theatrical, and unforgettable. Every time I went, it was decorated for the season or a holiday, which made it feel even more special. It’s one of those rare spots where the atmosphere alone is worth the visit, but the food and drinks hold their own. I’ve been recommending it to everyone I know visiting NYC.

    IT Italian Trattoria — I spotted this place while passing by. The food in the window looked too good to ignore. I stepped in for some pasta and fries and it was so good. There’s no shortage of exceptional Italian food in NYC, but this definitely deserves a spot on your list.

    Close up of two New York style pizza slices — one topped with sausage and cheese, the other with pesto and olive oil, served on a paper plate.
    You can walk into any pizza place in NYC and still have the best slice of your life.

    Flat lay on a round wooden café table featuring a copy of Pandora's Jar by Natalie Haynes, a white cup of coffee, a phone, and a cream coloured bag with mushroom and flower illustrations, shot from above.
    A book, a coffee, and nowhere to be — very NYC of me!!!

    Pepe Rosso — A friend who lived in the city for years recommended this place, and it did not disappoint. Their penne arrabbiata is to die for. You’ll definitely find yourself going back.

    Trattoria Bianca — Another Italian spot to die for. Honestly, NYC might be the best place to feed an Italian food obsession. I don’t even remember exactly what I ordered here, but I remember loving every bite especially the Caesar salad, which was so fresh and crisp.

    Pasta Eater — I tried the penne vodka and oh my, it literally tasted like it was cooked with love and hugs. Absolutely chef’s kiss. A high-quality hidden gem I’d highly recommend.

    Serafina — Came here for small bites and it did not disappoint. Would definitely go back for a proper dinner.

    Interior of a dimly lit Thai restaurant in New York City featuring dramatic red pendant lampshades with floral lining, dark wooden panelling, candlelit tables and a fully stocked bar visible in the background.
    The ambiance at this Thai restaurant had me before the food even arrived.

    Lamonte — Stumbled upon this place while strolling around the neighbourhood — stopped in for a cocktail and fries!! The music and atmosphere were really vibey.

    River Café (Brooklyn) — Tucked under the Brooklyn Bridge with views of the Manhattan skyline, this place is as dreamy as it gets. Perfect for a special occasion or a date night where you want to feel like you’re in a movie. The food matches the setting — it’s the kind of dinner you talk about long after you’ve left.

    Little Ruby’s — Recommended by a friend born and raised in NYC, of course I had to try it. I ordered the spicy vodka pasta: super creamy, fresh, and hauntingly delicious. Must recommended!!

    Balthazar — Went here for cocktails with a friend and it ended up being one of my favorite spots for it. It does get pretty crowded, so it’s best to get a reservation.

    A young woman sipping champagne at a dimly lit New York City restaurant or rooftop bar, with warm pendant lights and the city skyline glittering through the window behind her.
    New York has a way of making even a quiet evening feel like a movie.


    Where I Shopped

    The kind of shops you stumble into and can’t leave.

    Shopping in New York feels like a sport — there’s always something to discover if you’re willing to walk a little more. If there’s anything I did in NYC besides eating, it was shopping…the two really went hand in hand. I found myself drawn to vintage, thrift, and consignment stores, and local Sunday markets where you’d stumble upon those once-in-a-lifetime pieces. There’s something so special about finding a rare vintage piece that adds real personality to a wardrobe, and New York has no shortage of places to look. These are the spots I explored and couldn’t stop thinking about.

    Le Grand Strip — one of those places where you feel like you might find something really special if you take your time.

    Michael’s Luxury Consignment — perfect if you’re in the mood to browse high-end pieces without the full commitment.

    Housing Works Thrift Shops (West Village) — a classic for a reason, you really have to dig but it’s always worth it.

    Found these two at a thrift shop and nearly lost my mind.

    Monk Vintage — racks and racks of vintage, a bit chaotic in the best way.

    The Niche Shop — a small but well-curated spot where everything felt thoughtfully picked.

    Malin Landaeus — one of those stores where the pieces feel more like finds than just clothes.

    Awoke Vintage — always ended up finding something here… one of those stores you keep going back into.

    DUMBO Market (Sundays) — such a fun weekend activity, full of random, one-of-a-kind finds. It operates every Saturday and Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m under the DUMBO Archway (80 Pearl St). You’re welcome!!!

    John Fluevog — bought one of the best pink shoes with cute flowers here. Honestly, all of their shoes felt like statement pieces I wanted in my closet.

    A jewellery stall at the Dumbo flea market in Brooklyn NYC, displaying an assortment of vintage silver necklaces, chains, bangles and bracelets spread across a dark surface with necklace display busts in the background.
    The Dumbo flea market is a treasure hunt every single time.

    🎨 Art, Museums & Slow Afternoons

    Collage of four photos from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC — a visitor sitting in front of a large ornate painting, a close-up of an oval portrait in a gold frame, a long hall lined with classical sculptures, and a visitor admiring a marble sculpture.
    Spent an evening getting lost in the Met and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

    If you know me, you know there’s nothing I love more than an art date. Wandering through museums and galleries, taking my time, and just soaking it all in. And, NYC is the perfect place for that. Most of my after-school plans ended up being solo art dates, and honestly, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Here are some of my favourites…

    MoMA — one of those places where you can just keep walking and discovering something new in every room. Also, don’t skip their café. The food was honestly splendid, especially the tomato soup with garlic toast.

    A bowl of vibrant tomato soup with a swirl of green pesto and a side of thick cut chips, served at Cafe 2 inside the Museum of Modern Art MoMA in New York City
    Came for the art, stayed for the tomato soup.

    The Met Museum — I went back here multiple times. You really can’t do it all in one day without feeling completely overstimulated, and every visit felt different.

    Eden Gallery (SoHo) — a nice change of pace, smaller and more intimate but still really engaging.

    Candlelight Concerts– If you want to feel like you’re starring in your own movie, you have to go to one of these. I went for the Beethoven tribute, and honestly, sitting in a historic church illuminated by thousands of flickering candles while listening to those classics was absolutely magical. It’s a core memory for me now. The atmosphere is so intimate and serene; it’s the perfect way to actually slow down and just feel the music. It is a total vibe and a 10/10 recommendation for a solo “me-time” date or a romantic evening.

    A Night on Broadway– Moulin Rouge was genuinely one of the highlights of the whole trip. I also went to see The Lion King which was spectacular in its own right, but Moulin Rouge just had this electric energy that I couldn’t stop thinking about after…the costumes, the music, the performances. There is something about watching a Broadway show live in New York that just hits differently. It felt like the whole city came alive inside that theatre. Do not leave NYC without catching at least one show, you will not regret it.

    Collage of four artworks from the Museum of Modern Art MoMA in NYC — a large figurative sculpture of a blonde woman holding a pink panther, a large circular installation made of hundreds of suspended black and white photographs, a framed surrealist painting of two figures with draped cloth over their faces, and a visitor standing beside a large glowing pink and green neon light installation.
    You could spend an entire day in MOMA and still not see everything.

    Collage of four contemporary art sculptures from Eden Gallery NYC — a Nike sneaker and Chupa Chups lollipops encased in a glass jar on wheels, a crystal-studded meditating figure, a pink KAWS figure encased in resin, and a Louis Vuitton bag with lollipops inside a perfume bottle shaped resin block.
    Stumbled into Eden Gallery and could not look away
    Interior of a New York City church filled with hundreds of glowing candles arranged across the altar and floor, with vibrant blue stained glass windows and ornate gold arches in the background, during a candlelight concert.
    This is what magic looks like.

    Nothing could have prepared me for how good Moulin Rouge actually was.

    📚 Bookstores

    Argosy Book Store — stumbled across this on the way to the park and just had to walk in. The academia vibes are immaculate, old books, artwork and records filling every corner. It even has that old book smell that just adds to the whole experience. There’s a table to sit and read like you’re in a library, but it’s a bookshop. One of those places you don’t plan to find but are so glad you did.

    The Drama Bookshop — I was not expecting The Drama Bookshop to be as beautiful as it is inside. The interior alone is stunning and unlike any bookstore I’ve ever been in. It’s an absolute must for theatre lovers. They offer an incredible selection of scripts and specialty merch that you won’t find anywhere else. But honestly even if theatre isn’t your thing, it’s worth visiting just for the experience. And if you’re a local, they host so many free events so there’s really no excuse not to go.

    Interior of The Drama Bookshop in New York City featuring a dramatic installation of hundreds of books suspended from the ceiling in a cascading spiral, with vintage framed posters on the walls and large windows in the background.
    This is why The Drama Bookshop needs to be on your NYC list.

    🎬 Little New York Moments

    One of my favorite things I did was watching old Hollywood movies outdoors in the park. There are so many Instagram pages that post summer movie schedules happening all over the city. We watched Psycho, and honestly, it was one of my favorite movie watching experiences. I really wish I got to watch more because the selection was so good, but school and homework kept me busy. Still, this is one of those experiences you absolutely shouldn’t miss.

    Beyond that, some of my favorite moments in New York were the simplest ones. The kind that don’t always make it onto an itinerary.

    • Long walks around the city, especially slow Sunday walks by the Brooklyn waterfront with the bridge in view.
    • Watching sunsets near the Brooklyn Bridge, something about the way the light hits the water just makes everything feel a little more magical.
    • A proper girlie picnic in Central Park with a friend. We came fully prepared: a vintage film camera, books, cherries, and pastries from Magnolia Bakery. Found a sunny spot on the grass and just stayed there for hours. One of those afternoons you genuinely don’t want to end..
    • A spontaneous stand up comedy night with a friend, such a fun way to end the day. We had no plans and just stumbled into it. Sometimes the best NYC nights are the ones you never planned.
    Outdoor movie screening in New York City showing a black and white classic film on a large inflatable screen, with the Manhattan skyline and East River visible in the background under a dramatic cloudy sky, with a crowd of people seated in the foreground.
    Watching Psycho outdoors with the Manhattan skyline behind us — peak NYC summer.

    Flat lay photo on a white blanket in Central Park NYC featuring a copy of Sirens and Muses by Antonia Angress, a disposable film camera, fresh cherries, and a pair of lavender cowboy boots with floral embroidery, with a colourful floral scarf in the background.
    Central Park picnic essentials : cherries, a good book, a film camera and the right boots.

    Golden sunset over the Manhattan skyline viewed from Brooklyn, with the Brooklyn Bridge silhouetted against the glowing sky and its reflection shimmering across the East River.
    One of many sunsets in New York… never gets old.

    All in all, just make the most of your time there and really soak in the energy of the city. It’s something you can’t quite explain, only experience.

    New York is one of those cities that gives you something different every time you’re there. You could plan everything or nothing at all and still have the best time.

    For me, it was never just about the places, it was the feeling of being there. The long walks, the random finds, the meals that turned into memories. And I think that’s the best way to experience it. Just go, be curious, and let the city surprise you.


    Been to NYC or planning a trip? Drop your favourite spots in the comments… I always love a good recommendation! And if this guide helped you, share it with someone who needs it. 🗽

    P.S. If you enjoyed this, you might also like- a day at one of my favourite exhibits & a beachy travel guide.

    xo

    Yachna

  • Book Review: Mother Mary Comes to Me

    Book Review: Mother Mary Comes to Me

    This is my first book by Arundhati Roy… and I have to say, I was speechless. I remember staying up late into the night devouring it, falling completely in love – not all at once, but slowly and surely.

    The book both begins and ends with her mother’s death at the age of 89, bringing the memoir full circle. In between, Roy tells the story of how she became the writer, activist, and woman she is shaped partly by circumstance, but largely by her complex and often dreadful relationship with her mother.

    Now, let’s talk about Mary Roy. An icon.

    After being thrown out of her family home, she arrived in Kottayam and began her own school in a space that once hosted Rotary Club meetings. She transformed that humble beginning into a thriving, respected institution.

    Despite her domineering presence, I found myself admiring and deeply respecting Mary Roy for being the trailblazer during the time women were expected to be accept things their fate in silence. No complaints or demands.

    She was an intimidating feminist and an inspiring educator who transformed countless lives of people in Kerala. How you ask? When forcefully evicted from her own father’s house, she took matters in her own hands and challenged the law in the supreme court. She won. As a result, Syrian Christian women were granted equal inheritance rights under the Indian Succession Act of 1925. That victory alone cements her legacy.

    But now, let’s talk about Mary Roy — the mother.

    We are conditioned to believe that mothers are warm, safe havens. This book bluntly dismantles that stereotype. Roy refers to her not as “mother,” but as “Mrs. Roy.” That choice alone reveals the emotional distance between them.

    As the memoir progresses, we see Roy intentionally build both physical and emotional distance from her mother’s overpowering presence. The separation feels necessary even inevitable.

    Before reading this book, I wasn’t fully aware of Roy’s political activism, and I found myself deeply impressed by her fearlessness and her willingness to call a spade a spade. There is a raw honesty in this memoir that took me by surprise. Despite the delicate and deeply personal subject matter, Roy tells her mother’s story without nastiness or bitterness. There is no finger-pointing, no victim narrative but neither is there any varnishing of facts. keeps Her tone is mostly neutral, focusing not on complaining or whining about her lot in life but on the life lessons gained from being her mother’s daughter.

    I remember telling a friend while reading this that there is a remarkable level of stoicism and maturity in the way this book handles the subject of toxic parenting.

    I also felt profound empathy for Mary Roy. Her marriage to an alcoholic “nothing man” as she refers her ex husband, her admission that she had not wanted children, and the immense pressures she faced, the book does not excuse her shortcomings, but it gives us a context as to why she was an emotionally unavailable mother. It offers a sobering portrayal of what forced motherhood can look like. We cannot expect softness and warmth from someone living a life they never chose.

    The memoir spans Roy’s entire life. From her childhood in Ooty with her mother and brother, to the dizzying heights of being catapulted to global fame with The God of Small Things, to the humiliations of being shamed in court and serving a one-day prison sentence for simply speaking her mind.

    The writing is lush and immersive. At times, I felt as though I were right beside her — a little girl in Ooty, and later, a woman saying her final goodbye to her mother.

    So buckle up. This memoir will take you on an emotional rollercoaster and it will linger with you long after you’ve turned the last page.

    Rating: 5/5.

    xo

    Yachna

    P.S. 9 timeless lessons from The Little Prince, and what’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever read?

  • The Burden of Being Too Beautiful

    The Burden of Being Too Beautiful

    Malena has been on my watch list for the longest time, and I finally got around to watching it recently. Within minutes, I knew I had to write about it. Not as a typical review, but as an exploration of women’s relationship with the male gaze and female jealousy, both seen through the haunting figure of Malena.

    The opening scene sets the tone for everything that follows. Teenage boys are gathered across the street from her home, restless, waiting for her to step outside. And when she finally does, the world stands still.

    Her beauty is undeniable, magnetic, almost unreal. We watch her through the eyes of these boys, mainly Renato, whose fascination with her defines the story. From the start, Malena depicts how the female body is consumed through the eyes of men.

    Renato follows her, spies on her through windows, fantasizes about her. And here’s the brilliant cruelty of the film: we barely hear Malena speak. We don’t know her thoughts, her emotions, or her fears. She exists in silence. Always seen, never truly known. As an audience, we too become voyeurs, uninvited yet unable to look away.

    After finishing the movie, I couldn’t stop thinking about her silence. That absence of voice is the point. It’s what makes the movie so powerful  and so painfully real.

    Her silence isn’t just personal; it becomes the town’s obsession. Because when a woman doesn’t explain herself, people will write her story for her. And that’s exactly what happens in Malena.

    In this small Sicilian town, everyone is captivated by her. Men — married, old, young — want her, fantasize about her, project their desires onto her. They create stories, spin rumors, rewrite her life through their fantasies.

    And then there are the women. The jealous ones. The cruel ones. The ones who hate her not for what she’s done, but for what she is. They resent her beauty because it reminds them of their own lack of the power they don’t have, the attention they’ll never receive.

    The result is a town intoxicated by one woman’s existence. The men lust and the women loathe. And Malena, caught between both, becomes a symbol of everything fragile and vicious about human nature.

    There’s a scene that still makes me flinch. The public beating and shaming of Malena. I had to pause and skip parts of it. It’s one of those scenes that stays with you, not because of shock value, but because of what it reveals: how far people will go when driven by envy and repression. The horror of seeing a woman stripped, humiliated, and degraded in front of a crowd. It’s not just a movie scene. It’s history. It’s reality. It’s every time beauty becomes a threat.

    Beauty can be both a gift and a burden. It opens doors but also isolates you. For Malena, her beauty became her prison. It separated her from the world, making her both worshipped and despised.

    As the film progresses, her beauty, once her silent power becomes her downfall. The same face that enchanted the town becomes the reason she’s cast out of it. The movie critiques not just sexism, but the way envy and desire coexist in the same glance. Malena was seen, but never known.

    I can’t talk about Malena without diving into the horror of the male gaze. We watch the entire movie through it and that in itself is deeply uncomfortable. From the first scene, we’re forced to look at her the way men do.

    There were moments when I caught myself watching her like they did and it disgusted me. I paused the movie several times just to sit with that realization. The female gaze doesn’t really exist. We as women, are programmed from childhood to perform for the male gaze. From the way we dress, how we walk, how we smile is shaped by this invisible audience. And it fucking sickens me.

    In the movie, the men want to own her beauty. They don’t care about her pain or loneliness; she’s an object to be had, a prize to be won. Never a person. Never someone with a heartbeat and a soul.

    After the credits rolled, I sat for a long time thinking about how impossible it feels to escape the male gaze. Women are spectacles: constantly watched, constantly judged. And, it’s so internalized that even we start to see ourselves through it.

    For the past few months, I’ve been living in India and I feel this every single day. Here, I don’t dress to express myself; I dress to avoid being looked at. My goal when I leave the house isn’t to feel beautiful. It’s to not be stared at, followed, or made uncomfortable.

    India is a male-gaze-centric society. Things have progressed in some ways, but more or less they remain the same. Men still feel entitled to comment on women’s bodies, to claim ownership of our existence, the same way the men in Malena did. That silent entitlement is what makes the male gaze so insidious, it hides in everyday interactions, in how women learn to shrink, cover, and disappear.

    The male gaze isn’t just cinematic. It’s everyday life. It’s the little things women do to be acceptable, desirable, and safe. It’s the checklist we grow up learning:

    Be sexy, but not too much.
    Be kind, but not naive.
    Be confident, but never intimidating.
    Be smart, but not smarter than your man.
    Have curves, but not a belly.
    Show skin, but not too much of it.

    Women are always performing even when they don’t realize it. And I keep asking myself: why do we always have to perform? Why can’t we just exist?

    The more I thought about it, the more I realized: maybe the female gaze doesn’t exist at all. Maybe it’s just women trying to reclaim something that was never really ours to begin with.

    There’s a quote by John Berger in Ways of Seeing that captures it perfectly:

    “A woman must continually watch herself… Men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at… Thus she turns herself into an object — and most particularly an object of vision: a sight.”

    And that, to me, is Malena.
    A woman who is only ever seen.
    A woman whose silence echoes louder than any words.
    A woman whose beauty became both her weapon and her wound.

    xo

    Yachna

    I’d love to know what you think. Have you watched Malena? Did it hit you the same way? Do you ever think about how the male gaze quietly shapes the way we exist even when we think we’re being ourselves? Comment your thoughts below.

  • Book Review: The Palace Of Illusions

    Book Review: The Palace Of Illusions

    Hi! What are you reading these days?


    I recently finished The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, and I was instantly hooked. This reimagining of the Mahabharata, told through Draupadi’s voice, is a powerful, intimate exploration of what it means to be a woman born into a world ruled by men.

    In today’s post we take a deep dive into this remarkable story about a woman born into a man’s world. I’m also experimenting with a new way of writing book reviews in a Q&A format. Think of it as a conversation with the book rather than a traditional critique.

    I’d love to know what you think of this style as you read along.

    General Impressions

    What drew you to Palace of Illusions in the first place?
    Every time I visit India, I find myself drawn to Indian literature because I refuse to see everything from a Western point of view. I picked this book up from a roadside stall, and as soon as I read the little summary on the back, I knew I wanted to read it, especially when I saw it was written from Panchali’s point of view. No questions asked. For those of you who don’t know, The Palace of Illusions is a feminist retelling of the Mahabharata told in Draupadi’s voice.

    How did you feel right after finishing the book?
    Honestly? I was really sad and a bit gloomy while reading the last few pages. Of course, I knew in advance how it would end, but I still couldn’t help feeling heartbroken for pretty much all the characters.

    What one word would you use to describe the overall reading experience?
    If I had to sum it up in one word: sublime.

    Story & Themes

    What part of Draupadi’s story resonated with you the most?
    Since the very first page, I was hooked. From the moment Panchaali was born into her father’s home and reluctantly accepted because she was a girl. I loved how even as a young girl she had such strong, confident opinions and stood up for herself, especially during the time when women were not allowed to have a voice and were basically treated as property.

    For instance: I related to her childhood dream of having her own palace, a place that reflected her inner world. Quoting her from the book:

    “When I had my own palace, I promised myself, it would be totally different. I closed my eyes and imagined a riot of color and sound, birds singing in mango and custard apple orchards, butterflies flitting among jasmines, and in the midst of it—but I could imagine yet the shape that my future home would take. Would it be elegant as crystal? Solidly precious, like a jewel-studded goblet? Delicate and intricate, like gold filigree? I only knew that it would mirror my deepest being, there I would finally be at home.”

    Can you imagine being that young and already knowing exactly what you want in life? I found that so inspiring and oh so relatable.

    Her bond with her brother Dhri was one of the many things that stayed with me. He was her trusted friend in an otherwise lonely palace. I felt her ache when she was denied an education because it wasn’t “princess vibes.” Her rebellion burned quietly but powerfully in every page.

    “King Drupad had balked at the thought of me studying with my brother. A girl being taught what a boy was supposed to learn? Such a thing never been heard of in the royal family…Even Dhai Ma, my accomplice in so many other areas of my life, regarded the lessons with misgiving. She explained that they were making me too hardheaded and argumentative, too manlike in my speech.”

    Reading this, I could feel her frustration. It made me think of how many women across time and even today are denied education. Their curiosity and brilliance are treated as the biggest threat to society.

    And then, of course, her marriage to the five brothers. Honestly? I was furious. She loved one, but was forced to marry all five. She had no say in the most important decision of her life. She was consistently throughout the book treated as property, no different from cattle or a pawn in a political game. And the infamous Cheerharan scene? Despite having five husbands, not one stood up for her honor. I kept asking myself: what gave them the right to pawn her off in a gambling match? Her rage became my rage. And, I understood why vengeance consumed her.

    What softened this for me was her friendship with Krishna. He was her only true mentor, confidant, and friend. Their bond felt timeless and healing. As she said:

    “When I thought myself abandoned, he was busy supporting me—but so subtly that I often didn’t notice. He loved me even when I behaved in a most unlovable manner. And his love was totally different from every other in my life. Unlike them, it didn’t expect me to behave in a certain way. It didn’t change into displeasure or anger or even hatred if I didn’t comply. It healed me.”

    This quote has since become one of my favourite quotes ever because isn’t this what love is supposed to be?

    Did this retelling change how you see the Mahabharata or its characters?
    In all honesty, I’ve never read or watched the Mahabharata fully, so my knowledge was pretty basic going in. But one thing I found odd was Panchaali’s longing for Karna. Knowing his role in the Cheerharan in real life, it felt strange that the book romanticized that connection knowing that he was one of the perpetrators . It left me a bit conflicted.

    What themes stood out to you—love, destiny, power, feminism, longing, war?
    The theme of destiny really hit me. If everything is pre-written, as the book suggests, are we just vessels carrying out fate? Are we puppets with no say? I’ve always believed destiny is an excuse people use when they give up. I believe in making things happen despite the odds. But in the book, everything unfolded as predicted, making me question just how much power we really have.

    The other theme that stayed with me was war. I’ve always believed war is never a sane answer. The Pandavas “won,” but at what cost? Duryodhan’s last words to Yudhisthir were haunting:

    “I’m going to heaven to enjoy all its pleasures with my friends. You’ll rule a kingdom peopled with widows and orphans and wake each morning to the grief of loss. Who’s the real winner, then, and who the loser?”

    This is the most devastating I’ve read about real implications of war. No winners. Just broken homes, hearts, and families.  

    Character Reflections

    How did you feel about Draupadi’s voice as a narrator?
    Her voice was fresh, confident, and bold. A woman who knows what she wants. Looking at the world  through her eyes felt relatable especially as a woman. When her teacher declared that a woman’s highest purpose was to support men, she fired back: “And who decided that a woman’s highest purpose was to support men?” That line gave me goosebumps. As a modern woman, I could relate so much to her defiance and loneliness in holding views that didn’t match the world around her. Even though the story is set in an ancient time, Panchaali’s voice felt modern and timeless.

    Were there moments when you admired her, felt frustrated with her, or deeply related to her?
    Absolutely. I admired her grace in accepting situations forced upon her, even when she had no say. Like being married to five men or being humiliated in court. I understood her pent up rage when her palace and dignity were gambled away without her consent as if it didn’t matter. I admired her strength, but I also felt her frustration deeply.

    Favorite Quotes

    Throughout the book, I highlighted so many lines that spoke to me. Sharing just a few of my favourite ones:

    • “Wait for a man to avenge your honor, and you’ll wait forever.”
    • “Your childhood hunger is the one that never leaves you. No matter how famous or powerful they became, my husbands would always long to be cherished…”
    • “Love comes like lightning, and disappears the same way.”
    • “A situation in itself is neither happy nor unhappy. It’s only your response to it that causes your sorrow.”
    • “I thought that if lokas existed at all, good women would surely go to one where men were not allowed so that they could be finally free of male demands.”
    • “His love was totally different from every other love in my life…It healed me.”
    • “To see a loved one in pain is more wrenching than to bear that pain yourself.”
    • “What is the most wondrous thing on earth? Each day countless humans enter the Temple of Death, yet the ones left behind continue to live as though they were immortal.”

    Each of these quotes stopped me in my tracks, making me reflect on life, love, and resilience.

    Final Thoughts

    I would highly recommend this book to everyone especially my women, since this is a feminist retelling of the Mahabharata from Panchali’s perspective in a patriarchal society. The book flows beautifully, and I found myself not wanting to put it down once I picked it up. I was so eager to finish, and while reading, I often found myself discussing it with a friend who knows the Mahabharata deeply. He would tell me intriguing stories, which only made me more curious, enchanted, and eager to learn more. This book has actually inspired me to read the original text and even watch the televised series.

    Have you read The Palace of Illusions? What did you think of Draupadi’s story? Or do you have another retelling of the Mahabharata to recommend? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

    xx

    Yachna