Agrawalla Asks!

HOME 🏡 Home.  A four letter word, complete in itself. Just bricks and beams?? And you Humans yearn to be at home? Or can we can say that Home is not just bricks and beams—it's the quiet faith between souls, the soft place where trust curls up and sleeps without fear. Home, to an infant, isn’t a room with walls or a crib in the corner. It’s a feeling—intimate, primal, and wordless. It’s the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath a soft chest—the first sound they ever trusted. It’s the warmth of skin and the scent of milk, familiar and grounding like gravity. It’s being cradled in arms that never let go, even when the world spins too fast. To an infant, home is eyes that always find them in a room. It’s voices that sing lullabies in half-sleep, hands that rock them through storms they can’t name. It’s the place where every cry gets answered—not just with help, but with knowing. Where their needs are met not out of duty, but out of love so natural, it feels like breath...

 No one really talks about the kind of loneliness that follows grief. Not the kind where you’re just “alone” in a room — but the kind where you feel alone in your soul. The kind that creeps in when you’ve lost your people. Your anchor. Your father. Your friends. Your sense of safety. Yourself. It’s a strange kind of loneliness. The kind where even in a crowded space, you feel invisible. The kind where you don’t want to be around anyone — not because you hate them, but because  they just don’t get it . They don’t see what you’ve endured. They don’t see how hard it is to even wake up some days, to smile through the hollow, to pretend you're “okay” when you’re barely holding on. And when they do speak, it’s not to understand — it’s to point out what you’re doing wrong. As if they know the weight of your silence. As if they’ve walked barefoot through the ashes of everything you’ve lost. All I really want is someone to say, "It’s okay. I see you. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you...

 To the Elder Daughters: This One’s For You Hey, elder daughter. Yes, you—the unsung hero, the silent multitasker, the one who seems to carry the weight of the world without complaint. This is for you, because you deserve to be heard, acknowledged, and appreciated. Let’s start with a question: Are you okay? Seriously, are you? Because sometimes, I wonder. No matter how much we grow up, we’re still treated like kids. At least, I know I am. I’m always asked where I’m going, what I’m doing, and why. I have to ask permission to buy things that are personal to me, things that should only concern me. And God forbid I make a decision without asking—rebellious is the nicest label they’ll slap on me. And you know what? I get it. Some of it comes from a place of care and concern. But when does concern stop being love and start being control? Are all the elder daughters getting the same treatment, or am I the odd one out? You know what I’ve realized? We’re not rebellious. We’re just trying to...

 You told me you were my friend—not just a friend, but my best friend. You said we were homies. But when your homie was homeless and you had a home, you let them stay homeless for weeks. You promised to be by my side no matter what. Yet, I’ve found myself eating dinner alone every day while you hung out with the same people you once called snakes. You said it was okay to joke around with me in front of everyone, but I’ve seen you mock me in ways that didn’t feel like jokes—especially in front of those so-called friends of ours. You told me you had my back, always. But I’ve watched you smirk every time the teachers said something that cut straight to my heart. You promised never to hurt me intentionally, yet you laughed when I was at my lowest. You made jokes about my insecurities—the ones I trusted only you with. You made me feel safe enough to share things I would have otherwise taken to my grave. I trusted you with those secrets, but now I feel like I’m just a puppet for your amu...

 No matter what people say, if you truly want to change, you will. But the truth is, real change requires more than just wanting—it demands your strongest desire, a deep sense of urgency, and the necessity to take action. It’s not about changing something materialistic; it’s about transforming your habits and behaviours. Why do we feel the need to change? Often, it’s because we realize that certain habits hurt us, don’t align with our values, or fail to bring us joy. That’s when the thought of change enters our minds. But it’s just that—a thought. Change doesn’t come until we reach a saturation point, a moment when we can no longer tolerate staying the same. That’s when we declare, “Now, I’m going to change!” We feel motivated, our minds flood with ideas, and we set high expectations for ourselves, believing happiness lies on the other side of this change. If we succeed, it’s great—but even then, we often find something else to fix. Most of the time, though, we don’t fully succeed....

  Even Success feels like failure I have heard many people say that even success feels like failure. Well that keeps me thinking about it all that time. That is it really true? Often i think what is success? So, i googled it and it says ‘the accomplishment of an aim or purpose’. It simply says that attaining your aim or purpose. So the aim that people have and you have are different. It can never be same. Maybe some things can be but the joy derived from achieving your goal is not same for everyone. So how can we say we are successful by looking at someone else. That feeling should come from your heart and not from validation from others. For example, Salo is a good student and she wants to be a CA and she wants to go through the direct entry scheme for which she needs 70% of marks in her graduation. That is the reason she wants to have good grades. On the other hand, Arpita is just jealous of Salo getting good marks and getting appreciated by professors, so she starts competing wi...