Sai Kalpana

This year, I am hoisting a silver flag—celebrating 25 years of life.  Yep, a silver jubilee.  Hold on, Birthday? Celebration? Party? Treat? Honestly, I haven’t really celebrated my birthday since grade 6. One big reason? People only seem to care on that one day—they send texts, gifts, cakes, pour love and money into it and I never felt peace or real happiness from it. It all felt so temporary. So over time, my birthday became a normal day, like every other day. Secondly, my parents never brought me up with grand gestures. Since childhood, I knew I was raised with reality. I grew up in a nuclear family: my father’s parents died before I was born, and I barely remember my maternal grandfather, as I was just 2 to 4 years old. I am close with my maternal grandma. Most of my childhood vacations were with her, and I love spending time with her. She takes care of me so well. I feel safe and comfortable with her. Her love languages on birthdays or even on normal days were making ...

There are some love stories that don’t last forever — not because they weren’t strong enough, but because they were meant to exist in moments rather than on a timeline. I’m a rom-com movieholic who also loves funny family movies. Recently, I found myself swept away by two stories that couldn’t be more different in setting, language, or structure yet both left a similar ache in my heart. One is a poetic Telugu film called “8 Vasanthalu” , and the other, a beautiful film, “The Oxford Year”  . What connected them for me was this simple yet powerful truth: not all love needs to be loud to be real. In 8 Vasanthalu , love is presence. It’s the kind of love that waits silently in the background, showing up through years and seasons, never asking for anything in return. The man in her life doesn’t profess undying love or fight to win her over. He just stays. Through every change, every heartbreak, every chapter of her life, he’s there. Not holding her, but never letting go either. And so...

My very first flight journey began in September 2024 with high hopes, excitement, and a few unexpected surprises. I had originally booked a Lufthansa flight from Bangalore to Munich and then to Manchester. What I didn’t know was that even for a short 55-minute layover in Munich, I needed a transit visa. I only discovered this during check-in at Bangalore airport when the airline staff told me. My heart sank—I couldn’t board the flight, couldn’t get a refund because it wasn’t a premium ticket with refund feature, and ended up losing nearly £680. Disappointed and stressed, I returned home. Two weeks later, on September 23rd, I booked again with IndiGo and Turkish Airlines, flying from Coimbatore to Delhi to Istanbul and finally to Manchester. So, it's three flights, but thankfully it was a connecting ticket, so I didn’t need to worry about my 60 kg of baggage at each stop. Coimbatore to Delhi:  This part of the journey was smooth and even exciting. The landing was especially great, a...

You tolerated me — endlessly. When I was unstable, unsure, and full of messy emotions, You never once turned away. You absorbed my frustrations, Even when I unfairly accused you in the storms of my own self-doubt. I acted like a child sometimes — fragile, reactive, overwhelmed. But you, you stood tall. Patient. Gentle. Steady. You gave me the space to feel, Without ever making me feel like too much. You looked at me, and suddenly, I wasn’t just “enough.” I was beautiful — through your eyes, I became more than I believed I was. You, my handsome reminder, That someone so bright could see light in me, Even when I couldn’t. I live in this phantasy — Not because I’m lost, But because it's the only place Where we could stay… together. You broke me, yes. But you healed me too. With the same gaze, You taught me how love can be both pain and peace. I still see you — Those eyes during the exam days, The way your chin rested on your hand, The way you looked at me ...

  Dear future husband, I don’t know your name yet. I don’t know where you are in the world. But I hope when you read this with your heart, you’ll feel me. I’ve waited for you — not in desperation, but in devotion . I’ve protected this body like a temple. I’ve cried for love that felt unsafe. I’ve burned with shame over things I never chose. But through it all, I never stopped believing in a love that heals. I want to build with you — not just a home, but a world : Where softness is not weakness. Where we talk even when it’s hard. Where you hold my hand through doubt, not just desire. Please don’t be perfect — just be present. Please don’t be rich — just be responsible. Please don’t love me for how I look — love me for how I fight, forgive, and feel. I want to wake up beside someone who makes my heart exhale. I want to raise children in a house where no one’s made to feel unworthy because of their skin. I want to love with laughter and with loyalty. If you’re readi...

After Four Months of Silence The pain. The confusion. The shame. The yearnings. I thought everything between us ended in February. That was the day the sky dimmed in my little world. All my hope, my prayers, the quiet affirmations I whispered into my pillow each night — they vanished like smoke. In the days that followed, I didn’t leave my room. No lectures, no texts, no calls — only silence. Not the kind that heals, but the kind that swallows you whole. I stopped looking in the mirror. Not because I wasn’t there, but because the version of me that once smiled, that once glowed, was gone. In that place stood a girl with swollen eyes, a shattered spirit, and a face washed in grief. And yet, slowly, painfully, I tried to move on. I told myself: You came here with dreams that took everything to build. You’ve survived worse. You will rise. Just when I thought I was beginning to breathe again — the email arrived. A formal notice. A report. The word itself felt like a slap. And then, ...