Dishita's Mindbox

raat ke aangan mein khamoshi kabhi kabhi apna raaz khol deti hai, jaise hawa halki si sarhahat lekar purani yaadon ke darwaze par dastak de rahi ho, aur tumhari khushboo ka halka sa jhalak mere dil ki dehleez chhoo jaati hai. zindagi ke raaste tez hain, par kuch pal aise hote hain jo bina pukare khud hum tak aa jaate hai, jaise waqt bhi ruk kar sirf humari aankhon ke beech khada ho jaaye. ek lamha ruk krr dekho, roshni ki patli si dhaar jab deewar par phisalti hai, toh lagta hai jaise tumhari ek muskaan har chhoti si baat ko gehra, narm ehsaas bana deti hai. mohabbat ko samajhne ke liye shor ya bade lafz zaroori nhi, kabhi kabhi bas tumhara ek chhupa sa haath, tumhara ek halka sa saath, ya tumhari narm si hasi bhi poora jahaan bhar ka ehsaas de jaati hai.

the beauty of being misunderstood there is an unexpected grace in being misunderstood. at first, it feels like a quiet ache — the kind that settles in the spaces between who you are and who the world thinks you are. people see fragments: the way you speak, the way you move, the way you laugh at the wrong moment or stay silent at the right one. they build entire stories out of these tiny pieces, and most of them are incomplete. but there is a tenderness in that incompleteness. when people only understand parts of you, the rest of you becomes a private landscape, something untouched, something sacred. your inner world becomes a room with dim lighting and open windows, where your thoughts settle softly like dust on old wooden shelves. nobody enters without knocking. nobody claims to know more than what you choose to show. and in a world obsessed with being seen, this hiddenness becomes a rare kind of power. being misunderstood teaches you to be comfortable with your own depth. it fo...

kehte hain, insaan wahi banta hai, jis-jis se wo zindagi mein milta hai. har muskaan, har dhokha, har mulaqat, kuch na kuch toh dil ko sikha jaata hai. kisi ne sikhaya, khamoshi bhi ek jawaab hoti hai, kisi ne dikhaya, wada bhi kabhi azaab hoti hai. kisi ne bharosa ban kar dil sambhala, kisi ne tod kar bata diya, apne bhi khilaaf hoti hai. aur ek girna tha, jaise baarish ka pehla qatra, dhool se lipti, zameen ko mehka gayi. girne se darti rahi, par jab giri, toh uth kar, aasman ko chhuna seekh gayi. ab jo pooche, “tu kaun hai?”, toh keh doon,  main lafz hoon, jo sabki kahani mein likhi hai. main wo aaina hoon, jisme har chehra thoda-thoda dikha hai. kabhi dosti, kabhi dhokha, kabhi pyaar ka nasha, kabhi sachchai, kabhi jhooth ki saza. sab mila kar, sab sahej kar, main bani hoon, har us shaks ka hissa, jisse zindagi mein kabhi mulaqat hui thi.

teri aankhon mein kuch aisa hai, jo bas mehsoos hota hai, samajh nahi aata. har nazar ek raaz jaise chhupaye rakhti hai, aur main un raazon mein khud ko kho deti hoon. teri muskaan jaise halki hawa dil ko chhoo jaaye, raat ki khamoshi mein bhi roshni ban jaaye. log kuch bhi kahe, hai tu sirf ek naram sa phool, jo bina dare dil se pyar karta hai, aur duniya se kabhi khudko nahi chupata teri awaaz,  bas ek baar sun loon, din bhar mere dil ke kone mein ghoomti rahe. jab tu khamosh hota hai, teri khamoshi hi sab kuch kehti hai, aur main bas sun leti hoon. aur jab tu dekhta hai, tere aankhon mein kuch khoya sa, teri muskaan mein halki si roshni, pighal jaati hoon sirf tere liye.  khud ko dhundhti hoon kahin, par tu hi mil jaata hai. ek pal ke liye duniya ruk jaati hai, aur sirf hum dono reh jate hai.  tu jaisa hai, wahi kaafi hai, kuch aur chahne ki zarurat nahi, kyunki tu hi mera sukoon hai.

invisible expectations it started as we will support you no matter what and stayed that way until i made it worse— worse by lacing myself with invisible expectations, trying to be better than the rest, and apparently failing miserably so. i blamed them— for the pressure, the standards, the silence— but it was always me who became the angry shadow, cursing through each loss, reminding me of my failures in the tone of quiet condescension. a toxic relationship bloomed between my head and heart— the head, a relentless bully; the heart, the bruised listener, bearing storms no one else noticed. and it was always one achievement after another, never an end, never a stop. just a fear— a fear of being left behind, of fading into the crowd, of becoming mediocre . somehow, for them, there was never satisfaction— just a hunger to prove, an addiction to superiority, and no one ever saw through it. for that, i’m almost grateful. ~dishita

 they tell me to find my inner calling that will bring an end to the whole career stalling they tell me to choose wisely to think it straight and stride cautiously they tell me this is the turning point of my life preventing any kind of future strife they tell me this could make or break me without knowing the burden bringing me to my knees they tell me science and arts both bring equal impression but then still remind me that medicine is the only noble profession?  isnt a soldier's job noble?  aren't the civil servants faithful?  isnt a teacher's profession inspiring?  or is it all about NASA's hiring?  tell me, is it such a crime to ditch the majority?  is it such a shock to make the right side your priority?