Karina Pandya

Vietnam isn’t just a destination — it’s a whole mood. The moment you land, life becomes a game of Frogger: dodging scooters, following invisible crossing rules, and rewarding yourself with hot or iced coffee in tiny cafés tucked between chaos. One minute you’re lost in the city, and the next you’re standing on a beach, wondering how life suddenly looks like a postcard. Or maybe you’re cruising through Ha Long Bay, floating past giant limestone dragons rising from emerald waters. From Hanoi’s old-school charm to Da Nang’s breezy calm and Ho Chi Minh City’s nonstop buzz, Vietnam keeps switching personalities — and somehow, they all work. Vietnam isn’t just one place. It’s drama, culture, flavour, noise, beauty, and emotion — all served in a single trip. Hanoi, the capital in the north, felt like history put on sneakers and went for a walk! As Vietnam’s political and cultural heart, it carries the weight of the past while running straight into the present. The Old Quarter was alive: tangl...

Some people speak to release their emotions; others find relief in silence. I have always belonged to the latter. Speaking asks for pauses, filters, and courage. Writing asks only for honesty. From the time I was a shy young girl, writing became my safe space. I didn’t yet have the confidence to say what I felt, but the moment my pen touched paper, I felt a quiet power return to me. It was never just words—it was my soul spilling freely - my private refuge. There were no interruptions, no judgment, no pressure to explain myself. Even emotions that felt too heavy to carry found their way out through language.  Writing turned confusion into clarity. When anxiety or emotional overload made speaking impossible, Paper listened patiently. My thoughts could unfold slowly, truthfully. I learned to organise myself into words, to reflect instead of react. In moments of loneliness and sadness, writing became my companion—the one place where vulnerability felt safe. Over time, solace turned in...

  In the world of Indian indie music, very few artists manage to truly touch a chord in the listener’s heart.  Anuv Jain  is one such rare voice. His deeply personal music resonates with millions across the world, carrying a unique blend of genuineness, harmony, and rhythm. From quiet heartbreaks to expansive melodies, Anuv’s songs feel like pages from a diary—raw, intimate, and emotionally honest. A sleeper hit,  Baarishein  was his first-ever recorded song and went on to cross 200 million streams on Spotify. Interestingly, the first song he ever wrote was  Meri Baaton Mein Tu , penned when he was just 16 years old. Since then, his music has only spiralled upward, steadily drawing in listeners from across the globe. Inspired by real-life experiences, Anuv often takes months to write a song before releasing it, allowing emotions to fully take shape. Despite his undeniable talent, he chose to pursue music professionally only during the COVID-19 pandemic. Dur...

 Vietnam is surely going  to feel like one long story waiting to unfold as we travel from north to south, with every destination adding its own colour, flavour, and rhythm. and I JUST CAN'T WAIT! Hanoi – Where the Past Will Never Sleep Hanoi will immediately pull us in. Founded over  1,000 years ago , the city will feel deeply rooted in history while still buzzing with  đổi mới  (modern change). We will explore Hanoi on foot—wandering freely, getting a little lost, and letting the city guide us naturally. :) In the Old Quarter, motorbikes will buzz past as street vendors call out  “ăn đi!”  (Come eat!), and everyday life will spill onto the sidewalk. Around Hoan Kiem Lake, locals will practise tai chi at sunrise while others will sit quietly with a strong cup of Vietnamese coffee. Hanoi will feel calm, chaotic, and beautiful all at once. One of the most unforgettable moments - I'm sure will be visiting  Hanoi Train Street , where we will sit with ...

  On January 18, 2026, I participated in the Dream Run at the Tata Mumbai Marathon, a journey that began at CST and concluded along the iconic Marine Drive. This run was more than just a race for me—it was a way to represent a deeper purpose, one that lies close to my heart: raising awareness about epilepsy. As I gathered in the wee hours of the morning at Gate No. 7, I found myself in a space that carried both the rhythm of the city and the weight of its history. Runners surrounded me on all sides, and it was astonishing to see so many people assembled before dawn, united by a shared sense of anticipation. Each runner carried their own story, their own reason for being there, and the air was thick with quiet excitement. From CST, the route carried us through the beating heart of Mumbai—a city that, like the people running through it, never stops moving forward. This spirit of constant motion and resilience echoed the very essence captured in my book  Inside Mumbai: Stories fr...

There was a time when I believed that thinking deeply and caring a lot meant I was sincere, emotionally aware, and just… a good person. I used to replay conversations, imagine different scenarios, and analyse silences or distance between myself and others. Nothing went unquestioned. But the more I thought about everything, the more stuck I felt. What I once saw as caring slowly turned into rumination, and it drained my peace more than I realised. I eventually had to ask myself: did all this thinking actually matter? And the answer was no. What mattered was how it left me feeling. I used to overthink constantly—especially the small, trivial things that led nowhere. I wondered what people thought of me, read into gifts, silences, and distance, and replayed moments that were long over and completely out of my control. I imagined how things   could’ve   gone differently or wished they had. That’s when the mental loop really kicked in. Even though these thoughts felt important at t...

For a long time, I believed my career path looked confusing on paper. A BA in Psychology, followed by years in corporate roles, and then becoming an author—it didn’t seem to add up. But now, as I begin pursuing a diploma in counselling, it feels less like a shift and more like a return. I’m circling back to psychology. What some might see as a detour feels, to me, like a homecoming. Was this my core interest all along, or was writing my true home? I’m still not entirely sure—and maybe I don’t need to be. I chose psychology for my undergraduate degree because I was drawn to the idea of a medical career, inspired by my mother’s path. I didn’t have a clearly charted roadmap back then. What I did have was curiosity—about people, emotions, behaviour, and the invisible forces that shape our choices. Psychology gave me a language for what I had always sensed: that stories, struggles, and inner worlds truly matter. Life led me into counselling rooms and clinical settings in unexpected ways alo...

  When a child throws a tantrum, becomes unusually quiet, or clings excessively to a caregiver, the behaviour is often labelled as “bad” or “problematic.” However, children do not always have the words or emotional skills to communicate exactly how they feel. Instead of using language, they express their emotions through behaviour. By observing these behaviours closely, we can begin to understand whether something is right or wrong. Throwing tantrums, displaying anger, becoming silent or withdrawn, or even showing clinginess are often signs that a child is struggling internally. What appears to be misbehaviour is usually a child’s way of expressing that one or more of their needs are not being met. For instance, a child who throws frequent tantrums may be feeling overwhelmed, tired, or frustrated. A quiet or withdrawn child may be experiencing anxiety or sadness, while aggressive behaviour can indicate difficulty coping with strong emotions. Childhood begins at birth and continues ...

Over the past decade, India’s mental health landscape has undergone a visible transformation—from a largely silenced and stigmatised topic to an active and evolving public conversation. What was once confined to hospitals and clinical spaces has now expanded into workplaces, schools, social media platforms, and everyday family discussions. This shift has been driven by growing awareness, rising life stressors, increased digital connectivity, and a younger generation that is more open and accepting of mental health concerns. Together, these factors have fuelled the rapid growth of India’s mental health ecosystem. Therapy and counselling, once viewed as urban and elitist services, are now increasingly accessible through online platforms, mobile applications, and multilingual resources. Widespread smartphone usage has enabled individuals, even in smaller towns, to explore mental health information privately and without fear of judgment. Teletherapy has further bridged geographical gaps, a...

Life does not always offer answers. More often, it leaves us holding unresolved emotions—uncertainty, quiet longing, and the acceptance of moments that arrive without closure. These feelings surface in many forms: breakup monologues we rehearse in solitude, nostalgia-tinted reflections, or gentle affirmations we lean on for comfort. And yet, amid all this emotional noise, Hindi music has a rare ability to soften the edges. It doesn’t silence our feelings; it steadies them. Songs like  Tujhse Naraz Nahin Zindagi , especially in SANAM’s rendition, invite stillness. They make me pause, reflect, and reconnect with life’s quiet tenderness and emotional honesty—without demanding resolution. Hindi music has never belonged to a single era. It grows with the listener. A song that once felt like a simple love story in youth slowly transforms, over time, into an expression of longing, memory, or quiet acceptance. This evolution is what gives Hindi music its endurance. Rooted in simplicity and...

Life can feel like it’s always rushing. Days move fast, one after another, and it’s hard to hold onto any of them. Time slips by before we even notice it. And yet, the things that matter—thoughts, feelings, conversations—move slowly. They stay with us. They echo. We start things and forget them. Tea goes cold because no one stays long enough to drink it. Feelings fade because no one sits with them. We try to keep everything together by planning more, tightening routines, and filling every hour. As if holding tighter will stop things from falling apart. People are always moving—on buses, trains, sidewalks—but their minds are somewhere else. Replaying old talks. Worrying about what they lost. Pushing feelings away for “later,” even though later may never come. Faces stare ahead, not with hope, but with habit. Being still feels wrong now. Silence feels awkward. Rest has to be planned, timed, and earned. Even slowing down feels like another task on a long list. And yet, small moments still...

Memories arrive without asking, the way grief does. Uninvited. Unscheduled. I leave his number in my phonebook because deleting it would mean accepting that it is finally over. And I’m not ready to make something final when it never felt finished. The last message still sits there like an open door—though I can’t tell if it was ever meant to be open, or if I imagined that part. Maybe it was rhetorical. Maybe it was already closing while I stood there, waiting. I keep rereading it, searching for a hidden meaning, a pause I missed, a sentence that explains itself if I look long enough. There’s no punctuation. No grammar. Not even a goodbye. Just the end of a thought. And I wonder if this is really how endings between friends are supposed to happen—so abrupt, so unfinished, so confusing. I tried for months to understand what led to this finale. I built stories in my head, stacked possibilities on top of each other until they collapsed under their own weight. None of them explained why he ...

  My thoughts always followed the same theme: attachment and longing. But were they even worth delving into so deeply—worth rethinking why they existed the way they did? Perhaps not. Still, I kept analysing and re-analysing my behaviour as if it truly meant something, as if there were a hidden agenda even my subconscious knew nothing about. Why do my thoughts always crave the same pattern, the same uncertainty?   I kept asking, again and again, as though the answer were just around the corner. But I could never logic my way out of it, never conclude this pattern of behaviour. Did I even need to understand it, or were these simply thoughts in motion—flows I was unnecessarily shaping and compartmentalising? Thoughts came and went, and I knew this movement was central to my existence. But did it always need patterns, explanations, meanings—answers my fidgety mind insisted upon? Maybe I was thinking this way because, months later, I was still grieving the end of something else. Ma...

Maya had learned that keeping the peace often required her to shrink herself. Over time, it became second nature—smiling through discomfort, laughing at jokes that weren’t funny, convincing herself that silence was a sign of maturity. People called her easygoing because she never caused a scene. What they didn’t see was how much effort it took to remain that way. She was a writer, though she rarely said it aloud. Her words lived in half-filled notebooks, unsent documents, and forgotten notes on her phone—quiet attempts at finding a voice she was still learning to trust. Like her confidence, her writing was always in progress. When feedback was kind or thoughtful, she listened easily. But when it came wrapped in cruelty, she told herself it was just honesty. She believed that—until one evening when it wasn’t. His comment was tossed casually, laced with sarcasm and a dark humour that landed harder than he seemed to notice. The room stayed light, almost indifferent, but something tigh...

She fell in love with echoes—but did they even exist anymore?  She reminisced about the way he used to lean in when he spoke to her, as if every sentence  was measured and mattered. There was a version of him who stayed up late just to talk about  nothing and everything all at once. He believed closeness was something you chose every  day. He knew how deeply his silences and unguarded moments affected her. There were other versions of him, too. The hopeful one who made promises easily. The tired one who arrived late to conversations or replied half-heartedly. The distant one who smiled without having much to say. Each version quietly replaced the last, and she hadn’t noticed the loss until it had settled in completely. The present version was polite—perhaps even kind. He remembered details as they were spoken, feelings as they unfolded. When she talked, he listened with careful posture and thoughtful attention. Loving him came naturally, but it became an act of remem...

 Every morning, Maira woke up before the city did. The kettle sang softly as she prepared her tea, its steam curling into the quiet like a secret. Outside, the windows breathed in the hush of the wind, the streets still half-asleep. Her desk waited for her patiently—or maybe it was just her laptop, already smudged with fingerprints and yesterday’s doubts, ready to be opened again. Once, she believed writers were born knowing what to say in their first drafts. She imagined words arriving fully formed, sentences obedient and confident. Time, however, taught her otherwise. Writing was not a gift handed down intact; it was learned slowly, stubbornly, through hours of uncertainty. Writers, she realised, were simply people who sat down with doubt and stayed longer than most. Some mornings, the words came too fast. Her fingers raced ahead of her thoughts, sentences spilling out messy and unkind, as if demanding to exist no matter the cost. Other days, the screen stared back at her blank a...

Adrian was like any other boy Leo had known, and yet something about him always felt just out of reach. He was charming without trying—the kind of person people gravitated toward effortlessly. With others, he laughed easily, spoke freely, and stayed present. With Leo, it was different. Sometimes Adrian sat so close their shoulders nearly touched, close enough to feel familiar, almost safe. Other times, he kept his distance—his body angled away, his attention drifting elsewhere. And then there were days when Adrian walked past Leo as though they were strangers, as if whatever existed between them could be switched off at will. Leo never understood why closeness unsettled him. What hurt most wasn’t the distance itself, but the way it changed Leo. He stopped asking Adrian how his day had been. He stopped reaching out first. Their conversations became careful and hollow, stripped of warmth, as if both of them were afraid of saying the wrong thing. Still, Leo stayed. It felt easier than nam...

I am a storyteller who writes with heart, soul, imagination, and purpose. Through my three books, I invite readers into worlds where emotion and experience intertwine. Whether I’m exploring the complexities of human relationships, creating vivid landscapes, or offering wisdom that lingers long after the final page, my intention is always to connect deeply with those who read my work. My writing style is simple, engaging, and relatable because I want every reader to feel seen and understood. I aim to craft stories that speak directly to the soul. Each one of my books offers something unique — characters you can recognise, themes you can carry with you, and a voice that remains warm, authentic, and honest. Touching Void… Surviving a Car Accident If you’ve ever wondered how one moment can shatter everything you know — and how a person begins to rebuild from the ruins —  Touching Void… Surviving a Car Accident  takes you directly into that journey with me. This is not just a survi...