I need YOUR help!

Hi everyone!

As you may have gathered from my blog, I am a psychology final year student, about to graduate. A big part of my course work is a research paper that I am working on.

My research is about finding a relationship between the ever enigmatic topic of happiness and how it is related to one’s age.

For the same, I need to collect data, for which I have designed a google form.

Please please fill it up, if you fall into the age groups:

  • 20-25
  • 35-40
  • 65-70

Please note:

  • You can choose to be anonymous.
  • Your data will be kept confidential.
  • It will only take a few minutes!

Contributing to research is a small and easy way to contribute to our society, (and help a girl graduate happily.)

I’ll attach the link below. Please fill it! I’ll be eternally grateful.

Answer the Questionnaire here

Ask me ANY questions you have about this in the comments!


Metal Girl, a poem.

Steel face,
metal girl,
tin fingers and
silver skin,
a heart of gold
welded into
the system;
with nuts and screws,
a well oiled machinery;
tough at first glance
but melting iron, really.

I had a couple of week moments today: one of those crippling feelings of helplessness. It broke me.

But I feel lucky to be surrounded by conscientious people wherever I go. People are so good inherently; and while I am happy about this, I also feel bad that this goodness doesn’t really show up as often as it should.

Someone was incredibly kind to me today. To most, small gestures do not really matter. But if you know me, (and if you’ve read my previous posts) they really do matter to me.

This poem is for that person. For their small gesture that said that they care.


Scooped out (v): empty, hollowed (syn)

The feeling of being empty, hollowed out without any apparent cause, often accompanied by intense sadness, bouts of crying, and a sense of purposelessness. The realization of being scooped out may appear randomly, as if someone dug up the life out of you within a blink, or when you weren’t looking; How do you function when you know you’re just an empty, scooped out shell?

When do you know you have too much?

This morning on the way to my daily commute, I saw something that had been there everyday, but had never gotten any attention like it got today.

People who don’t have as much as me. The first instinct that kicks within me after I see them is gratitude for everything that I have.

There are different people in this world: ones who have too much, ones who have what they need and the ones who don’t.

We are trapped in this circle of materialism and bottomless desires, and we keep acquiring, without ever becoming cognizant of the fact that we need to be thankful for what we have.

I think some of us never realize how much we actually have to ever come to appreciate it. To be thankful for it. For a very long time, I was such a person.

But rethinking things, and being exposed to people who don’t have as much, makes you wonder. It made me wonder. I can’t count on my fingers the wonderful things this life has given me; a majority of them without any conscious effort. I’m so thankful for everthing. More than I have ever been. Because there are some who have to work by the clock and pine for food and water, while I, and many, many others don’t.

Weather Report from a Technicolour World

On the good days, it’s all smiles. Easy conversations like chirpy birds on a bright blue Sunday morning. But some Sundays get clouded at times.

Grey, overshadowed with a presence, whose jealous, green envy spills all over my happy yellow to mix into a compromising brown. A disappointing brown. The boring brown I used to cover my school notebooks with. It’s unpleasant.

But not every cloud releases showers. Some of them cast their presence and drift away. Oblivious. Maybe too scared to come down on something so powerful.

The overcast cloud that hung above my head floated away. Today, it did not rain on me.

White Noise Soundtrack

is walking at their own pace,
to the sound of their own tracks
in a rhythm that
beats me slow and I
am still sifting
through unexplored genres and
none of which sound like me;
what is my sound anyway?
and what has any music
got to do with me?
some days i’m the
soft starting melody of
Stairway To Heaven
reverberating in an auditorium
that never deposits back its echoes;
it’s a metaphor for how
no one will ever understand me
in this world, or the other one
that Pink Floyd’s music takes me to
I am the operatic singer screaming
for attention in The Great Gig in the Sky
and in times when no one listens I
turn into the soft whispers of
Elliott Smith’s Waltz #2,
sometimes wishing I was
doing just fine hour to hour
note to note.
But i’m not,
i’m listening to She Used to be Mine,
looking at myself in the mirror
and crying because
the chorus is a little too much about me
and I wish it wasn’t because
it’s not fun relating too much to songs anymore.
I wish I was
just another story
no one had the gall to tell before;
but now I’m spread too thin across the lyrics
whispering into the earphones, singing back, under attack,
a little too exposed.

Get all the good music here:

Stairway to Heaven

The Great Gig In The Sky

Waltz #2

She Used to be Mine

Tell me which ones you like best!

It’s the little things in life.

Every once in a while, a bad day happens. It creeps up from behind the shadows of happiness and catches us off-guard. It happens to the best of us, I guess.

My bad days forecast some unrequited hatred, that I try to translate into a better story every second. It takes a lot of convincing to believe that people may not always have malicious motives. But it is work. It is a mental chore that sometimes works me up to thinking fatigue. But I try.

I had such a day, a few days back. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed, something had just ticked off the moment I opened my eyes; or so I thought. After that moment, it was falling dominoes.

Through my commute, on the way to college, while in class; all these negative thoughts kept spinning around in my head like a tornado waiting to do some collateral damage. I fought it; and my internal struggles manifest as chronic silence on the outside, always. It gets lonely when you’re inside your head too much.

Until a friend of mine showed up. Having known each other for almost three years now, this person was one of the few people around me that I always felt I could count on. Some people just bring light with them wherever they go.

They handed me a small gift they’d picked up from a trip, and a small rock.

I hate taking gifts from people; it makes me feel guilty somehow, as if I was a liability, and taking a gift meant I owed them something now. But little things like this, they make me feel so warm. Someone saw something and thought of me; they think I’m worth getting something for. I felt extremely special.

I do not care for materialism; I care for the personal touch, the emotional value of something. On that day, it was everything I needed to know that despite my thoughts there was someone. That I wasn’t alone. That small gesture was the switch that flipped my day around. And I’m so thankful that something somewhere found a way to tell me that I need to appreciate everything that I have. It’s the little things in our life, scattered all around us that have the most potential to make us happy; but we keep forgetting to acknowledge them, and end up losing them.

If you have someone like this in your life too, acknowledge them. Be grateful for them.