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!


Story #8: Bold & Beautiful (The Anonymous Anecdotes Project)

Since I was fifteen years old, my dad made me independent. I learned how to drive a scooty, I used to go to the school and tuitions myself, and I even used to help my dad in his business by paying office and house bills. It was surely an easy thing for a child living in a metro city, but in a small town, that too in a locality with narrow minded people- these things mattered a lot. 

Once, my dad asked me to buy some non-veg food from this restaurant at 8 o clock in the night and that too on my scooty. There, I was surrounded by all these uncles and boys and at first I felt very scared and shy.  But then I don’t know what came into me; I felt that sense of confidence to face the world. All alone.

I used to feel a bit frustrated while doing all my work by myself. All girls used to be accompanied by their fathers and brothers. But I used to be alone.

Now, I realize the real motive of my dad behind all this. He was making me independent and confident. This thing made me feel that girls are no less than boys, and we should never feel this thing within. The world will dominate and scare you, but its up to you to face it. Only you can prepare yourself to be bold and brave.

A person is all alone in this race. No one is going to be by your side. Its you who has to take decisions for yourself and own up to all your mistakes.

Only you can make yourself bold and beautiful from within.

In India it’s usually the male child who is laden with the responsibility of carrying out such chores. But it inspires me how doing something for her father gave this person an urge, and the confidence that she could do anything by herself.

Here’s an effort by a girl to overcome her inherent fears, to pay no heed to society’s judgments, and to be free in every sense of the word. Don’t we all feel the same at some point, too? In fact, don’t we all want the same?

Someone whose childhood has led her up to this current state in her life where she’s a happy, and more importantly free soul; free from dependence on anyone for anything; and all this a result of one small experience, standing at a restaurant one night? Little moments in life really make us who we are, don’t they?

I’ve come to idolize the way her words exude a confidence that she seems to have heaped into her spirit through experience and struggles. This story has inspired me a lot because, this is what I want to be, too. Independent.


(The Anonymous Anecdotes is a project under which anyone can send me a memory, a story or an experience from their life that had a profound impact on them. It requires people to write their respective experience along with the way it changed them or their perception of life. According to the project, these stories are being published anonymously, with the intent of spreading a positive message and a hope that anyone who reads, relates or learns. If you’re interested, you can send me your story at ratti.priya5@gmail.com.)

The Open Book

If this world is a library, and its people books,
then I am the forgotten volume of heavy words and complicated phrases-
covered in dust, with my yellowing pages,
tucked at the back,
where nobody goes.
You will only be able to find me,
if you look for me-
it might be hard, searching for me,
setting me apart from my likeness,
but I hope you don’t give up.
When you do find me,
I hope the long paragraphs of my history do not bore you;
I hope you don’t put me down.
I hope you turn my pages, with hands as delicate as those tending to a bleeding wound.
I hope you read between my lines.
I hope you discover me, word by word, to be the one to fit your liking;
And if I don’t fit, I hope you don’t read me on halfheartedly-
I hope you don’t continue to hold onto me with the intention of putting me down.
I hope the words that span my existence interest you, and paint pictures inside of your head, the place where I now want to be.
I hope you devour me, with every syllable that I silently serve.
I hope you find yourself completely obsessed with me, unable to put me down,
and so we spend days and nights together,
because although you want to take it slow,
you want to get to know me just as fast.
I hope that when you know you’re inching towards the end,
you slacken your pace just a little, so the both of us have time
to adjust to the loss, that we will have amassed,
as you toss me aside and go looking for another
rhyme that doesn’t end as tragically as this one;
look how my ability to find love is so
abysmal, despite my dilapidated state and spine,
reckless poetic verses and metaphors,
darling, I still failed to make you mine.
“You see now, my love?
I’ve never really been a secret diary-
All this while,
I’ve been the open book,
that no one is willing to read.”



June 2017: The ‘Anonymous Anecdotes’ Project!

Well hello there, guys.

I’ve been looking forward to writing THIS BLOG POST since a long time now! As I had stated in my previous update, June was scheduled to bring you a new project on my blog- and it WILL!

I will be hosting a project called ‘Anonymous Anecdotes’. We all have stories. Some give us strength, and some, weaken us. Some have taught us great lessons while others have given us a good laugh. I intend Anonymous Anecdotes to be that platform where its okay to share, read and relate to each others’ experiences, and all the while learn from them too.
Under this project, anyone of you can send me an anecdote- an embarrassing moment, a loving memory or anything that you’ve experienced in your life the thought of which you cannot let go of. It can be a low point or a high point of your life, your first crush, your first salary, literally anything. But it must be something that contributed into your knowledge of life in someway, as most of our experiences do.  It can be an anecdote about the way something in you changed because of external circumstance or about an emotional change you feel within yourself. Anything. Type out the anecdote you want to talk about, and then describe the way it change you or your perception of life! You don’t have to keep it short or limit yourself according to the number of words; just write it out; whether its your happiness or sadness. There will be no judgement on my part. And the best thing, it will be completely anonymous. The author’s identity will be kept completely confidential, take my word for it. There’s a reason this project is called ‘Anonymous Anecdotes’!

The length of this project completely depends on the number of stories that I receive. I initially chalked it out as a thirty days project, so I’m hoping to run it from the 10th of June to the 10th of July. I’ll start uploading stories on the 10th of June, so be sure to inbox yours before that! The sooner you send them the better.

So please, fire away! You can mail me your stories at ratti.priya5@gmail.com and I’ll be uploading them here, so that someone somewhere, anywhere can read it, relate to it, be happy, sad with it, or maybe, even learn something from it!



I type rhymed verses onto my phone
and chase metaphors;
my dry days are free versed poems
and I’m forced into food strikes when my words don’t gulp down my thoughts;
I draw parallels between slanted lines and
call them straight as I
myself go on tangents, searching for
words to say.
I am a writer of thoughts and
speaker of my own mind,
but lately they have been withdrawing,
fading into the darkness,
hiding behind the blinds.
In a first, I know how to say
but not what;
it’s the knowledge of speech but
the ignorance of word.
So what do I do, when my
saturation point is not too much input but
no output at all;
what do I do when,
I want to shout but
no words would come out at all?

Ramifications Of Relentless Optimism

After half hearted attempts at flamboyant optimism,

I slowly began to wrap my fingers around the cup of realism;

and sipped, hesitantly, doubtful about the intensity of its heat, cautious of letting it scorch my tongue.

It’s lukewarm jolts charged me with electricity, 

shaking every cell that constructed my being with unforeseen energy,

And I awoke, gasping and startled, 

into reality and truth, beyond any doubt.

Having feared the likes of being realistic, l found this new taste of realism dangerous, tantalizingly dangerous- 

but rather riveting for a girl with unrealistic dreams.

Having woken up everyday and gulped down fantasies about the future with my morning coffee,

The farther reaches of my want never settled down at places that lay at the length of my arms-

They settled far beyond them, miles away, out of my short, streamlined sight.

Shortsightedness, as you might be able to tell, never kept me too far from spreading out my arms, 

echoing my thoughts and breeding relentless optimism.

For I always wanted things that I could never quite afford to have,

The magnanimity of which, I believed could brim my life’s empty, catastrophic chasms.

But now, having stepped into complete consciousness, after letting go of my futile whims,

my skin pricked for me to glide into a more realistic

sense of comprehension.

So I, therefore, slowly began to wrap my body around the idea of realism, cupping it, feeding on it as if a parasite, 

and chugged it down into my being, now allowing it’s heat to completely burn my tongue. 


To gather all the experiences one comes across, all in a huddle and
Nestle them inside one’s heart,
To soak them up into the deep crevices of one’s being,
Only to pour them out again to be etched into eternity;
To have a respite from speech,
but still express oneself exquisitely;
To conceive, conjure and collaborate past experiences and knowledge-
all for the creation of one immaculate piece of literature.
To convey all that you feel,
but with so much precision that you strike the chords of someone’s heart.
To not only share your experiences, but to have other people live and relive them with you;
To help them feel and touch all that you had felt and touched-
To be yourself not through what you say or how you look,
but merely through your words.
To have the power to change minds and ignite hearts.
To be the ignition switch
The one that could set off fireworks and light forest fires in a heart
Just with the strike of a match,
Or rather,

the nib of a pen.