Melodies, Strokes And Garden Flavours

You know, ever since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with pencils. Like, give me a pencil and a blank sheet of paper, and I’d forget the world. Umm… it wasn’t even about drawing perfectly back then. It was just this crazy joy of watching lines turn into shapes and shapes into something meaningful. Over time, sketching went from “just for fun” to my favourite hobby . And honestly, there’s something different about using just black and white to create art. No colors, just light, shadows, and lots of patience. It’s like giving life to a blank page with nothing but a pencil. You know, I’ve tried adding colors too like blues, reds, all that. But honestly, No matter how much I tried, it just didn’t feel the same. The sketch would lose that raw vibe. So, I decided to stick with what I love keeping it simple with black and white. My Simple Little tools so here’s the things: I don’t use fancy stuff. My go-to tools are just Apsara sketching pencils. Yes, that’s it. I mean, they’re simple, but th...

Gardening has been an essential part of my life, a cherished gift passed down through generations. My grandmother, a dedicated farmer, and my mother, a passionate gardener, instilled in me a deep love for planting and nurturing life. Through them, I learned patience, care, and respect for nature, gaining valuable lessons about agriculture and the cycle of life. Growing up, I spent countless hours by my grandmother’s side, assisting her in farming tasks. Her knowledge was vast, and she had an incredible ability to understand nature’s rhythms. She often spoke about farming as a way of life, not just a profession. Through her guidance, I learned the importance of soil quality, irrigation, and seasonal changes in agriculture. What fascinated me most was how she worked harmoniously with nature. Each plant had unique needs—some required more sunlight, others thrived in the shade, some needed frequent watering, while others preferred dry conditions. She taught me to pay attention ...

Ever since I was a child, the kitchen was my favorite place. While most kids were busy playing with toys, I found my joy in watching my mother cook. Every time she stepped into the kitchen, I followed, eager to see what magic she was creating. If she was making chapatis, I would grab a small utensil and pretend to cook right beside her. The sound of the rolling pin, the aroma of freshly cooked food, and the warmth of being next to her made those moments special. Even though I was too young to understand the art of cooking, I knew one thing—I loved it. A Love That Started with Play My fascination with cooking didn’t stop at home. Whenever we visited a fair or a supermarket, I always looked for kitchen tools. Instead of buying toys, I collected tiny rolling pins, little pots, and toy stoves. At home, I would "cook" imaginary meals on my play kitchen set, proudly serving my parents and asking them to taste my creations. Their laughter and encouragement made me feel like a real c...

It all started with a glimpse. I was in 6th grade, going to my evening tuition, when I saw my tuition teacher , sitting with a palette of colours. She was painting a canvas, her brush dancing across a white surface, transforming it into a vibrant landscape. I was mesmerized. It was like magic I'd always doodled, but this was different. This was art. I begged my mother for a canvas, some paints, and a set of brushes. She bought them for me. And so my painting journey began.  Initially my attempts were... well, let's just say abstract, even when I was trying to paint a flower, It looked like messy blobs. But I love it, I loved the feel of brush in my hand, the way colours blended, the joy of creating something from nothing.  I'd spend hours in my room, lost in my own colourful world. The smell of paint filled the air, transporting me to a place where nothing else mattered. I tried to draw the same painting my tuition teacher drew. And thats how I completed my first painting, ...

"A violin isn’t just an instrument—it’s a storyteller. Every note carries a memory, every melody echoes an emotion, and every string vibrates with perseverance." The spotlight flickered on. A deep breath. The bow met the strings. And then—magic. But my story didn’t begin on a grand stage.  It began in a quiet home filled with music, Our parents believed that every child should learn an instrument. My brother started with the violin but soon switched to the guitar. My brother, with his effortless guitar skills, basked in compliments, while a neglected violin gathered dust in the corner. I had my sights set on the keyboard until my father threw me an unexpected challenge:  *"The violin is the hardest instrument to play. I’d love it if you learned it."* That was all it took. Seven-year-old me wasn’t just picking up an instrument; I was accepting a mission. A mission to master something difficult, something intricate—much like solving...