BLOG BY MEHKAN

Trust takes years to build, seconds to break, and forever to repair. There comes a time in life when the walls between “me” and “the world” blur. You begin to open up — slowly, honestly — about your pain, your family chaos, your fears, and your private thoughts. And for a while, it feels freeing. You think, “They understand me. They won’t judge me.” But one day, you realize not everyone carries your words with care. Some people misunderstand, some share them carelessly, and others see your honesty as entertainment. That’s when you learn — not everyone who listens, listens with love. 🌿 The Illusion of Safe Spaces We often hear, “Be open. Speak your truth.” But not every listener is a safe listener. True openness requires maturity — and not everyone has it. It doesn’t mean you were wrong to trust; it just means your heart chose the wrong soil to plant its truth.  “Vulnerability is not about oversharing; it’s about sharing with people who have earned the right to hear your story.” Th...

There’s something about a man in uniform, not just the way the olive green fits across his shoulders, but the story it tells: of grit, grace, and quiet courage. He isn’t born extraordinary —he becomes it. Through sweat, through pain, through mornings colder than ambition,and nights heavier than silence. At the National Defence Academy, life begins before dawn.The bugle doesn’t ask; it commands.The parade ground becomes his world —every inch of mud a teacher,every shout of “Yes, sir!” a promise.They call it Hell Week, but for him, it’s transformation. When others rest, he runs.When others doubt, he pushes harder.When exhaustion screams, he whispers back — “Not yet.” The Endurance Run, the Cross Country, the Hell March —each one breaks him a little,only to build him stronger, sharper, calmer. He learns to lead, to follow, to trust his brother beside him more than himself.Discipline becomes his second nature.Pain becomes familiar — not something to escape, but to master. He starts to live...

“ Some stories don’t end they stay quietly in the corners of your heart, whispering long after the screen fades to black .” I often wonder why I’m so drawn to reels , dramas, movies , and series—no matter what genre they belong to. And I think I’ve finally found the answer: it’s because of the characters they portray. Each story introduces a world of emotions through its people— the father , the mother , the friend, the stranger, the lover. Every one of them reflects something deeply human, something that quietly finds a place within my heart. The father is always the calm in the storm—supportive, protective, unwavering. His very presence feels like safety itself. He carries his love not in words, but in quiet strength—making you believe that no matter how rough life becomes, you’ll never face it alone. The mother is the purest form of love—accepting, nurturing, forgiving without measure. Her affection reveals itself in the smallest gestures: in the way she cooks your favorite meal, st...

After watching several Western  series , I’ve realized that my thoughts about their culture have become quite mixed — especially when I compare it to Indian culture . In most western shows, relationships are portrayed in a very open and casual way. People seem comfortable with things like kissing , dating , and even se*, without much hesitation or judgment. Parents also appear quite accepting of this lifestyle, probably because they’ve had similar experiences themselves. There’s a strong sense of independence , self-expression , and personal freedom — and honestly, that part is admirable. It teaches people to be confident, emotionally independent, and unafraid to live life on their own terms. But on the other hand, there’s something I find harder to connect with — the idea of having multiple relationships one after another. While I understand that exploring different connections is a part of growing up and self-discovery, I also feel it can sometimes lead to emotional exhaustion ...

He is born with no idea of what the world expects from him. He only knows comfort, hunger, laughter, and warmth. But soon, the expectations come. “ Don’t cry like a girl .” “Be strong.” “Boys don’t talk too much.” “Real men don’t show weakness.” And just like that, he begins to carry a silent weight, a quiet pressure that will follow him for the rest of his life. He grows up being told to be brave, to never show fear, to protect others even when no one protects him.  While girls are taught to express their feelings, boys are often taught to swallow them.  So he learns to stay silent about the storm in his chest . He learns that people clap when he wins but rarely ask how he’s really doing. And  yet,he feels. Deeply. Even if no one sees it. He may not cry easily, but his silence can speak volumes . He may not talk about emotions, but he notices everything your tone, your absence, your discomfort. He may not say “I’m hurting,” but he withdraws, overthinks, works late, or d...

“ If your feminism hates homemakers , then your feminism is just another patriarchy in high heels .” She has a Master’s degree . She makes tea at 5 AM. She negotiates electricity bills better than any MBA, mediates in-laws with the diplomacy of a UN officer , and raises children while society whispers, "Wasted potential." Welcome to the 21st-century paradox : an educated woman is respected until she chooses to be a homemaker. That’s when the eye-rolls start. And if she defends her choice? She’s accused of betraying the " empowered woman " brand. You see, somewhere along the feminist highway , we took a wrong exit into a confusing cul-de-sac. What was once a powerful call for dignity and equal rights has been hijacked by shopping bags, hashtags, false cases, and emotional blackmail . Let’s unpack this twisted tale. Today, feminism is often confused with consumerism .  We’re told empowerment means: Not cooking. Ordering online. Wearing what you want, even if it’s vis...

“ Work hard, study well, and everything else will fall into place .” That’s the golden rule we grew up believing. And for many of us in lower-middle-class households, it was more than a rule — it was the only way out.   I f ollowed that path. I did everything “right.”  Still chasing a “career break” that never seems to come. Is It My Fault? Or the System’s? On bad days, I ask myself: “Am I not skilled enough? Not good enough?” And on more honest days, I admit: “The game is rigged — and always has been.” Because while I struggle to find a foothold in the legal world, I see another reality unfold before my eyes: Children of top lawyers walk into chambers their parents built. Celebrity kids, with or without talent, star in films their parents funded. Business heirs “join” companies they were born into. Political dynasties sustaining themselves across elections.  Nepotism may not be the whole picture — but it's often the passport into opportunity, while merit must beg for ...