I am surrounded by distractions in all directions, yet I keep trying to find more. My newest muse, Substack — a unique periphery consisting of a pool of short texts and a trail of unnecessary daily thoughts, calms the spontaneity encased within me. 

One random Tuesday morning, as I scrolled by on the app, I came across Pritesh Pathak and his entertaining anecdotes about buttermilk, Diwali, and peacocks. Curiosity got the better of me, and I got attached to his eerie stories. The perplexing part of Pathak’s writings is his restriction to categorisation. Everything exists simultaneously. It’s not just philosophy or critique, nor is it just nostalgia or culture — it’s a ridiculously hilarious amalgamation of it all.