The Akshay Blog

The streets are alive with lights, laughter, and the hum of celebration. Shops display colorful decorations, families rush to buy sweets, and firecrackers echo in the distance. I walk past it all, noticing everything, but feeling strangely apart from it. I see neighbors exchanging gifts, friends laughing over dinner, and children running around with sparklers. I want to join in, to feel that excitement — but my own reality reminds me to step back. My finances aren’t great this year, and the thought of gifts, parties, or new clothes brings more anxiety than joy. For a long time, I thought avoiding people would protect me from judgment. But solitude brings its own weight. Watching everyone else celebrate reminds me of what I can’t participate in, and that sting is hard to ignore. Advice like “don’t take it personally” feels hollow. Of course I feel excluded — that’s human. I realize that coping doesn’t mean pretending I’m fine. It means noticing my feelings and being gentle with myself. ...

As a child, I loved the rains. The first drops meant freedom—the chance to run outside barefoot, splash in puddles, and most of all, ride my bicycle through the empty streets. The rain didn’t slow me down; it made the world feel alive. Every drop that hit my skin felt like laughter from the sky, and every puddle was an adventure waiting to happen. But now, when the monsoon arrives, the excitement doesn’t come with it. Instead, I find myself retreating indoors, watching the rain from behind a window. My bicycle waits quietly in the corner, and I hesitate to ride it out. What if the roads are too slippery? What if I fall? What if the joy I’m searching for doesn’t come back? The same rain that once pulled me out into the world now feels like a weight keeping me inside. As children, we live less in fear of consequences. The rain was just rain—something to enjoy, not something to measure against risks. As adults, we carry a sharper awareness. We think of dangers, responsibilities, and every...