Staying Clean Does Not Make You Less

Something has changed in the way we look at alcohol, smoke or any other substances. It is no longer just about what people do in their own space. It has become a trend, a social filter, a way to decide who fits in and who does not. If you know a few extra alcohol brands or how to roll and mix new stuff, you are considered cool. If you do not take part in any of it, you are either judged or ignored. Somewhere the meaning of individuality got replaced with imitation.

I have had alcohol. And I say this not to prove anything but to make it clear that my thoughts come from experience. There is no high in it that lasts. Yes for a few hours things feel lighter. But once it wears off, life is exactly where you left it. You cannot drink or smoke away what needs to be faced. And the more you try to run from something using substances, the more control it has over you in the long run. That realisation is not a regret. It is simply a conclusion that come after trying and finding no value in it.

People are quick to respond with sarcasm when someone says these things. The first thing they say is you have done it too, so who are you to speak against it now. But just because someone has taken a wrong turn does not mean they cannot point it out for others. In fact, those who have seen both sides know exactly what it looks like. Choosing to walk away from something does not mean you failed. It means you understood where it leads. Speaking out is not hypocrisy when it comes from someone who has lived through it.

What is concerning is how this entire culture has started promoting unhealthy choices. The more you show that you do not care, the more you are appreciated. Drinking, smoking and getting high are now treated like social skills. If you are not part of it, you are treated like you are missing out. But when a habit starts becoming a measure of how accepted you are, it is no longer about choice. It becomes pressure. And that pressure is now shaping an entire generation that is confusing escape with enjoyment and dependency with fun.

There are people who use these things casually without letting it affect their life. There are also people who try it once and go down paths they cannot return from. Every person is different. But the bigger question is why this is being pushed as normal. Why are we not allowed to say that we do not want it. Why is self-control seen as boring. It is not about never trying anything. It is about being able to say no without being questioned.

This is for the ones who still stay away. For the ones who walk out when they are not comfortable. For those who choose to live without using any of it and still feel like they are being left behind. You are not outdated. You are not missing anything. You are choosing something that most people are too afraid to choose. You are choosing to be real in a world that is trying too hard to look cool. That is not weakness. That is strength. You are doing just fine. Stay that way.

The Strangers Who Made It Personal

 

There is something about long rides that brings clarity. Something about the wind cutting through my helmet, the unpredictable roads, the constant shift in landscapes. But out of everything that happened during my ride from Kanyakumari to Northeast, the thing that stuck with me the most… was the kids.

I met them on mountain stretches, in tea stalls, on winding roads where language did not matter. Tiny humans with eyes wide open to the world, holding no judgment and no doubt. Some just smiled shyly, a few waved from a distance, some ran straight into my arms like we had known each other for years and some just stared curiously at the black jacketed stranger with messy hair and dusty boots. I did not know their names. I did not ask for them either. But they all gave me something.

There is a purity to that. A kind of acceptance that adults lose somewhere along the way. You ride through places where your skin, your gear, your language makes you the outsider. But then comes a child who walks up with muddy fingers and offers you a biscuit. Or just stares at you like you are something out of a cartoon. And somehow, all the distance disappears.

We talk so much about travel changing us. But no route, no landmark, no breathtaking view has stayed with me the way these small faces did. They are the reason I remember this ride the way I do. 

I could have crossed ten more borders. Ridden thousands of extra kilometres. But I don’t think I would find anything more pure than the laugh of a kid Who does not care where you are from, what you ride or how far you have come. Who just sees you. And smiles.

Peace.

Twenty Five and Nowhere

This year began like a firecracker. Restless days. Rushed plans. Life seemed to have picked up a rhythm that felt unstoppable. There was an energy and a sense that finally things were starting to mean something. But somewhere along this ride, things slowed down and then stopped altogether. Everything that was once moving forward now stands still. A full stop where there should have been motion.

What was once adrenaline has turned into inertia. A body that used to roam around mountains now barely steps outside. The world has reduced to four walls and indoors have started to feel airless. Not that something tragic happened. It is worse than that. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Just a slow freezing of everything that was once alive. Even the bike, once a companion on roads unknown, stands untouched. Covered in dust.

There is a desire to scream, to vanish, to find some fresh air. But even that feels out of reach now. Everything keeps piling up, the mind stays cluttered and the world keeps pressing in and even the smallest things now seem to ask why they matter at all. Being twenty five was not supposed to feel like this. The pressure is not explosive but a slow choke.

Talking to people has started feeling like a task. Not out of hate. Not even frustration. Just the absence of want. Conversations do not feel necessary anymore. There is no push to keep things going, no urge to explain, no interest in filling silences. Words are returned when they arrive but there is no effort to begin anything and when nothing comes the silence feels normal not empty.

This is not depression with labels or poetry with metaphors. This is just a chapter where nothing moves. Twenty five was supposed to be full of things. Now it is filled with questions. Where is this heading? What is the point? Who knows. Maybe something will shift again. Or maybe it will not. For now, it is what it is, a life that does not hurt but does not feel like living either.

Death of a Point

Someone raises a valid point. It could be during a debate, an argument, a social issue or just an expression. They speak about Something they have experienced or something they want to be seen. But almost immediately, the point shifts. The other side does not respond to the point. Instead they defend. They say the issue exists everywhere. They say others also go through the same. And just like that, the original problem is no longer the centre.

Take the example of a woman who talks about how patriarchy has affected her life. The moment she finishes, someone interrupts saying that men also suffer. That men too face restrictions. The focus quickly moves from what she said to how someone else feels about it. The issue she brought up is not addressed. Her pain is not questioned, but it is silently dismissed.

This need to defend is not about truth. It is about discomfort. The moment a person feels that their side might be seen as flawed, they rush to speak. But in doing so they fail to listen. The response may not be hostile but it is more than enough to bury the point. What began as an attempt to highlight a specific problem is now lost in a generalised mess. The one who raised the issue is now left unheard, misunderstood, and possibly blamed for even trying.

Over time people stop raising issues altogether. They know what will follow. The comparisons. The reverse examples. The pressure to prove that their pain is different enough, unique enough or urgent enough. This culture of defensiveness forces silence. Real problems remain under the surface.

Not every issue raised is an attack. Not every truth needs to be balanced by another. Sometimes a problem just needs space. A little time to breathe. If the first reaction is always defence, then nothing ever really moves forward. The problem stays. The people stay unheard. And all we are left with is a discussion that looks complete, but never once touches what truly mattered.

Azadi Review

Azadi opens like a regular story. Nothing rushes. The setting is clear, the mood is steady and the scenes unfold in a straight line. Directed by Jo George. This film stars Sreenath Bhasi, Raveena Ravi, Lal, T G Ravi and Vani Viswanath. What begins as a slow moving drama turns into a gripping escape act filled with tension.

The plot follows Ganga, a pregnant woman in prison and her husband Raghu who is determined to get her out. The story unfolds inside Kottayam Medical College over a single day. What seems like a personal escape soon becomes a larger issue.

The visuals stay true to the setting. Hospital rooms, crowded passages, dim lights are all kept real. There is no overdo. The background never overtakes the story. The writing is clear. It shows only what is needed. Each scene builds on the previous one. Nothing feels random or out of place. The flow stays tight till the end.

Sreenath Bhasi delivers a solid performance. He never slips. Raveena Ravi holds her part with calmmess. Lal and T G Ravi bring depth without stepping over others. Vani Viswanath fits well into her role as a senior officer. The cast works like a team. Everyone knows when to take the lead and when to step back.

Azadi runs smooth without giving anything away. But in the end it throws one move that changes everything. A mindblowing twist to end. It does not slow down. It just hits. And once it does the whole film feels different. Everything before that twist feels like a setup. Everything after feels like impact.

Rating: 8/10 ⭐️

Be Black or Be White

There is a comfort in being grey. You do not have to pick a side. You do not have to explain yourself. You can move between opinions, between choices even between people. You can avoid judgement, skip questions and stay safe. But the problem with grey is that it stands nowhere.

Life demands clarity. When you choose black, you are ready to face what comes with it. When you choose white, you are prepared to defend it. But when you remain in the middle, you become a bystander. You let others make the decisions, take the risks and live with the outcomes. You stay untouched but also unnoticed.

Being black or white does not mean being rigid. It means being sure. It means saying this matters and that does not. It means drawing a line, even when it brings discomfort to people. The world moves because some choose to act while others hesitate. Because some say no when others nod.

Grey feels peaceful. But it slowly takes away your sense of direction. You forget what you believe in. You start to repeat things you once questioned. You begin to live off borrowed strength. And at some point you realise that your voice no longer makes an impact. Because it never stayed firm enough to be heard.

Pick a side. Not because one is always right. But because standing for something is better than standing for nothing. People who are clear may lose more. They may be misunderstood. But at least they live with their spine straight and their head clear. There is more strength in being wrong with honesty than in being right without a stand.