If someone had told me that the calmest I would feel at the start of 2026 would be in the middle of crowds, chants, horns, footsteps and endless movement… I would’ve laughed.

For those who know me, I was in Dubai for the past two weeks and not for a vacation. 
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t romanticized. It wasn’t the “I’ve always wanted to go” kind of trips.
It just… happened.

I’ve been on a long search for the perfect pillow.
I’ve tried them all…
Memory foam, feather-filled, hotel-style, orthopedic, cooling gel, firm ones that felt like bricks, soft ones that dissolved into thin air.

Two years ago, I bought a dusty typewriter from a street seller in South Bombay.
Not for writing — but because I had this romantic image in my head:
A room. A wooden desk. A glass of hot tea on a rainy day.
And the click clack of genius pouring out onto paper.

A friend never rushed.
Not because he was lazy.
But because he knew better.
He’d start his mornings with a walk.