Bold Roast
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One Boot One Sad Party No You | Call Me Unfiltered
One Boot One Sad Party No You is not about a party — it’s about grief, absence, and the strange rituals we create when someone doesn’t show up.
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OMAD Diet Gone Wrong: Coffee, Desserts & Toothache
What began as a lazy One Meal A Day experiment spiralled into an OMAD diet gone wrong — black coffee mornings, dessert-fuelled nights, and a toothache running the show. Minimalism? Please. Diabetes is already fixing her lipstick.
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The Man Who Chews Water: Oum Pradutt, Unfiltered
He starts work at 8PM, chews water like it's got texture, and owes me a drink. This is Oum Pradutt—unfiltered, Bangalore-style.
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Tales of My Legendary Personality: Woman, Work, and Wit
Tired of being called bossy for doing your job well? This one’s for every woman leader who's been fawned over for her food but feared for her voice. A spicy roast of misogyny, work culture, and double standards.
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Slices They Never Pick
Not all versions of us are loved. Some slices are too raw, too heavy, too honest. But they exist. And they deserve a seat at the table too.
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Detach: The Ache of Letting Go Between Victimhood and Validation
Detach, they said. But how do you let go of what you never got to hold properly? This piece sits in the space between survival and silence — between needing to be seen and finally seeing yourself.
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Back to Base Zero (and Still Not a Coder)
Three days, one broken code, and a brain playing coder cosplay. I went from strategist to SEO intern, from Harvey Specter to hair like Einstein. Welcome to Base Zero — where burnout meets blogging.
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Women of Grit Smoking Family Story: Beedis and Toothaches
In my family, outrage was selective, cigarettes were occasional, and hypocrisy smoked more than anyone admitted. Toothaches run deep—maybe even inherited.
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Gulf Returnees Satire – A Mangii Story of Swagger and Sweat
There was always something about the Gulf return kids—their Brut-laced airs, gold chain confidence, and accidental accents. They paid hefty donations, typed ‘your’ instead of ‘you’re’, and thought they were heirs to oil empires. But hey, this was the coast. And we wore our facades higher than Arabian tides.
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The Addiction to Being Liked
The obsession with being liked is a leech at a blood buffet—bloated, done, and dead. You? Still left dizzy and emotionally anaemic. I used to beg for approval. Now? I like churros. And I don't care if churros like me back. Welcome to the era of not being Wi-Fi—because I’m not for everyone, and I’ve finally made peace with it.
