Rants about broken hearts and broken lives. My name is Vartika, and I am afraid of my mind. I wake up a new person everyday. I know I am different, we are all different. And in all our differences, we are just like everyone else. These blogs are rad! .

When i lost hope for connection or conversation. When the confines of my yellow room made the only space that comforted me, but threatened to swallow me if i stuck too long. My last residue of curiosity, clung on to an engaging story. Which seamlessly opened a minuscule gateway.

Once upon time on the streets of the old city of Mumbai there was a lady who uses to stroll on them daily, her fast-paced walk uses to slow down the wind and her every breath uses to cool the sun down. She was strong and independent, she was determined and new, everything she never had she dreamt about it and everything she will never have were already forgotten.

The Killer We Have Birthed.

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