Dregs of Yore

Dear Readers, I'm thrilled to share my latest essay, "The Rooted and the Restless," recently published on Merion West. In this piece, I delve into the evolving perspectives on investments, homeownership, and the contrasting values between generations in India. I reflect on how economic reforms have reshaped our aspirations and notions of stability.  For the rooted, home is a space that nurtures, that carries forward legacies and traditions. For the restless, home is never quite enough—it is a place to be outgrown. This contrast between stability and movement, belonging and searching, forms the heart of my reflection. Click here to read my full piece on Merion West. Or check it out directly on Merion West’s website . Warmly, Sadhika. 

The world has little patience for justice, and perhaps even less for fairness. The righteous and the innocent often bear the burdens laid upon them by the weak and the selfish. It is a story told in every corner of the earth, in every language, under every sky. And it is a story told twice—once in the story of Rama from The Ramayana , and again in the story of Job from the Book of Job. Rama’s Banishment from Ayodhya Rama was a prince, born to rule, raised in the golden light of Ayodhya’s palaces. He was not just good; he was righteous, steady as the rivers that carve the land, sure as the sun that climbs the sky. But the world does not always move for righteousness. One word from a mother who was not his own, one promise a father could not break, and the kingdom slipped through his fingers. He left Ayodhya not as a king but as an exile, his feet treading the dust of the forest instead of the marble of the palace. There was no crime, no failure, no fault, only the cold hand of fate pres...

This new year, a friend managed to wring a resolution out of me, which is something of a miracle. I don’t usually do resolutions. It isn’t that I think resolutions are futile—rather, if I want to do new things, I like to throw myself into them without the burden of a plan weighing me down. But I made one anyway. “Crawl out of your creative hole this year,” my friend said. I promised I would. It meant, in other words, that I’d finally send in some of my writing for publication, put my work out there on more platforms. But like most resolutions, this one will likely gather dust, sitting unkept in some quiet corner of my mind. When people ask how long I’ve been writing, I never know what to say. It wasn’t something I started doing so much as something I found myself doing, like stepping outside one day and realising you’d been walking for miles without noticing. If I had to put a number on it, I suppose I started taking writing seriously about five years ago. I do not write for a living. ...