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ranjeet hans

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कसम खुदा की अगर सलीके से तोड़ते हमे मेरे अपने तो हमारे टुकड़े भी उनके कम आते कम्बख्तों ने तोड़ा भी तब जब हमारे पहिले से ही टुकड़े हो रखें थे, ranjeet kaur srihind ©ranjeet hans #Hair

कसम खुदा की अगर सलीके से तोड़ते हमे मेरे अपने तो हमारे टुकड़े भी उनके कम आते कम्बख्तों ने तोड़ा भी तब जब हमारे पहिले से ही टुकड़े हो रखें थे, ranjeet kaur srihind ©ranjeet hans #Hair

Gargi Banerjee

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Staring out from the window of an unknown city, in a land that feels foreign, whispers of the past still echo. The voices, their words, the promises—they linger like ghosts in the corners of my mind. I long to answer, yet the silence is heavy, locked inside. My heart, a stone, caught in my throat. How do I share this ache, over and over, with those who have already tired of its weight? I see us—once hand in hand, promising to meet every turn in life together. Those late-night walks, the unplanned escapes, the streets we dreamed of wandering. Now that you’re gone, where do I place these dreams? A hollow wraps around me, a shadow I cannot shake. I sit by the window, watching silhouettes rise and fall—some familiar, some strangers—drifting like smoke in the memory of you. They ask how I am, tell me to find joy in what remains, that there’s more to life than this. But I live in the life we imagined—alone. I’ve gained the world, but what is it worth? It was always you—my beginning, my end. Now, I walk those unknown streets, haunted by the shadows of what once was, knowing nothing will ever be the same. The air feels thicker, every step heavier, as if the past clings to my very skin. I search the faces of strangers, hoping for a glimpse of you in the crowd, a familiar echo in the noise. As they say- loving is short, but forgetting is long. I once believed love could fill every empty space, that time would heal every wound. But now I see—some voids grow with time, and some wounds never close. The weight of absence becomes part of you, and in chasing the past, I’ve forgotten how to live in the present. ©Gargi Banerjee #viral #Highlights #followers

Staring out from the window of an unknown city, in a land that feels foreign, whispers of the past still echo. The voices, their words, the promises—they linger like ghosts in the corners of my mind. I long to answer, yet the silence is heavy, locked inside. My heart, a stone, caught in my throat. How do I share this ache, over and over, with those who have already tired of its weight? I see us—once hand in hand, promising to meet every turn in life together. Those late-night walks, the unplanned escapes, the streets we dreamed of wandering. Now that you’re gone, where do I place these dreams? A hollow wraps around me, a shadow I cannot shake. I sit by the window, watching silhouettes rise and fall—some familiar, some strangers—drifting like smoke in the memory of you. They ask how I am, tell me to find joy in what remains, that there’s more to life than this. But I live in the life we imagined—alone. I’ve gained the world, but what is it worth? It was always you—my beginning, my end. Now, I walk those unknown streets, haunted by the shadows of what once was, knowing nothing will ever be the same. The air feels thicker, every step heavier, as if the past clings to my very skin. I search the faces of strangers, hoping for a glimpse of you in the crowd, a familiar echo in the noise. As they say- loving is short, but forgetting is long. I once believed love could fill every empty space, that time would heal every wound. But now I see—some voids grow with time, and some wounds never close. The weight of absence becomes part of you, and in chasing the past, I’ve forgotten how to live in the present. ©Gargi Banerjee #viral #Highlights #followers

Dr Amit Gupta

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दरवाज़ों से न दीवारों से , घर बनता है घर वालों से। बड़ा कोई घर बनाएगा,पैसे भी खूब लगाएगा। फिर घर मे खुद न रहने आएगा घर भर जाएगा मकड़ी के जालों से, दरवाज़ों से न दीवारों से , घर बनता है घर वालों से। घर में अब कोई न होता है,न दादी है न पोता है घर अपने नैन भिगोता है,भीतर भीतर ही रोता है। घर खिलता है दिलवालों से, दरवाज़ों से न दीवारों से , घर बनता है घर वालों से। घर में एक बड़ी छत है, बस उससे घर की हिफाज़त है घर में ही सब रियायत है, ये घर ही एक सियासत है। ये घर भी बचा है तालों से , दरवाज़ों से न दीवारों से , घर बनता है घर वालों से। ©Dr Amit Gupta #home

दरवाज़ों से न दीवारों से , घर बनता है घर वालों से। बड़ा कोई घर बनाएगा,पैसे भी खूब लगाएगा। फिर घर मे खुद न रहने आएगा घर भर जाएगा मकड़ी के जालों से, दरवाज़ों से न दीवारों से , घर बनता है घर वालों से। घर में अब कोई न होता है,न दादी है न पोता है घर अपने नैन भिगोता है,भीतर भीतर ही रोता है। घर खिलता है दिलवालों से, दरवाज़ों से न दीवारों से , घर बनता है घर वालों से। घर में एक बड़ी छत है, बस उससे घर की हिफाज़त है घर में ही सब रियायत है, ये घर ही एक सियासत है। ये घर भी बचा है तालों से , दरवाज़ों से न दीवारों से , घर बनता है घर वालों से। ©Dr Amit Gupta #home

Chandan Kumar

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White Visiting the Grievance Policy section at the bottom of the0990-3477-719 MobiKwik home page Calling MobiKwik customer care at ©Chandan Kumar Visiting the Grievance Policy section at the bottom of the MobiKwik home page Calling MobiKwik 0990-3477-719customer care at

White Visiting the Grievance Policy section at the bottom of the0990-3477-719 MobiKwik home page Calling MobiKwik customer care at ©Chandan Kumar Visiting the Grievance Policy section at the bottom of the MobiKwik home page Calling MobiKwik 0990-3477-719customer care at

Gargi Banerjee

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White It's 2 a.m., and once again, I'm here, writing in the soft, muted glow of my phone screen. I'm lost in a certain genre of music, one that I'll keep unnamed as if keeping it secret might somehow shield me from the thoughts that keep me up at night. The darkness outside mirrors the void within me, a void that has grown wider and more consuming with each passing day. It's as though every moment that goes by adds another layer of something I can’t quite put into words—a kind of void that keeps expanding inside me. They say time heals all wounds, but what if time is the wound itself, slowly etching away at me, carving out pieces of who I am until there's nothing recognizable left? Yet, despite it all, we carry on, don’t we? We stand tall because that’s what’s expected of us—we put on this façade of being unbreakable, hoping that if we pretend long enough, maybe, just maybe, it’ll become our reality. ©Gargi Banerjee #viral #highlights

White It's 2 a.m., and once again, I'm here, writing in the soft, muted glow of my phone screen. I'm lost in a certain genre of music, one that I'll keep unnamed as if keeping it secret might somehow shield me from the thoughts that keep me up at night. The darkness outside mirrors the void within me, a void that has grown wider and more consuming with each passing day. It's as though every moment that goes by adds another layer of something I can’t quite put into words—a kind of void that keeps expanding inside me. They say time heals all wounds, but what if time is the wound itself, slowly etching away at me, carving out pieces of who I am until there's nothing recognizable left? Yet, despite it all, we carry on, don’t we? We stand tall because that’s what’s expected of us—we put on this façade of being unbreakable, hoping that if we pretend long enough, maybe, just maybe, it’ll become our reality. ©Gargi Banerjee #viral #highlights