Gossip with Gargi.

 Confessions of a hobby collector.🌿🚲🎨💅

If there were an official or even unofficial Olympic category for collecting hobbies with full emotional intensity, I would not just participate....I would represent India, win gold, and start three new hobbies during the medal ceremony.

Hi, I’m Gargi. I grow plants, thoughts, stories… and occasionally, unnecessary expectations from bougainvillea creepers.

Let’s begin with gardening.

I don’t just water plants.....I build relationships. I talk to them, motivate them, and yes… sometimes I emotionally manipulate them into blooming. “Dekho front lawn ke bougainvillea ko… learn something.”

There’s one particular bougainvillea outside my therapy room that is constantly on a guilt trip. I take full responsibility for this psychological conditioning.

My garden is a metaphor for life.....some plants bloom beautifully, some struggle, and some just mysteriously grow out of nowhere with zero effort. Those mysterious ones? My role models. Role model for the soul.

And then there is that feeling in the morning… the soft light, the floral dance in the lawn… one sentence quietly arises within me: Bloom without Broom.

Now, cycling.

Every few days, I transform into a professional cyclist. Helmet on. Spotify motivational playlist. Full Tour de France energy.

Ten minutes later, I’m negotiating with existence: “Gargi, what exactly are we trying to prove?”

But those ten minutes....freedom, focus, wind on the face—it feels like responsibility and release happening together. Pedalling is not just physical… it’s philosophical.

Now writing....my truest companion.

It starts innocently: admiring handwriting, falling in love with words, collecting new idioms, buying stationery like it’s a personality trait.

And then....boom....writing becomes therapy. A place to process emotional overload. A space where thoughts finally get cleaned… or at least arranged aesthetically.

Writer’s block visits often. Almost like a lockdown. But even then, something shifts. Because writing is not just output—it is expression.

Sometimes I wonder: Are my stories on fire… or is there simply more fire needed in my stories?

Painting.

Ah, the drama.

I begin with calm intentions—a lotus, something Zen, something peaceful. And suddenly, I’m creating bold strokes, intense colours, and what can only be described as an emotional outburst on canvas.

Abstract art, for me, is not confusion. It is revelation. It reflects parts of my mind I don’t always have words for.

Yoga.

Now here lies great ambition and mild reality.

In theory, I am deeply aligned. In practice, I spend half the time adjusting my mat and the other half wondering if enlightenment is possible in Savasana.🛌

Letting go is the hardest asana

But somewhere between the stretching, breathing, and occasional existential questioning—there is peace. Quiet. Fleeting. Real.🌀

And finally… nails.

Because after contemplating Vedanta and the nature of existence, one must also decide between “Muted Rose” and “Slightly Less Muted Rose.”

This is balance. This is life.

So here I am...🪴.gardening, 🚴cycling, writing, 🌈painting, doing yoga, and painting my nails… sometimes all in the same week, sometimes all in the same day.

Am I consistent? No. Am I passionate? ☕Always. Am I slightly dramatic about everything? Without a doubt.

But maybe that’s the point.

Life is not meant to be one straight line of mastery. It is a slightly chaotic, deeply alive garden of interests—some blooming, some waiting, some teaching you patience.

And honestly… I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stay tuned. Next episode: Decluttering My Room While Emotionally Negotiating with a 15-Year-Old Jacket.

Gossip lovingly,

Gargi 💫