Empty, Still Fragrant by Prashant Kumar Lal: A Tender Story of Love, Secrets and Finding Oneself

Empty, Still Fragrant by Prashant Kumar Lal: A Tender Story of Love, Secrets and Finding Oneself

Available at all the Amazon platforms worldwide in paperback and digital format

Empty, Still Fragrant is a compelling contemporary romance that quietly evolves into a story of mystery, emotional discovery and redemption. At its heart is Ananya, a successful woman whose carefully ordered life begins to unravel when the past refuses to remain buried. What begins as a search for answers gradually becomes something far more personal: a journey towards understanding love, trust, forgiveness and, ultimately, herself.

One of the novel’s greatest strengths is its atmosphere. The recurring image of lilies, an empty room and a second cup of coffee gives the story a distinctive emotional identity. The flowers become more than a motif; they carry memories, unanswered questions and the possibility of renewal. The title itself gains greater meaning as the story progresses. An empty room need not remain a symbol of absence. It can also become a space in which something new is allowed to grow.

Ananya is an engaging protagonist because her strength is not presented as perfection. She is ambitious, independent and accustomed to controlling the circumstances around her, yet beneath that confidence lies vulnerability. Her greatest transformation is not simply falling in love with Aditya. It is learning that love cannot be controlled, protected into existence or possessed. It must be trusted.

The relationship between Ananya and Aditya gives the novel its emotional centre. Their relationship develops through attraction, uncertainty, desire, misunderstanding and reconciliation. What makes it particularly affecting is the recognition that genuine love does not demand that one person surrender their individuality for another. Aditya’s willingness to give Ananya space becomes an important part of her emotional awakening.

The novel’s mystery adds another layer to the narrative. Old documents, concealed identities, unanswered questions, Project Orchid, Maya, Nisha Sen, Vikram Sethi and the events surrounding 17 March 2006 gradually reveal a past that has influenced the present in ways Ananya could never have imagined. The revelations are not merely plot devices; they force her to reconsider the people she trusted and the meaning of protection itself.

Perhaps the most thoughtful theme in the novel is the distinction between love and control. Several characters make decisions for others because they believe they are protecting them. Yet protection, when imposed without consent, can become another form of control. This idea resonates throughout Ananya’s relationship with her father, her understanding of Maya’s past and, most importantly, her relationship with Aditya.

The prose is reflective without becoming inaccessible, and the emotional passages are balanced by the forward movement of the mystery. There is romance and sensuality, but the novel does not reduce love to physical attraction. Desire becomes part of a larger exploration of intimacy, vulnerability and the courage to be known.

What makes Empty, Still Fragrant ultimately satisfying is that its resolution is not simply about solving a mystery. It is about Ananya learning to stop measuring life by what has been lost and beginning to value what she is free to choose. The past cannot be erased, and some questions may never have perfect answers, but life can still begin again.

The closing image of fragrance is particularly effective. Something may appear empty and yet retain the essence of what once filled it. In much the same way, people carry their memories, wounds and loves within them. But carrying the past does not mean remaining imprisoned by it.

Empty, Still Fragrant is therefore more than a romantic mystery. It is a story about the difficult journey from control to acceptance, from fear to trust, and from living according to expectations to choosing one’s own life.

A thoughtful, emotionally engaging novel about love that survives uncertainty—and a woman who finally learns that the life worth living is the one she chooses for herself.

What’s the best way to meet new people while traveling?

Strangers on the Road, Stories for a Lifetime

Travelling takes us away from familiar roads, familiar faces and familiar routines. Yet, strangely enough, it can bring us closer to people we might never have met at home.

The best way to meet new people while travelling is not necessarily to look for them. It is to remain open to them.

A smile at a railway station, a question about a local dish, a shared table at a café or a conversation with someone sitting beside you on a bus can become the beginning of an unexpected friendship. Travel has a peculiar way of turning strangers into temporary companions and, occasionally, into lifelong friends.

Start with a simple conversation

We often imagine that meeting people requires confidence, charm or a carefully planned social activity. It rarely does.

A simple, “Have you been here before?” can open a door. Ask a local what they recommend eating. Ask another traveller where they are heading next. Compliment someone on their choice of book. People generally enjoy talking when the conversation begins naturally.

And remember: you do not have to be fascinating. Be interested rather than interesting. Curiosity is one of the most attractive qualities a traveller can carry.

Eat where people gather

Food has always been one of humanity’s most reliable conversation starters.

Instead of eating every meal alone in your hotel room, try a busy local café, a communal dining space, a food market or a small restaurant where locals eat. Sit at the counter if possible. Order something unfamiliar. Ask the person next to you what they are having.

A plate of unfamiliar food can sometimes become a platter of familiar conversation.

Join something

If you are staying in a place for more than a day or two, join a walking tour, cooking class, book club, photography walk, cultural programme or local excursion.

Shared experiences make conversation easier because you already have something in common.

You may arrive knowing nobody and leave knowing several names.

Stay somewhere social

Your choice of accommodation can make a considerable difference. Hostels, guesthouses, homestays and smaller boutique properties often create more opportunities for interaction than large hotels.

Even if you prefer comfort and privacy, spending an evening in a common area can introduce you to fellow travellers.

Sometimes the most memorable part of a journey is not the room you paid for but the conversation you never planned.

Put the phone away

This may be the hardest advice of all.

We travel thousands of miles and then spend our evenings staring at a screen.

Of course, phones are useful for maps, photographs, translations and keeping in touch. But occasionally, put yours away. Look around. Notice who is sitting nearby. Listen to the sounds of the place.

The world is full of people waiting to be noticed.

Talk to locals—but respectfully

Meeting new people while travelling does not mean treating local people as attractions.

Learn a few words of the local language. Respect customs. Dress appropriately where required. Ask before taking photographs. Listen to people’s stories without assuming you already understand their lives.

A little respect can travel much further than a fluent vocabulary.

Do not force friendship

Not every conversation needs to become a friendship.

Some people will talk for five minutes. Others may share a meal with you. A few may remain in touch long after the journey ends.

Let relationships develop naturally.

Travel teaches us that human connections, like destinations, cannot always be reached by taking the shortest route.

Say yes—but keep your judgement

There is a beautiful spontaneity in travel. Say yes to a shared coffee, an invitation to a local event or an impromptu walk when it feels safe and appropriate.

But openness should never mean carelessness.

Trust your instincts. Meet unfamiliar people in public places. Tell someone you trust where you are going when appropriate. Keep your belongings and personal information secure.

The best travel stories are the ones you can safely tell afterwards.

Perhaps that is the real souvenir

We usually return from a journey carrying photographs, tickets, magnets, postcards and perhaps a few gifts.

But the things we remember most vividly are often intangible.

The old man who told us the history of a town. The fellow passenger who shared half a sandwich. The café owner who remembered our name. The stranger who became a companion for one afternoon.

Travel changes when we stop seeing people as strangers and start seeing them as stories we have not yet heard.

You may forget the name of the street.

You may forget the price of the coffee.

You may even forget the colour of the bus.

But years later, you may still remember the person sitting beside you and the conversation that made an unfamiliar place feel, for a few precious minutes, like home.

So travel with your eyes open,
Keep your heart a little free,
For roads may lead to places,
But people make the journey.

If aliens arrived tomorrow, what’s the first thing you’d ask them?

Take Me to Your Leader? Actually, Can You Look at My Wi-Fi First?

If a gleaming, hyper-dimensional starship were to descend upon Earth tomorrow—parting the clouds with a hum that rattles our collective teeth—humanity’s philosophical heavyweights would undoubtedly step forward. Philosophers would ask about the meaning of life. Scientists would inquire about faster-than-light travel. World leaders would nervously ask about trade agreements, secretly hoping extraterrestrial tax havens exist.

​Me? I have a far more pressing, existential question for our new cosmic overlords:

​“Look, before we do the whole peace-offering ceremony… do you happen to know why my printer constantly says it’s offline when it’s connected with a cable?”

​Let’s be honest. If an alien species possesses the technology to cross trillions of miles of interstellar void without getting lost, running out of fuel, or succumbing to space-boredom, they must have solved the fundamental annoyances of existence. Forget quantum gravity; I want to tap into their vast, superior wisdom for the mundane horrors of daily life on Earth.

​Once we clear up the printer issue, my follow-up questions are already lined up in strict order of importance:

​1. “Did you bring your own plastic bags, or do you want to pay 10p for ours?”

​Nothing says “Welcome to Earth” like immediately subjecting supreme beings to supermarket checkout admin. Imagine a giant, glowing, multi-tentacled organism trying to awkwardly stuff a bundle of intergalactic celery into a flimsy bag that rips at the bottom. It’s the ultimate equalizer.

​2. “Who actually decided that self-checkout tills need to yell at us about unexpected items?”

​If their civilization has developed artificial intelligence capable of steering through asteroid belts, surely they can explain why a 50g packet of crisps in the bagging area triggers a red flashing light and a public humiliation protocol. If they tell me their planet also suffers from “Unexpected Item in Bagging Area,” I’m voting we send them straight back into the abyss.

​3. “Is there a universe where fitted bed sheets actually fold neatly?”

​Earth scientists have mapped the human genome and photographed black holes, yet no human being since the dawn of time has ever folded a fitted sheet without turning it into a sad, lumpy fabric ball. If the extraterrestrials can demonstrate a seamless four-corner fold, I will personally crown them ruler of the Milky Way.

​4. “Did you park that UFO on a double yellow line?”

​Because if you did, mate, the local council doesn’t care if you have plasma cannons. You’re getting a £70 fine, reduced to £35 if you pay within fourteen days.

​The Ultimate Truth

​We like to imagine First Contact as a grand, cinematic moment full of dramatic music and profound exchanges of galactic wisdom. But if an advanced alien race has spent millennia observing us from afar, they aren’t coming to destroy us. They’re coming because our planet is the universe’s top-tier reality television show.

​So when the ramp lowers and the shimmering beings step out into the light, don’t ask them for the secrets of the cosmos. Ask them if they’ve got a spare HDMI cable, because the rest of us have been using the wrong input channel for three decades.

The Quiet Superpowers: 9 Underrated Life Skills They Never Taught You in School

What’s the most underrated life skill?

The Quiet Superpowers: 9 Underrated Life Skills They Never Taught You in School

We obsess over the big skills — coding, public speaking, leadership, learning a second language. They look excellent on a CV, but they rarely determine whether you have a calm morning, a strong marriage, or a peaceful mind at 10 p.m.

The real quality of life is decided by the small, unfashionable skills. The ones no one applauds. Here are the most underrated ones I have come to value.

1. The Art of Doing Nothing Productively
   We call it boredom and try to kill it with scrolling. In truth, the ability to sit alone without stimulation — no phone, no podcast, no task — is where your mind finally defragments itself. That is where good ideas arrive. Ten minutes a day of intentional idleness is not laziness; it is maintenance.
2. Saying No Without Writing an Essay
   Most of us say yes to avoid awkwardness and then resent the commitment. A graceful, brief no — “I can’t take that on this week, but I wish you well with it” — protects your time without damaging the relationship. It is kindness with boundaries.
3. Repairing Things
   Knowing how to sew on a button, fix a leaking tap, oil a hinge, or troubleshoot a slow laptop saves you more money and frustration in a year than most side-hustles earn. It also teaches you patience and gives you a quiet confidence: I can figure this out.
4. Managing Your Energy, Not Just Your Time
   Time management is well-known. Energy management is not. You have 24 hours, but you do not have 24 hours of high focus. The underrated skill is noticing when you are sharp, when you are flat, and organising your day accordingly. Difficult conversations and creative work when you are fresh. Admin and errands when you are not.
5. Listening to Understand, Not to Reply
   We listen to prepare our answer. Try listening to truly understand what the other person is trying to say, especially when you disagree. Paraphrase it back: “So what you are saying is…” It diffuses 90% of conflicts in families, friendships, and workplaces.
6. Being Comfortable With Being Wrong
   The ability to say, “I was wrong about that, thank you for correcting me,” without embarrassment is a superpower. It makes you more trustworthy, more teachable, and far easier to be around. Stubbornness feels strong; adaptability actually is.
7. Asking for Help Early
   We wait until we are drowning to ask for help, when asking early would have meant a five-minute favour. The skilled person asks before the deadline, before the burnout, before the small leak becomes a flood. It is a sign of self-respect, not weakness.
8. Regulating Your Own Mood
   Not controlling emotions — regulating them. Knowing how to calm yourself down after an annoyance, how to lift yourself out of a slump with a walk, water, or a change of scenery, rather than outsourcing that job to other people or to food, drink, and shopping.
9. Finishing What You Start — Even Badly
   Perfectionism keeps us starting. Maturity is finishing. A mediocre completed draft, a finished cupboard tidy, a walk completed even if it was short. The habit of closing loops builds self-trust.

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None of these will trend on social media. There is no certificate for them. But practise one for a fortnight and you will feel the difference in your daily peace.

If you had to pick just one to work on this month, which one would quietly improve your life the most?

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The Sentence That Saved Me: My Philosophy Is Simple — Do Your Bit, Detach From the Noise

What’s a personal mantra or philosophy you live by?

The Sentence That Saved Me: My Philosophy Is Simple — Do Your Bit, Detach From the Noise

If you had asked me for my life philosophy in my thirties, I would have given you a complicated answer. Something about success, ambition, five-year plans, and proving a point to the world.

Today, at 65, it fits into one line.

Do your best, and let go of the rest.

That is it. That is the mantra I try to live by. Not every day perfectly, but every day sincerely.

It sounds almost too simple, doesn’t it? We live in a world that loves complex formulas for happiness — seven habits, ten rules, twelve steps. But I have found that life does not reward complexity. It rewards clarity.

This philosophy did not come from a book. It came from life quietly teaching me the same lesson until I finally listened.

1. Do Your Bit, Properly

In our scriptures, it is said far more beautifully: Karmanye vadhikaraste — you have a right to your action, not to its fruit.

For years, I got this backwards. I worried about the fruit. Will this project be appreciated? Will this person reciprocate? Will this effort be recognised?

That worry made me anxious and, quite frankly, less effective. The moment I shifted my focus to just doing my bit — with honesty, with diligence, with care — a strange calm came over me.

Whether it is writing an article, helping a younger colleague, or just tending to my morning walk, I ask myself one question: Did I do this as well as I could, with the right intention? If the answer is yes, my job is done.

The result is not my business. My effort is.

2. Detach From the Noise

The second half — let go of the rest — is harder. Much harder.

We cannot control people’s opinions, the market, health scares, or how our children choose to live their lives. We can only control our response to them.

Earlier in life, I carried everything. If someone was upset, I felt responsible. If a plan failed, I replayed it for days. I was living in results that had not even happened yet.

Detachment is not indifference. It is not saying “I don’t care.” It is saying “I care deeply, but I will not let what I cannot control destroy my peace.”

I have learned to do what is needed and then step back. To give advice when asked, but not force it. To work hard, but not tie my self-worth to the outcome. It is a daily practice, not a final achievement.

3. Why This Philosophy Works, Especially Now

In this later chapter of life, this mantra has become my anchor.

When your body does not recover as quickly, when you see friends face difficult times, when you realise time is finite — you understand that peace is not a luxury. It is a necessity.

Doing your best keeps you useful, engaged, and self-respecting. Letting go of the rest keeps you sane, humble, and free.

It has improved my relationships. I listen more and expect less. It has improved my health. I sleep better when I am not arguing with life in my head. And it has made my work more joyful, because I write and create for the love of doing it, not for the anxiety of how it will be received.

You do not need to control the ocean to avoid drowning. You just need to learn to float.

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So that is my philosophy: Do your bit with integrity. Let life do its bit in its own time.

It will not make life perfect. But it will make you steady when life is not.

What about you? If you had to write your life philosophy in one sentence, what would it be?

Get Lost to Get Found: The Art of Really Exploring a New City

What’s the best way to explore a new city?

Get Lost to Get Found: The Art of Really Exploring a New City

There is a particular thrill that comes with arriving somewhere for the first time. The streets don’t know your name, the map is still a puzzle, and every corner could hide your new favourite coffee shop. But in an age of five-star lists and must-see reels, it is remarkably easy to visit a city without ever actually exploring it.

The best way to explore a new city isn’t to tick off landmarks. It is to learn how it breathes. Here is how to do it properly.

1. Ditch the Itinerary for the First Morning

We all love a good plan, but give yourself half a day with no plan at all. Leave the hotel without a destination. Turn left because you like the sound of a bakery, not because Google Maps told you to.

Put on comfortable shoes, keep your phone in your pocket, and walk. Walk with curiosity, not purpose. Notice where locals queue for lunch, where children play after school, where the old men gather for a chat. A city’s true character is rarely on its high street; it is in the lanes that run parallel to it.

A gentle rule: If you get a little bit lost, you are doing it right.

2. Start with a Market, Not a Monument

If you want to understand a place, go where it shops and eats. Markets are the living room of any city.

Arrive early, buy something small – a piece of fruit, a local cheese, a cup of chai – and just watch. Ask the stallholder what they would recommend. That five-minute conversation will teach you more than any guidebook entry. You will learn what is in season, what people are celebrating, and how to say thank you in the local tongue.

3. Use Public Transport Like a Local

Taxis are comfortable, but buses and trams are classrooms. Hop on a bus with no real idea where it is going, sit near the front, and watch the city change through the window.

In London, it is the top deck of a double-decker. In Coimbatore, it might be a town bus to RS Puram. Pay attention to how people make space for each other, what music the driver is playing, and which stop suddenly empties half the bus. That is where something interesting is happening.

Buy a day ticket. It is the cheapest tour you will ever take.

4. Eat One Meal You Cannot Pronounce

It is tempting to search for “best restaurants near me”. Resist it for one meal.

Walk into a busy, unassuming place where the menu is handwritten and the staff are too busy to fuss over you. Order what the table next to you is having. If you are travelling solo, sit at the counter. Food is the fastest shortcut to trust, and in many cities, it is still an invitation to talk.

If you have dietary needs, learn to explain them in two or three words of the local language. People appreciate the effort enormously.

5. Find the High and the Low

Every city reveals itself from two perspectives: from above and from below ground level.

Find a high point – a church tower, a park on a hill, a rooftop café that does not charge an entry fee. Spend twenty minutes simply orienting yourself. Where is the river? Where does the old town end and the new begin?

Then go low. Find the old quarter, the riverside path, the canal walk, the steps that lead down to the water. That is where you will find the pace of the city before cars.

6. Talk to One Person Who Is Not Paid to Talk to You

Concierges, tour guides, and waiters are wonderful, but they are paid to be helpful. The magic happens when you chat with the bookseller, the tailor mending clothes on the pavement, the university student waiting for the same bus.

A simple opener works wonders: “I am visiting for the first time – what is one place here you love that visitors miss?” Most people light up. They are proud of their city, and they will send you somewhere no blog has ever listed.

7. Keep a Small Notebook, Not Just a Camera

Photographs are lovely, but they make us spectators. A notebook makes you a participant.

Jot down the name of the street with the jacaranda trees, the price of jasmine garlands, the funny sign outside the barber’s shop. Sketch the door knocker. Write down three smells and three sounds. When you get home, those scribbles will bring the city back more vividly than a hundred photos.

The best souvenir you can bring back from a new city is not a fridge magnet. It is a small habit – a way of greeting, a recipe, a morning walk – that you have borrowed and made your own.

So next time you arrive somewhere new, do not rush to conquer it. Let it unfold. Linger longer, plan less, and say yes to the inviting, slightly uncertain detour.

That is where the real city lives.

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Travel tip: If you are over 60 or travelling at a slower pace, split your exploration into two short walks – early morning and late afternoon – with a proper rest in between. Cities are kinder when you are not tired.

What’s a moment in your life that made you feel truly alive?

The Moment I Felt Most Alive

There are moments in life that do not announce their arrival.

No trumpet sounds. No clock stops. No one tells us that we are standing on the threshold of a memory we shall carry for the rest of our lives.

They simply happen.

And years later, when the world has changed, people have moved on, circumstances have altered and our own reflection in the mirror looks slightly unfamiliar, we remember that particular moment and think: Yes. That was life.

Not merely existence.

Life.

We often imagine feeling truly alive to be associated with extraordinary events—a wedding, the birth of a child, a promotion, an adventure, a journey to an unfamiliar country, perhaps even the achievement of a long-cherished dream.

But sometimes the most profound moments are deceptively ordinary.

A bicycle moving along a quiet road at dawn.

The first sip of tea on a winter morning.

A child’s laughter from another room.

A song from an old radio suddenly transporting us to a forgotten decade.

A hand resting gently in ours.

A classroom becoming silent because a child has finally understood something that seemed impossible a few minutes earlier.

Or perhaps sitting alone beneath an evening sky and realising that, despite everything, one is still here.

Still breathing.

Still capable of wonder.

When time briefly forgets to hurry

I remember that feeling of being completely absorbed in the present.

There was no yesterday demanding an explanation and no tomorrow asking for an answer. For a brief while, the relentless machinery of life seemed to pause.

I was not thinking about success or failure.

Not about money.

Not about age.

Not about what others thought of me.

I was simply there.

And strangely, that was enough.

Perhaps this is what being alive truly means—not possessing everything we desire, but being sufficiently present to recognise what we already possess.

We spend so much of our lives preparing for life that we sometimes forget to live it.

We work for a better tomorrow.

We save for a comfortable future.

We worry about examinations, careers, mortgages, responsibilities, reputations and retirement.

Then one day we look back and discover that the future we were preparing for has quietly become the past.

Life, meanwhile, was happening in the margins.

The small miracles

Perhaps our most alive moments are not spectacular because they do not need to be.

A mother watching her sleeping child.

Two old friends laughing about something that happened forty years ago.

A couple walking together without saying a word.

A teacher seeing confidence appear in the eyes of a hesitant student.

A writer discovering the right sentence after struggling with a page for an hour.

A traveller standing before a mountain and feeling suddenly insignificant—and strangely connected to everything.

These moments possess no measurable value.

They cannot be deposited in a bank.

They cannot be displayed in a trophy cabinet.

Yet they become our private wealth.

And unlike money, they often appreciate with age.

Perhaps being alive is a matter of attention

We are surrounded by wonders so familiar that we have stopped noticing them.

The morning sun does not demand applause.

Rain does not ask whether we have time to watch it.

Flowers bloom without consulting calendars.

Children grow while we are busy making plans for them.

Parents age while we are occupied with our own lives.

Friends disappear gradually into different cities, different responsibilities and different worlds.

And one day, we realise that what we considered ordinary was actually extraordinary.

The greatest tragedy may not be that life is short.

It may be that we are frequently absent while living it.

Our bodies are in the room, but our minds are elsewhere.

Our children are speaking, but we are checking our phones.

A friend is sharing a story, but we are composing our reply.

The sunset is unfolding, but we are rushing home to watch it on a screen.

Perhaps the secret is not to find more extraordinary moments.

Perhaps it is to become more attentive to the ordinary ones.

The moment that remains

If someone asked me today, “What was the one moment in your life that made you feel truly alive?”, I might struggle to give a single answer.

Because perhaps there was never just one.

There were dozens.

Maybe hundreds.

Scattered like little lamps along the road.

Some belonged to youth. Some to love. Some to teaching. Some to family. Some to solitude. Some arrived through music, books, travel or simple conversation.

And some came disguised as difficulties.

There were moments when life hurt deeply, yet something within me became strangely awake. Pain stripped away the unnecessary and revealed what mattered.

That, too, is being alive.

To laugh until your stomach hurts.

To cry because something mattered.

To love despite knowing love can wound.

To forgive when resentment would be easier.

To stand again after falling.

To look at an uncertain future and walk towards it anyway.

Perhaps feeling truly alive is not about happiness alone.

It is about feeling.

Feeling deeply enough that the world leaves a mark upon you.

And then there is now

Perhaps the most beautiful realisation is this:

The moment that makes us feel truly alive does not necessarily belong to the past.

It could be this moment.

This breath.

This page.

This quiet night.

This conversation.

This opportunity to begin again.

We keep searching for the grand moment when life will finally reveal its meaning.

But perhaps life has been whispering all along:

Look around.

You are already here.

And sometimes, that is the miracle.

So, what was your moment?

Was it standing beneath a particular sky?

Holding someone’s hand?

Hearing your child’s first cry?

Achieving something you once thought impossible?

Surviving something you thought would break you?

Or perhaps it was a completely ordinary morning when, for no particular reason, you suddenly felt grateful to be alive.

Whatever it was, hold it gently.

Memory is a strange kind of time machine. It cannot return us to the moment, but it can return the moment to us.

And perhaps that is why certain memories never grow old.

They continue to breathe inside us.

They remind us that, for at least one beautiful instant, we were not merely passing through life.

We were completely, gloriously, wonderfully alive.

Sometimes the heart keeps what time cannot save,
A smile, a touch, a moment brave.
Years may vanish, seasons depart,
But the moments we truly lived keep breathing in the heart.