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After coming back from Uttrakhand, I wanted to leave again almost immediately. Delhi closed in faster this time. I slipped back into routine, but not completely. I tried to protect the creative momentum I had built in solitude, holding onto it as I moved through familiar streets, familiar conversations. Somewhere in the background, I was watching for signs. Patterns. Small shifts. The kind of butterfly flap that nudges things forward without announcing itself. I wasn’t chasin

After a few days of coming back from the adventure Kizi and I had, Delhi just didn’t feel the same anymore. The Kizashi had become my home, Our muscle memory of being together was too intense to ignore. I remember the first morning after returning I woke up, went straight downstairs, sat in the car and started driving, as if it was the only thing I remembered how to do. It took me weeks to detach from the car and it felt alien being in the city again. Knowing every lane, road

For almost two years, I was on a quiet hunt for the perfect vehicle not just something to drive, but something to escape in. A vehicle I could start living in until I didn’t want to anymore. something I could build from the ground up. I wanted to know each screw, every corner. Make it mine. Old, because obviously, I didn’t have a big budget. I kept looking for an old van or SUV, I was hunting for something with character or so common that I could give it a character. And the

This overhaul has been a true labour of love every painstaking repair brought the Kizashi one step closer to its former glory. For almost two years, I was on a quiet hunt for the perfect vehicle not just something to drive, but something to escape in. A vehicle I could start living in. Something I could build from the ground up. I wanted to know each screw, every corner. Make it mine. I was hunting for something with character or so common that I could give it a character. A