As the Rajawat convoy pulled into the temple grounds, the early morning sun bathed the ancient Shiv temple in soft golden hues. The tall gopuram rose proudly against the clear Jaipur sky, its carvings catching the light like silent prayers etched in stone.
The first to step out was Raghavendra, his presence still commanding despite the cane. Devansh and Niranjan followed, dressed in muted elegance befitting the occasion. Aaradhya helped Bhavya out of the car while Shrayansh clutched her hand, excited and bouncing on his feet.
For the Flame to Burn, It Needs a Spark These words—these poems, musings, echoes of soul—they are pieces of me, offered to the void. If they’ve ever stirred something in you, made silence feel understood or chaos feel poetic… Then let your support be the wind beneath this fire. A small gesture. A mighty impact. Because art survives on love—and the occasional coffee. ☕✨
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