Signs of Depression

1. You wake up late and skip breakfast. 2. What used to be fun, isn't fun anymore. 3. You reach for your phone first thing in the morning. 4. Mood swings are more than the weather. 5. Lack of concentration and forgetfulness. 6. Constant feeling of frustration and fatigue.

As received on WhatsApp

As received on WhatsApp! 😃 A wealthy Arab man is having lunch at Dubai’s most luxurious restaurant when a ragged-looking homeless man walks in and quietly sits down at the seat next to him. The Arab gets irritated. Security starts moving toward the man. But before they can reach him, the old man calmly says, “Sir, I have something you’d want to buy.” The Arab laughs. “You? You’ll sell me something?” The man pulls out an old lamp. “One million dollars.” The whole table bursts into laughter. Leaning back, the Arab says, “Old man, this lamp isn’t even worth ten dirhams.” Without saying a word, the homeless man flips the lamp open. Instantly, a cloud of smoke rises from the lamp and a genie appears. The restaurant goes silent. Forks freeze mid-air. Phones come out. Waiters stop in their tracks. The genie bows and asks, “What is your wish, master?” The old man replies casually, “One strong cup of tea.” The genie snaps his fingers once. A glass of steaming tea with sugar cubes and a spoon appears on a silver tray. Silence falls. The Arab’s face changes instantly. Within minutes, lawyers are called, papers are signed, and a cheque for one million dollars is written. The old man smiles. “Cash it first.” So they go to the bank together. The cheque clears. Deal done. The Arab rushes back to his palace, grinning from ear to ear, heart pounding. He locks himself in his private chamber, places the lamp on the table, and clicks it open. The genie appears again. “What is your wish, master?” The Arab grins greedily. “I want my one million dollars back, a 300-foot super yacht, a private jet, ten Rolls-Royces.” The genie looks uncomfortable. Then says softly, “Sir, I can only serve tea and coffee.” “Would you like sugar with that...?” For 12 years, that genie has been riding on India’s back, and apart from serving tea, he doesn’t know how to do anything else... And I’m sure you’ve recognized which genie that is

My wife of 5 years cheated on me

My wife of 5 years cheated on me with two of her co worker while we work at the same job. I knew something was not right at home but she denied the affair hence I tapped her phone conversation witht them and reported with evidence to the job that got one of them been a supervisor fired for inappropriate behavior. My world came crumbling, wife finally acceot the affair, apologized and threatened to commit suicide if the marriage end, i forgave her ( the greatest mistake i ever made ) , she pretended to end the affair which i knew she didnt. Act nice and remorse but end up been the worst i ever seen after we had our second child. We had two more children over the next 7 years but the damage was beyond repair as this was the worst years of my life. I lost my identity, drive, confidence and self worth. She emasculated me, gaslight and subject me to untold humiliation with friends and families while i kept and carried the burden of her affairs for years. After 7 years, i decided to finally confesss to my family and friends about the situatiion which led to our seperation few weeks ago and will be filling for divorce to end this misery once and for all. Wish i had not kept her secret, open up , seek for help, and divorced her when it happened but i subjected myself to 7 years of miserable , depressed and suicidal life. I am trying to rebuild my life all over again but the pain seem very fresh and even more hurting now than it was 7 yesrs ago.

My husband loves me

My husband loves me a lot it's been 15 years since we have been together (relation plus marriage) Last month we had a baby boy! The problem is that I caught him talking to so many Asian women just for fun on dating apps like Thai-friendly, Pina Love etc. It was not love love-dove convo. When I confronted him he admitted his mistake but he said it was just for fun. Conversations with the girls were not continuous on and off. I was angry he apologised and gave me so much assurance it won't be happening again. Then today after some days I saw he again searched Thaifriendly on Google. Now what should I do? I'm so depressed.

THE FAITH OF THE SPARROW

THE FAITH OF THE SPARROW The battlefield of Kurukshetra was being prepared to facilitate the movement of mammoth armies with large cavelries. They used elephants to uproot trees and clear the ground. On one such tree lived a sparrow, a mother of four young ones. As tree was being knocked down, her nest landed on the ground alongwith her offspring -too young to fly- miraculously unharmed. The vulnerable and frightened sparrow looked around for help. Just then she saw Krishna scanning the field with Arjuna. They were there to physically examine the battleground and devise a winning strategy before the onset of the war. She flapped her tiny wings with all her might to reach Krishna's chariot. "Please save my children, O Krishna, " the sparrow pleaded."They will be crushed tomorrow when this battle starts. " I hear you," said He, the omnicient one, but I can't interfere with the law of nature." "All I know is that you are my saviour, O Lord. I rest my children's fate in your hands. You can kill them or you can save them, it's upto you now" "The wheel of Time moves indiscriminately, " Krishna spoke like an ordinary man implying that there wasn't anything he could do about it. "I don't know your philosophy," the sparrow said with faith and reverence. "You are the wheel of time. That's all I know. I surrender to thee." "Stock food for three weeks in your nest then." Unaware of the on going coversation, Arjuna was trying to shoo away the sparrow when Krishna smiled at the bird. She fluttered her wings a few minutes in obeisance and flew back to her nest. Two days later, just before the boom of conchs announced the commencement of the battle, Krishna asked Arjuna for his bow and arrow. Arjuna was startled because Krishna vowed to not lift any weapon in the war. Besides, Arjuna believed that he was the best archer out there. "Order me, Lord," he said with conviction, nothing impenetrable for my arrows." Quietly taking the bow from Arjuna, Krishna took aim at an elephant. But, instead of bringing the animal down, the arrow hit the bell around its neck and sparks flew. Arjuna couldn't contain his chuckle seeing that Krishna missed an easy mark. "Should I?" He offered. Again ignoring his reaction, Krishna gave him back the bow and said that no further action was necessary. "But why did you shoot the elephant Keshav? Arjun asked. "Because this elephant that had knocked down the tree sheltering that sparrow's nest." "Which sparrow?" Arjun exclaimed. "Plus, the elephant is unhurt and alive. Only the bell is gone!" Dismissing Arjuna's questions, Krishna instructed him to blow his conch. The war began, numerous lives were lost over the next eighteen days. The Pandavas won in the end. Once again, Krishna took Arjuna with him to navigate through the ruddy field. Many corpses still lay there awaiting their funeral. The battleground was littered with severed limbs and heads, lifeless steeds and elephants. Krishna stopped a certain spot and looked down thoughtfully at an elephant-bell. "Arjuna," he said, "will you lift this bell for me and put it aside?" The instruction , though simple, made little sense to Arjuna. Afterall, in the vast field where plenty of other things needed clearing , why would Krishna ask him to move an insignificant piece of metal out of the way? He looked at him questioningly. "Yes, this bell," Krishna reiterated. "It's the same bell that had come off the elephant's neck I had shot at." Arjuna bent down to lift the heavy bell without another question. As soon as he lifted it though, his world changed, for ever. One, two, three, four and five. Four young birds flew out one after another followed by a sparrow. The mother bird swirled in circle around Krishna, circumambulating him in great joy. The one bell cleaved eighteen days ago had protected the entire family. "Forgive me O Krishna", said Arjuna, "Seeing you in human body and behaving like ordinary mortals, I had forgotten who you really are." *STAY INSIDE YOUR BELL TILL IT LIFTS

A donkey went around telling everyone: **"The grass is blue!"

A donkey went around telling everyone: **"The grass is blue!"** A tiger disagreed and said firmly: "No, the grass is green." The donkey didn't argue further — he went straight to the lion, the king of the jungle, and complained: "Your Majesty, the tiger has been rude and disrespectful to me. He contradicted me!" The lion held court. After hearing both sides, he sentenced the **tiger to three days in jail**. The tiger was stunned. Before being taken away, he asked the lion: "Your Majesty, why am I being punished? The grass *is* green. I was stating a fact." The lion replied: > *"I know the grass is green. That is not why you are punished. You are punished because a brave and intelligent creature like you wasted his energy arguing with a donkey — and worse, allowed it to disturb your peace. The donkey will always believe the grass is blue. That will never change. Your mistake was thinking the argument was worth having."* --- **The lesson:** Not every argument deserves your engagement. When someone is committed to their delusion, arguing doesn't correct them — it only costs *you* your dignity and peace. Choosing your battles wisely is itself a form of intelligence.

Why He Was Murdered

Why He Was Murdered I wish I'd been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. Maybe if I had arrived ten minutes sooner, Daniel Mercer would still be alive. Maybe I would have interrupted the argument. Maybe I would have seen the killer's face. Maybe I would have understood what was happening before blood stained the floorboards of his office. But I wasn't there. And because I wasn't, all I can tell you is why he was murdered. Not who murdered him. Not how. Why. The distinction matters. Because Daniel Mercer did not die because someone hated him. He died because he discovered something that should have remained hidden. Or at least that was what certain people believed. The story begins three months before his death. I first met Daniel in the archives of the city museum. I was a journalist then, thirty-four years old, working for a struggling newspaper that survived mostly because people still enjoyed reading scandals over breakfast. Daniel was not scandalous. At first glance, he was painfully ordinary. Forty-eight years old. Thin. Glasses. A habit of tapping his fingers when he was thinking. He was a historian specializing in local records. The sort of person most people ignored. The sort of person who preferred forgotten documents to living conversation. I had been assigned a dull feature article about historical preservation funding. Daniel happened to be one of the experts I interviewed. The meeting should have lasted twenty minutes. Instead, we spoke for two hours. Not because he was charming. Because he was curious. There is a difference. Charming people make you interested in them. Curious people become interested in you. By the end of our conversation, he knew more about my career than I knew about his. As I prepared to leave, he said something strange. "Most people think history is about the past." I shrugged. "Isn't it?" "No." He smiled. "History is about power." At the time, I thought it was merely an academic observation. Later, I realized it was a warning. Two weeks afterward, Daniel called me. His voice sounded excited. And frightened. "I found something." "What?" "I can't explain over the phone." "Then explain badly." "No." A pause. "You need to see it." The next day I met him in the museum archives. He led me through rows of shelves packed with dusty records. Finally, he stopped beside a table covered in documents. "Look." I examined the papers. Property records. Financial reports. Legal agreements. Nothing unusual. At least not to me. Daniel pointed toward a specific signature. "Read the name." I did. Then frowned. The name belonged to a wealthy businessman named Victor Hale. Everyone in the city knew him. He owned construction companies, hotels, and half a dozen charities. He was respected. Influential. Almost untouchable. "What about him?" I asked. Daniel handed me another document. Then another. And another. Slowly, a pattern emerged. The records connected Victor Hale's family to a series of suspicious land acquisitions dating back decades. Entire neighborhoods had been purchased for absurdly low prices. Families displaced. Ownership transferred through shell companies. The transactions were technically legal. Yet something felt wrong. Very wrong. Daniel leaned closer. "This is only the beginning." "What do you mean?" He opened a folder. Inside were photographs. Letters. Bank statements. Evidence. Enough evidence to suggest a corruption scheme spanning nearly forty years. I stared at him. "Have you shown this to anyone?" "No." "Why not?" "Because I wanted to be certain." "And are you?" He nodded. "Absolutely." The certainty in his voice unsettled me. "Daniel, if this is real—" "It is." "Then this is enormous." "I know." Neither of us spoke for several seconds. Finally I asked the obvious question. "What are you going to do?" His answer changed everything. "Expose it." I remember feeling nervous immediately. Not because exposing corruption was wrong. Because powerful people rarely appreciate transparency. Daniel noticed my concern. "They can't bury this." "They might try." He smiled. "I've spent twenty years digging through records. Do you know what I've learned?" "What?" "The truth survives longer than lies." I wanted to believe him. I really did. But history suggested otherwise. Over the next month we worked together. Daniel continued investigating. I quietly verified information. The deeper we dug, the darker the story became. The corruption wasn't limited to land deals. Politicians were involved. Business leaders. Lawyers. Officials. An entire network benefiting from decades of deception. Each discovery increased the risk. And Daniel knew it. One evening I found him alone in the archives. The building had nearly emptied. Rain hammered against the windows. "You should be careful," I said. He looked up. "I am." "No, you're not." A smile appeared. "You're worried." "Someone should be." He studied me for a moment. Then sighed. "You're probably right." The admission surprised me. Until then, he had seemed fearless. "What changed?" Daniel looked toward the rain. "I received a message." "What kind of message?" "A warning." Cold unease settled in my stomach. "From who?" "I don't know." "What did it say?" He reached into a drawer and handed me a note. The message contained only five words. Stop digging. Last chance. Nothing else. No signature. No explanation. Yet somehow the simplicity felt threatening. "Did you tell the police?" Daniel laughed softly. "And say what? Someone sent me a note?" "Still." He shook his head. "They want me scared." "Are you?" His fingers tapped the desk. A familiar habit. "Maybe a little." That was the first time I genuinely feared for him. The second came two weeks later. Someone broke into his apartment. Nothing valuable was stolen. No electronics. No jewelry. Nothing. The intruder had searched only one thing. His files. Fortunately, Daniel kept copies elsewhere. The break-in failed. But the message was clear. Someone knew. Someone was watching. Someone wanted the investigation to stop. Most people would have quit. Daniel became more determined. Looking back, that determination may have killed him. Or perhaps it simply accelerated the inevitable. The final week began quietly. Too quietly. Daniel seemed almost relieved. The threats stopped. No suspicious calls. No warnings. No break-ins. Nothing. I should have recognized the danger. Predators become silent before they strike. Three days before his death, Daniel invited me to dinner. We met at a small restaurant near the river. He seemed happier than I had seen him in months. "I finished it," he said. "Finished what?" "The report." My chest tightened. "Everything?" "Everything." "Then what happens now?" He smiled. "Now the truth becomes public." I remember studying his face. Trying to understand why he seemed so calm. Maybe because he believed the hard part was over. Maybe because he thought evidence would protect him. Maybe because brave people sometimes mistake courage for invulnerability. As we left the restaurant, he stopped beside the river. The city lights reflected across the water. For a moment neither of us spoke. Then he said something I'll never forget. "If anything happens to me—" "Don't." "What?" "Don't say things like that." He laughed. "You sound superstitious." "I sound practical." The smile faded slightly. Then he nodded. "Fair enough." That was the last complete conversation we ever had. Two days later he called me. His voice sounded different. Urgent. "I found one final piece." "What piece?" "The most important one." "What is it?" "I'll show you tonight." "What time?" "Eight." "I'll be there." "Good." Then he hung up. At 7:40 p.m., traffic trapped me on the highway. An accident had closed multiple lanes. Cars barely moved. I called Daniel. No answer. I texted him. No response. Eventually I reached his office building. The clock read 8:17. Seventeen minutes late. I still remember the silence. The front door stood slightly open. Lights remained on inside. Nothing seemed unusual. Yet something felt wrong. Very wrong. I entered. "Daniel?" No answer. I walked toward his office. My footsteps echoed through empty hallways. "Daniel?" Still nothing. Then I reached the doorway. And saw him. The police later described the scene in clinical terms. I won't. Clinical language creates distance. The reality was simpler. A man was dead. A good man. A man who believed truth mattered. For several seconds I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. The world narrowed to a single impossible fact. Daniel Mercer was gone. The investigation began immediately. Detectives searched for suspects. Journalists chased rumors. Officials made statements. Everyone wanted answers. Who killed him? How? The questions dominated every conversation. Yet I found myself obsessed with a different question. Why now? The answer arrived unexpectedly. While reviewing Daniel's materials, I discovered a sealed envelope addressed to me. Inside was a letter. And a flash drive. The letter contained only one sentence. If you're reading this, they were afraid of what comes next. My hands trembled. I inserted the flash drive into my computer. Thousands of files appeared. Documents. Recordings. Financial records. Evidence. More evidence than I thought possible. Then I found the final discovery Daniel had mentioned. The most important piece. It wasn't another land deal. Or another financial crime. It was proof that several supposedly independent institutions had secretly coordinated for decades. Businesses. Political organizations. Charitable foundations. Public agencies. The corruption wasn't isolated. It was systemic. The people involved weren't protecting money. They were protecting influence. Control. Reputation. Power itself. Suddenly everything made sense. The threats. The break-in. The surveillance. The murder. Daniel hadn't stumbled across a crime. He had uncovered a structure. An entire machine built on secrecy. And machines defend themselves. The following weeks became chaos. Once the evidence was released, investigations spread nationwide. Resignations followed. Arrests followed. Scandals erupted. Careers ended. Fortunes collapsed. People demanded justice. For a while, it felt as though Daniel had won. Then reality intervened. The truth emerged. But imperfectly. Some guilty individuals escaped consequences. Some evidence disappeared. Some stories were rewritten. Power rarely surrenders completely. Even so, change happened. Not enough. But something. Years have passed since then. The murder remains officially unsolved. There are theories. Suspects. Speculation. But no certainty. Perhaps there never will be. People occasionally ask whether I want to know who killed Daniel Mercer. The honest answer surprises them. Of course I want to know. But not for the reason they expect. Knowing who committed the act would solve a mystery. Knowing why explains the tragedy. Because Daniel wasn't murdered over a personal grudge. Or jealousy. Or rage. He died because he refused to look away. Because he believed ordinary people deserved the truth. Because he understood something many powerful individuals fear. Secrets create power. Truth redistributes it. That's why he was murdered. Not because he was weak. Because he was dangerous. Dangerous to lies. Dangerous to corruption. Dangerous to people who depended upon silence. I still think about that final phone call. That final meeting he promised. That seventeen-minute delay. What would have happened if I had arrived earlier? Would Daniel have survived? Would the killer have fled? Would history have changed? I don't know. Nobody does. Regret is built from questions that have no answers. What I do know is this: Daniel Mercer died trying to reveal the truth. And although his killer stole his future, they failed to destroy what he discovered. The evidence survived. The story survived. His voice survived. Perhaps that's the cruel irony. The people responsible believed murder would bury the truth. Instead, it guaranteed the truth would be remembered. So when people ask me who killed Daniel Mercer, I tell them I can't say. I wasn't there. I arrived too late. All I can tell you is why he was murdered. And sometimes, that's the more important answer.