Anicca

Standing in a crowd, surrounded by thousands of strangers who all seemed far more prepared for this moment than I was. Waiting for Coldplay to walk on stage and give me an evening to remember forever - either as a high point experience wise or a moment I would remember as lesson to never overestimate myself. I remember thinking, briefly, that I could still leave. That I could turn this into another almost-story.

I didn’t leave.

Mumbai, the crowd, and the part of me that wanted to flee

The truth is, I wasn’t scared of missing out on the concert. I was extremely scared of experiencing it. The crowd. The noise. The lights. The sheer scale of it all. Every possible trigger for sensory overload packed neatly into one evening. This is usually the point where I tell myself I’m “not built for these things” and retreat into safer, quieter pleasures. Headphones. Controlled volume. Familiar rooms. Predictable exits.

I had trained for this for months. Even before Coldplay ever announced their India dates, I was convinced they would come and that I needed to be prepared for it. And when I say I trained for months, I actually trained myself for the sensory overload that a concert could be in the best way I knew how. I started by taking public transport again. First during low rush periods with headphones on. First, sitting at the back of the auto where you are forced to close quarters with strangers and sit touching each other. Then to public buses and metros where it was more than two people at a time. Then slowly moving onto rush hours - still with headphones on (same song on repeat to have something to ground me). And then slowly travelling in public transportation during rush hours without headphones for short journeys, that became longer and longer.

Most of you reading this, will probably be wondering that these are all everyday common things that people do on a daily basis. Why would I consider this as ‘training for a concert’. Well, I have always been hypersensitive to stimuli. Exposure to bright lights (or the sun) for an hour or so is enough to give me a freaking headache that won’t go away for the rest of the day. Same for loud noises or crowds. Putting all 3 together is a disaster for me. And my nervous system had been at it’s worst back in 2020-21. So, it had been a uphill task.

I kept waiting for my threshold to snap. For the lights to become too sharp, the bass too heavy, the crowd too close. I kept bracing for the moment when enjoyment would tip into overwhelm and I’d have to negotiate with myself to stay. That moment didn’t arrive the way I expected it to.

When Coldplay finally came on stage, the crowd went mad, and something in me did the opposite of panic. My brain, usually so eager to narrate every experience into submission, went quiet. The noise stopped being noise. It became atmosphere. The lights stopped being intrusive. They became part of the story unfolding around me.

That surprised me more than anything else that night.

Maybe it was the music. I didn’t stop being sensitive. I stopped being afraid of my sensitivity.

And for someone who has spent years managing input like a negotiation in old Delhi bazaar, that felt like a small miracle disguised as a concert.

In the crowd, I realized I already knew these songs with my body. A song from a phase when I was hopeful. Another from a phase when I was just trying to get through the day. A chorus that once meant comfort, now sounding like reassurance. People say that is art. For me, only music has a way of doing that.

When the first familiar notes hit, it wasn’t excitement that took over. It was a quiet feeling of ‘I am okay.’ That might be what surprised me most. Not the scale. Not the spectacle. But how safe it felt to be small inside something so large. To let the music carry the weight instead of me having to hold it all together. Trust that I wouldn’t lose myself if I let go just a little.

The moment it stopped being theoretical

I had prepared for everything I could name. The crowd. The lights. The noise. The exits. I had rehearsed coping strategies like a responsible adult who knows their limits. What I hadn’t prepared for was the way the music would arrive through my body.

I had standing tickets. Which meant there was no polite distance between me and the sound. No buffer. No chair to anchor myself to. When the beat dropped, I didn’t just hear it. I felt it. Under my feet first. A steady, physical vibration traveling up through the ground, through my legs, into my chest. 

That was the moment the fear loosened its grip. I feel that one feeling is still very impossible to intellectualize or express. 

The music wasn’t something happening to me. It was something happening with me. Around me. Beneath me. I wasn’t overstimulated. I felt connected to it. The same sensitivity I had been bracing against was suddenly doing something else entirely. It was receiving.

And then they performed Viva La Vida.

I don’t know how close I was to the stage in measurable terms. Close enough that I felt I could probably reach out and touch the band members. The song stopped being a memory and became a shared pulse. The crowd surged, the lights flared, and thousands of voices rose at once, singing about fallen kings and borrowed power and the strange humility of survival.

I didn’t think about meaning. I just stood there, vibrating along with the ground, letting the song exist without interpretation. There was something so grounding about that. Feeling small without feeling erased. Feeling part of something without having to perform belonging.

And for a first concert, that felt like enough.

After the Lights, After the Noise

The concert didn’t end the way stories like to end. There was no freeze-frame moment, no neat emotional crescendo that carried me home on a high. It ended the way real things end. Slowly. With people drifting away, voices hoarse, bodies tired, adrenaline leaking out in uneven waves.

Mumbai was still Mumbai when we stepped back into it. Traffic resumed its arguments. Vendors kept shouting. Life refused to pause to acknowledge that something extraordinary had just happened to me. I liked that. There was comfort in the normalcy of it. As if the city was saying, you felt something big, good for you, now come back and live.

What surprised me was how my body remembered the night long after the sound had faded. The vibration didn’t vanish immediately. Even a year later, I can still feel it in my heart and in my feet. 

I walked away knowing this wasn’t just about a band or a song or even a first concert checked off a list. It was proof that sometimes the thing you’re most afraid of teaches your nervous system a new language.

Social media is inundated with the assertion that “no one should be a billionaire” and it has become a prominent moral standing among a vocal group of people on the interweb. The phrase raises legitimate concerns about wealth inequality, labour exploitation and concentration of power.

However, as with many slogans that gain cultural traction, its broadness and vagueness risks collapsing distinct forms of wealth accumulation into a single ethical category and in doing so, it often obstructs the very mechanisms of power that it seeks to critique.

The hullabaloo surrounding Taylor Swift’s emergence as a billionaire reveals a lot about this herd mentality which is rampant online and it is often accompanied by no amount of critical thinking. Taylor’s wealth has provoked a cultural anxiety that appears disproportionate compared to public reactions toward ultra-wealthy individuals.

The public outrage is not merely economic in nature. It is cultural and gendered. Taylor is not an oil magnate, a private equity executive or a tech monopolist. She is a highly visible cultural producer whose labour, persona and emotional expressiveness in forms of singing, songwriting and art are central to her public identity. The discomfort surrounding her wealth cannot solely be seen as opposition to inequality. Rather, in my opinion, it reflects unresolved tensions about women’s access to power, ownership and legitimacy within capitalist systems.

My demand is for analytical precision and critical thinking to prevail in this age of herd mentality and stupid but divisive “hot-takes” that sweep through social media.

Accumulation of wealth is not a morally uniform phenomenon and the process by which wealth is generated and the degree of labour involved, the transparency of accumulation and the uses of the accumulated wealth and power matters. Taylor’s case complicates dominant narratives about billionaires.

The Anti-Billionaire Rhetoric:

Extreme wealth at any point of time in the past, present or future is off-putting. The claim that extreme wealth is inherently immoral rests on the assumption that no individual can accumulate wealth to such an extreme degree without exploiting others. It should be noted that this assumption is often justified in cases involving resource extraction, financial speculation or monopolistic practices but the logic becomes less persuasive when applied indiscriminately.

Political economists often distinguish between different modes of capital accumulation. Wealth derived through rent seeking behaviour such as controlling access to housing, healthcare or natural resources operates very differently from wealth generated through direct labour and intellectual production. If we ignore this distinction, then there is no distinction between a George Lucas and a Elon Musk or a Mark Zuckerberg. If we ignore these distinctions, we are transforming the argument from structural analysis to a symbolic condemnation.

Taylor Swift’s wealth is overwhelmingly linked to monetization of intellectual property she helped create. Her dominant income streams include album sales, touring, licencing and publishing her art which is directly tied to cultural consumption rather than essential goods or coercive market control. Obviously, this does not render her wealth morally pure but it does situate it differently from other forms of wealth accumulation that rely on scarcity, dispossession or systemic harm.

Opposition to inequality requires specificity and critical analysis. Otherwise, without specificity, moral outrage becomes performative rather than transformative in the long run.

Taylor Swift’s Cultural Production:

One of the defining features of Taylor’s career is the visibility of her own labour. Unlike many wealthy individuals whose work is abstracted behind corporate structures, Taylor’s labour is public and ongoing. It is not an accident that she has achieved this level of success. She writes her music, performs extensively (is a fan of over-delivering) and maintains creative involvement across all her work. Nobody else was baking cookies for their fans and having secret hang-out sessions and opening up their hearts the way Taylor has continued to do.

The Eras Tour exemplifies this labour-intensive model. The tour was not merely a revenue generating enterprise but a physically demanding performance that requires endurance, rehearsal and emotional presence. The tours impact includes employing thousands of workers and contributing significantly to local economies which complicates the narratives that frame her wealth as purely extractive. Additionally, her model of – "if the tour does well, everyone involved gets paid more" should set a precedence in the entertainment industry!

Cultural labour is often undervalued precisely because it is associated with pleasure and emotion. The assumption that creative work is less than industrial or technical labour has historically been used to justify its under-compensation. Taylor’s success threatens the entertainment industry as it challenges this hierarchy by demonstrating that cultural production can generate enormous value when creators retain control over their work.

To dismiss her wealth without acknowledging the labour, creativity and hard work behind it reinforces the very devaluation of artistic work that critics of capitalism often seek to dismantle.

Ownership as Resistance:

The most significant factor distinguishing Taylor from other ultra-wealthy figures is her approach to ownership. The sale of her masters without her consent exposed a structural vulnerability faced by artists within the music industry. Taylor Swift engaged in a strategic market-based intervention and re-recorded her catalogue.

Economically, it devalued her original masters while legally operating within existing contractual structures and culturally, it reframed ownership as a site of resistance rather than resignation of your fate. Taylor’s public declaration and acts of reclamation established a precedent that will forever influence industry norms.

This is a prime example of how Taylor did not reject the market; instead, she used it to correct an imbalance of power. She demonstrated her agency within capitalist systems and expanded it through knowledge, leverage and collective support. Her resulting wealth is not merely the outcome of market success but the by-product of an intervention that challenged exploitative norms.

Gender, Ambition, and Moral Scrutiny:

The outrage and reactions to Taylor Swift’s billionaire status cannot be disentangled from gendered expectations surrounding ambition. It is a truth universally acknowledged that women who pursue power are more likely to be perceived as unlikable, manipulative or morally suspect which is not the case for men with identical behaviours.

Taylor’s career trajectory has been marked by strategic decision making, brand management and her continued vulnerability and ability to express herself and her emotions in a way that marks her as a brilliant storyteller. Her career trajectory has increasingly positioned her within a traditionally masculine domain of authority.

The discomfort provoked by her wealth has disrupted the cultural framework through which she was initially understood which is as a confessional songwriter whose value lay in emotional transparency rather than strategic competence.

Emotional expressiveness is tolerated and even celebrated in women, so long as it is not accompanied by structural power and Taylor’s refusal to be boxed within these distinctions and her refusal to choose between vulnerability and ambition challenges this age-old stereotype and binary.

Criticism framed as economic concern often masks deeper anxieties about women who refuse to self-limit. The demand that she justifies, apologises for or redistributes her success reflects expectations that women temper achievement with humility. Where are these demands for George Lucas, Steven Spielberg or James Cameron?

The Demand for Relatability:

Taylor Swift’s wealth destabilizes the concept of relatability which is a quality disproportionately demanded of women in the public eye. Her music has fostered a sense of intimacy with her listeners who interpret it as personal connection. When that perceived intimacy coexists with immense wealth, it produces cognitive dissonance.

However, relatability is not a moral obligation and it is a market construct that benefits audiences more than the artists. We will be conflating art with personal availability if we insist that Swift remain economically accessible in order to preserve emotional authenticity. Additionally, this expectation reflects a broader pattern in which women are asked to trade power for connection.

Taylor’s refusal to do so exposes the transactional assumptions embedded in audience attachment. It is evident that the audience forever wants a palatable version of you.

Philanthropy and Responsibility:

Supporting Taylor’s billionaire status does not automatically mean that I idealize her use of wealth. While she has made significant philanthropic contributions, no individual’s charity can offset systematic inequality and to demand that she solve structural problems through personal generosity misunderstands both the scale of the problems and the role of the State.

At the same time, Taylor Swift’s labour practices, including reported bonuses for touring staff and advocacy for artists’ rights suggest an orientation toward responsibility rather than indifference. These actions do not absolve her from scrutiny but they do distinguish her from figures whose wealth accumulation is accompanied by deliberate opacity or harm.

Conclusion:

Taylor Swift’s billionaire status is not a referendum on capitalism’s moral legitimacy; instead, it is a test of our ability to think critically about power without resorting to symbolic scapegoating. 

Taylor did not inherit her billionaire status nor did she accumulate it through monopolistic control of necessities; she did not detach herself from the labour that generated it. She was successful in navigating an exploitative industry, reclaimed ownership over her art and leveraged cultural production into sustained economic power.

If the goal of anti-capitalist critique is to dismantle unjust systems, then precision is essential. Blanket condemnation may feel satisfying and will get you clicks and likes but it obscures meaningful distinctions and reinforces gendered double standards.

Taylor Swift’s success is unsettling precisely because it resists easy categorization. It exists at the intersection of labour and capital, vulnerability and authority, intimacy and distance. Engaging with that complexity does not weaken moral critique; it strengthens it.

Supporting her billionaire status is not an endorsement of inequality. It is my refusal to flatten nuance in the name of ideological comfort and a recognition that who holds power and how they came to hold it still and will forever matter!

 It always starts innocently enough. You decide to take a break, maybe a fifteen-minute scroll through nothingness, maybe a nap that dissolves time entirely. Then, right on cue, the guilt slithers in. That itchy little whisper: shouldn’t you be doing something right now? We’ve turned idleness into a moral crime. Stillness feels dangerous, indulgent like eating ice-cream for dinner or ignoring an urgent email that probably wasn’t urgent at all. We even disguise our rest as productivity to make it acceptable:
“I’m recharging”
“It’s part of my creative process”
“Self-care Sunday.”

As if simply being needs a justification.

We live in fast-paced times where an individual’s worth is measured in output. In posts published, tasks checked, and in steps counted. So when you do nothing, it feels like letting yourself and the world down. Even rest now comes with progress bars. My fitness kept prompting me to “track recovery” alongside “track fitness.” Imagine that! You must perform even in your sleep. Somewhere between capitalism and caffeine, we absorbed this belief that stillness is laziness. That if you’re not moving, you’re falling behind. But behind whom, exactly? The answer changes daily. Sometimes it is that influencer with the perfect morning routine, sometimes it is a colleague who is thriving on burnout, and sometimes you beat that imaginary version of yourself who never wastes a second.

Doing nothing has become an act of defiance because to sit quietly, without producing, improving, or proving, is to reclaim your humanity in a world that monetizes every breath. Maybe the problem isn’t that we’re tired. Maybe it’s that we’ve forgotten how to stop without feeling like we’re doing something wrong.

Somewhere along the way, someone decided that rest had to be earned. Like it’s a prize you get for surviving your own overcommitment. You work yourself raw. Then once you’ve proven that you are suffering enough, do you get to sleep, to read, to breathe. We have to wait till the inbox is empty, the dishes are done, the to-do list resembles a battlefield cleared of enemies. And when we finally sit down, it is not peace that we feel. It is relief edged with guilt. Because apparently, we can’t even stop without a reason.

We wear exhaustion like a badge of honor. We compliment people for being “so busy,” as if depletion is a virtue. “I haven’t slept properly in days” has somehow become a humblebrag and an offering to the gods of productivity. Meanwhile, our nervous systems are waving flags of complete surrender.

What’s tragic is that rest was never meant to be a trophy. In nature, it is a rhythm. The tide goes out. The moon wanes. Even seeds stay dormant before they bloom. No one scolds them for being “unproductive.” But humans? We schedule burnout like it’s a recurring meeting. The irony is painful: we chase momentum but refuse to see that even motion has pauses built in. A heartbeat, a breath, a drumbeat… they all depend on space between sounds. Take that space away, and what’s left isn’t rhythm. It’s noise.

So maybe it’s time to stop treating rest like a reward for endurance. Rest isn’t what you get after you’ve lived. It’s how you live. It’s the pause that keeps the music from collapsing into chaos.

There’s a quiet kind of rebellion in closing your laptop while the world screams “hustle.” No fireworks needed. Just a simple act: choosing to stop. We’ve been trained to believe that rest is the absence of progress, that stillness equals surrender. But what if… just what if, stopping isn’t the end of motion, what if it’s the beginning of meaning?

Rest, in its purest form, is refusal. Refusal to be consumed. Refusal to perform with burnout as proof of value. Refusal to run a race no one actually wins. To rest is to say: “I’m still human, even when I’m not producing.”

That’s not laziness. That’s resistance.

Look at any creative or revolutionary life, and you’ll see the pattern. Artists vanish between projects. Writers retreat after the noise. Rest isn’t what comes after greatness; it’s what allows greatness to exist.

Agust D goes silent before a storm of music.
SRK disappeared for years, before delivering a comeback that will go down in history.
{Ofcourse I had to tie-in my two favourite men 😀}

There’s something beautifully subversive about rest that’s unapologetic. Not “I’ve earned this,” but simply, “I exist, and that’s reason enough.”

Here’s the cruel joke: we say we want peace, but we can’t stand what peace feels like.

Stillness, true stillness, is a confrontation. When the noise stops, the mind doesn’t sigh in relief. Instead it panics. Suddenly there’s space, and in that space comes everything we’ve been running from: boredom, anxiety, unprocessed grief, the sound of our own thoughts echoing too loudly.

That’s why rest feels wrong. Stillness reveals what we are trying to avoid.

We’ve wired ourselves for constant stimulation. We can’t even stand in an elevator without reaching for our phones. Our brains, marinated in dopamine hits and notifications, have forgotten the flavor of quiet. We call it “doing nothing.” Anything but what it really is: existing without distraction. It terrifies us, because we’ve built our identities around doing. Ask someone who they are, and they’ll tell you what they do. Jobs, hobbies, achievements. Rest strips that armor off. It forces us to ask: who am I when I’m not performing usefulness? So we stay busy to avoid ourselves. We call it discipline, ambition, drive… anything that sounds better than fear.

So, how do we rebel gracefully without giving up life?

You don’t have to renounce society, move to the mountains, or delete every app to reclaim rest.

You just have to stop apologizing for being human. Rest doesn’t have to look like lying in a meadow with your phone on airplane mode (though that sounds divine). It can be quiet resistance threaded through ordinary hours… a refusal to make every second productive.

Here’s how to start rebelling without burning down your life:

1. Schedule rest first, not last.
Treat rest like a meeting with your sanity. Put it on your calendar before the work, not after. If you wait till you “deserve” it, you never will.

2. Redefine success.
Try measuring your days by energy instead of output. Did something restore you today? That counts more than the number of emails you sent.

3. Take micro-pauses.
Tiny rebellions does wonders for you. Stare out the window for five minutes. Breathe without purpose. Listen to music without multitasking. Be unproductive with intent.

4. Let boredom breathe.
You don’t have to fill every silence. Boredom is the compost heap of creativity. Leave it alone long enough and something wild might grow.

5. Rest publicly.
When someone asks how your weekend was, try saying “I did nothing,” and resist the urge to justify it. Watch their face twist in confusion. That’s their system short-circuiting.

6. Remember the body knows before the mind.
If your body is screaming for rest, believe it. You can’t think your way out of exhaustion. You can only stop.

At some point, you stop chasing and start noticing. The light on the wall. The sound of your own breath. The way time expands when you stop demanding things from it. You realize the world doesn’t fall apart when you step away. The emails keep arriving. The projects keep orbiting. The planet keeps spinning, almost insultingly fine without your supervision. And somehow, that’s not depressing. It’s relief.

Because maybe the point was never to keep up. Maybe the point was to wake up.

The real power lies in knowing when to stop, and daring to stop anyway.

So rest. Not because you’ve earned it, but because you exist.

Rest because the world has enough noise, and your silence might just be the most radical sound in it.

Rest because you can.

Taylor Swift’s NEW album is here, you folks!

THE LIFE OF A SHOWGIRL!

I mean, if you haven’t watched the 2-hour podcast episode yet, please find some time and watch it. The world embraced the sparkly orange, and only TS had the guts to do it when people in her country are already suffering under an orange power.

By the way, you probably know that Taylor Swift is often “accused” of writing songs about breakups. Yes, it feels like accusations the way the media portrays her music. The intent is always to demean her work because she mostly writes about love and breakups. Despite love being one of the most talked-about emotions, despite every other musician singing or writing about the same thing, it suddenly becomes unacceptable or too frivolous when it’s Taylor Swift?

Make that make sense, folks!

But hey, did you know TS wrote about other things as well?

If not, keep scrolling. We’re here to talk about thirteen (yes, 13) songs by Taylor Swift that are NOT about falling in love or breakups.

1.     1. Marjorie (Album: evermore)
Marjorie is the name of Taylor’s grandmother. She lost her when she was really young. She lost her when she was not in the same town. In an interview clip, Taylor mentions that she regrets not being around her when it happened. She regrets not knowing her and all of those emotions are poured into this song. It’s a deeply emotional song about her grandmother and how she still feels her and how she would’ve loved to spend more time with her and get to know her. Somehow, she even managed to find her grandmother’s opera vocals and put them in this song and that segment never fails to give me goosebumps.

My favourite lines: “Never be so kind that you forget to be clever, never be so clever that you forget to be kind.”

2.      2. this is me trying (Album: folklore)
In her Long Pond Studio Sessions, Taylor Swift talks to Jack Antonoff (they write songs together) about this song. They talk about how people with addiction and mental health illnesses are always in an active fight in their daily lives. The song depicts how the act of trying is almost a battle. Moreover, the song also talks about how someone who feels like they’ve lost it in life despite having so much potential in school years or earlier years. This song breaks my heart and is one of my most favourite songs of all time by TS.

My favourite lines: “They told me all of my cages were mental
So I got wasted like all my potential
And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad
I have a lot of regrets about that…”

3.      3. I Hate it Here (Album: The Tortured Poets Department)
If you have ever felt that you don’t really belong to this world and that you almost always want to escape into daydreams or in a world of imagination (like binge-reading or watching something), this song is the one for you. TS writes about being trapped in a body or a world where they cannot be what they really are and thus, need to escape to a different world. This is a song that will appeal to the introverts and hypersensitive people who are probably the more adversely affected lot due to the harshness of this world.

My favourite lines: “I'm lonely but I'm good
I'm bitter but I swear I'm fine
I'll save all my romanticism for my inner life
and I'll get lost on purpose
This place made me feel worthless...”

4.      4. Mean (Album: Speak Now)
One thing that Taylor Swift does best is turn her experiences into these superb songs that you can even dance to. In a few interview, she explains that she wrote this song ‘Mean’ about the critics who wrote about her albums by not giving any constructive criticism but just being mean. She was thinking about this powerless feeling of being at the receiving end of such mean comments from people no matter how hard she works. And then the song also gives an upbeat melody and lyrics that can fill you with hope about how all these mean comments will not affect her one day when she’s made it big.

My favourite lines: “Someday... I'll be living in a big old city
and all you're ever gonna be is mean
Someday I'll be big enough so you can't hit me
and all you're ever gonna be is mean.”

5.      5. 22 (Album: Red)
This song is so full of young energy. Although the title of the song very specifically is about the age “22”, what I feel from watching the music video is that TS wrote and sang how it feels to be in her early to mid-twenties, having a lot of fun and just enjoying life when you start to enter this new phase of life when you’re free from studies and have started earning. For some of us, this might even be the late twenties. Also, she’s surrounded by her female friends in this music video and even the lyrics is about how they’re taking a break from everything and just feeling young. In an interview, she mentions that she wanted to write how she was feeling while spending her summer with her friends.

My favourite lines: “We're happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time,
It's miserable and magical.”

6.      6. You Need to Calm Down (Album: Lover)
Here’s something for all the haters. Taylor Swift gets a lot of negative attention on the internet despite having a huge following of Swifties who are hardcore protectors of her. Although, TS have stayed away from engaging with politics or mixing it with her music for a long time… this is probably one of the times we see her touching upon issues she feels strongly about. Apart from being a response to internet trolls and haters, this song hints at her support for the queer community and she also talks about how female celebrities keep getting compared to each other despite each of them having a massive superpower themselves.

My favourite lines: “And we see you over there on the internet
Comparing all the girls who are killing it
But we figured you out
We all know now, we all got crowns
You need to calm down…”

7.      7. Only the Young (from the documentary Miss Americana)
This song, played in the credits of the documentary Miss Americana, is like an anthem. In this documentary, and various other interviews succeeding it, TS expressed how young people get affected the most with all the terrible issues in their country like gun violence, stalking, healthcare, climate change, etc. So, this song was pretty much Taylor openly expressing her political beliefs and also revealing her support against the then President of US, Donald Trump.
My favourite lines: “They aren’t gonna help us
Too busy helping themselves
They aren’t gonna change this
We gotta do it ourselves...”

8.      8. The Man (Album: Lover)
It’s not a new thing that Taylor often gets a lot of headlines for reasons her male contemporaries are left out of the discussions. Drawing from her personal experience as a businesswoman and from the collective experience of being a woman, she wrote this song to represent how the society views men and women in a vastly different lens. Another political number, Taylor Swift smashes the patriarchy with her lyrics in this song and hey, don’t miss this music video (and of course, the BTS of making this video) on her YouTube channel.

My favourite lines: “I'm so sick of running as fast as I can
Wondering if I'd get there quicker if I was a man.”

9.      9. mad woman (Album: folklore)
Now that we’ve talked about how women and men are treated differently just because of the gender, let’s talk about this freakishly beautiful song that is all about how women have been labelled as “mad” left, right, and centre for ridiculous reasons. One of my most favourite songs, this carries the rage of all the women who have been called either angry or insane. Just go and tell me, if it doesn’t chill your bones.

My favourite lines: “And there's nothin' like a mad woman
What a shame she went mad
No one likes a mad woman
You made her like that
And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out
And you find something to wrap your noose around
And there's nothin' like a mad woman…”

10. Long Live (Album: Speak Now)
This fantastic song is from one of her earlier albums and the whole meaning of it has evolved ever since she first started performing it. As per Taylor, this song is dedicated to her band and the fans who have been there with her for years, standing by her side, as they scaled the wobbly heights of the music industry. Full of gratitude, this song is one of the best live performances that addresses directly to all the struggles of an artist but at the same time, being grateful for everything she has achieved. While she performs this song during the Eras Tour, it sort of also hinted at how she keeps manifesting the stardom she’s so in fond of.

My favourite lines: “Will you take a moment?
Promise me this
That you'll stand by me forever
But if, God forbid, fate should step in
And force us into a goodbye
If you have children someday
When they point to the pictures
Please tell them my name
Tell them how the crowds went wild
Tell them how I hope they shine...”

11. Anti-Hero (Album: Midnights)
Ever had a bout of self-loathing? Well, this song is going to become your shadow then. Taylor explains in an Instagram post how we all have things we hate about ourselves. And this one particularly caters to that extremely unsettling and yet comfortable feeling most of us might have experienced.
My favourite lines: “It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
At tea time, everybody agrees
I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”

12. I Did Something Bad (Album: reputation)
The entire album of reputation has a huge lore behind it. In short, Taylor Swift received a lot of hate from the media in the years before this album for a lot of reasons. She disappeared from everywhere for a year. Came back with this banger of an album where each and every song is fueled by rage, frustration, and it shows how Taylor embraces whatever is thrown at her and turns it into the best possible songs. I Did Something Bad, if lyrics are decoded, refers to events in her life that aren’t so pleasant and where she’s painted as a villain for standing up for herself. Moreover, it is also speculated that quite a few songs on this album have references to the popular show on HBO, “A Game of Thrones”. This song is apparently about the Stark sisters, Sansa and Arya, plotting the death of Littlefinger. Oops, sorry about the spoiler if you haven’t watched the show yet.

My favourite lines: “This is how the world works
You gotta leave before you get left…”

13. Mastermind (Album: Midnights)
You know what’s the best thing about Taylor Swift? If you listen to a song enough number of times and really listen to the lyrics and know the entire lore, you’ll probably end up finding references to love and breakups in most of her songs. And yet, the song might be about something completely different. Like, this one – Mastermind. It might seem like she’s talking about a guy but this song is more about how she’s demeaned on the internet for being a strategist… a calculative planner who loves doing all of it so much. In an interview, she also ends up saying that she was inspired for this song by a movie she was watching. I don’t remember which movie she was referring to. But even if you look at how she planned her Eras Tour and all of her Easter Eggs for her fans, she lives up to this image of being a Mastermind and how!

My favourite lines: “No one wanted to play with me as a little kid
So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since
To make them love me and make it seem effortless
This is the first time I've felt the need to confess…”

So, there you go! And be assured that there are more songs by Taylor which are not about love or breakups. But hey, this list had to have 13. *wink wink*

Tell me now, which is your favourite Taylor Swift song that has nothing to do with a love story or a break-up?

Some stories are written with ink on paper, while others are carved into the heart by time.
This one was never meant to be written. 

This post is inspired by the lyrics of 'Don't say you love me' by Jin, from the album Echo. It is partly based on true story & partly fictionalised. Which part is real and which part is fictionalised is for me to know and you to guess.

This story began like most stories people romanticise in retrospect: two college kids in love with music, mischief, and each other’s company. They were in the same class and were part of the same circle. They were always seen together; planning pranks and walking aimlessly for hours, laughing like time would never run out. And somewhere in the middle of a mountain trail, when he offered his hand to help her cross a ridge, she thought, Maybe I don’t have to do everything alone anymore.

That moment felt like a promise. Not in words. Just in the way he held space for her independence and offered care anyway. It cracked something open in her, something she didn’t know had been sealed shut since childhood.

They fell in love. Or she did.

The story should have ended long before it began to rot.

Unfortunately it did not. And so, after a few years of dating, they got married. And slowly, he stopped walking beside her. Not physically, no. He was still there in the literal sense. But  he had wandered off in every way that  actually mattered. He left her to carry the weight of two families, a job, a home, and the growing silence in between.

He let her burn quietly. Gaslit her when their world struck her with words that wounded deeper than any slap. He watched, shrugged, and called it normal or denied everything and said it never happened. He said he loved her.

But love, she learned, doesn’t ask you to bleed quietly just to keep the peace of one person.

The breaking point wasn’t loud and did not come with announcements or guidelines.

It came when she fell sick and the fever wouldn’t let go for long months. He didn’t check on her. He didn’t help. He didn’t care. The man who once reached out to catch her on rocky mountain trails now wouldn’t so much as lift a finger when she was falling apart.

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

And that’s when the lyrics came to her. Like a cold truth whispered through, Jin’s voice shining as always: 

Don't tell me that you're gonna miss me
Just tell me that you wanna kill me
Don't say that you love me 'cause it hurts the most
You just gotta let me go

Because if this was love, she didn’t want it.

Now, she feels… nothing.

No rage. No heartbreak. Just stillness.

She looks at that chapter like an old coat in the back of her closet — heavy, shapeless, no longer hers. She survived 15 long years with him. She can survive anything. She’s stronger. Sharper. More cynical, maybe, but also less willing to settle for anything less than real.

This story should have never been.
But it was.
And now, it’s hers to end... in truth, not in silence.