Rolly Time

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  • A Walk Through Chueca and Malasaña

    I did not set out with a destination in mind. Some walks are like that. You step outside, turn a corner, and let the city decide where you end up. That afternoon, Madrid led me through Chueca and then gently nudged me towards Malasaña, as if reminding me how easily it shifts its mood without ever losing itself.

    Chueca has a way of always feeling awake. Even when the day is slowing down, the neighbourhood hums quietly in the background. Terraces spill onto pavements. Music escapes through open windows. Conversations overlap and dissolve into one another. I passed rainbow flags hanging from balconies, a little faded by the sun, but still carrying their brightness with confidence. There was something comforting about how unbothered it all felt. Life happening openly, without explanation.

    On a corner terrace, a couple shared a plate of croquetas, leaning in close as if the rest of the street had temporarily disappeared. A few tables down, a group of friends laughed loudly, the kind of laughter that draws attention but never feels intrusive. Somewhere nearby, a saxophone played. I could not see the musician, but the sound threaded itself through the narrow streets effortlessly, turning the walk into something almost cinematic.

    Chueca always feels expressive to me. Not performative, just honest. A place where people take up space as they are. Walking there usually slows me down. It reminds me that cities can be soft as well as loud.

    A short walk later, the energy shifts. Malasaña announces itself differently. The streets feel tighter, more crowded, more restless. Graffiti layers itself over walls like a conversation that has been going on for decades. Bars are darker, louder, less concerned with appearances. Young crowds gather on pavements, cheap beers in hand, stories being told and retold with the kind of urgency that belongs only to the present moment.

    There is a roughness to Malasaña that I have always liked. It feels less polished, more impulsive. Like the city letting its hair down and refusing to tidy up before company arrives. It carries a sense of rebellion, not the loud kind, but the everyday refusal to be neat or predictable.

    What I love about walking between these two neighbourhoods is how naturally Madrid holds both energies. Colour and grit. Celebration and chaos. Tender moments and loud ones. Neither Chueca nor Malasaña feels complete on its own. Together, they remind me that cities, like people, are made up of contradictions that somehow coexist.

    Walking through them always leaves me feeling lighter. As if, for a while, I am not just passing through the city, but moving with it. Borrowing a little of its rhythm. Letting it carry me without asking anything in return.

    — Raulito

  • Learning to Trust My Voice Again

    There was a time when trusting my voice felt natural. I spoke, wrote, expressed, without second-guessing every word. Somewhere along the way, that changed. Not dramatically. Not because of one big moment. It happened slowly, quietly, through years of working, adapting, fitting in, and learning when to soften things, when to stay quiet, when to phrase something differently so it would land better or offend less.

    I did not stop having opinions or thoughts. I just stopped fully trusting them.

    Writing again has been my way back.

    When I started writing consistently, first elsewhere and now here, I did not set out to rediscover anything. I just wanted a place to put my thoughts. A place that did not require permission. A place where I did not have to explain myself before saying what I felt. Over time, something shifted. The more I wrote, the less I edited myself in my head before the words even reached the page.

    I realised how often I had been filtering my own voice. Wondering if this was interesting enough. If that was too much. If anyone would care. If I was allowed to take up this much space with my thoughts. Writing every day, and then every week, taught me something simple and uncomfortable. The voice I was waiting for was already there. I just had to stop interrupting it.

    Trusting your voice again does not mean being loud. It does not mean having hot takes or shouting into the void. For me, it has meant allowing myself to be specific. To talk about food the way I taste it. To talk about books the way they make me feel. To talk about identity without needing to explain or defend it. To write a sentence and not immediately ask myself who it is for.

    Some days, that trust feels solid. Other days, it wobbles. I still wonder if my interests are too varied. If writing about books, then food, then identity, then pop culture makes sense. I still ask myself if anyone out there actually cares what I think. That doubt has not disappeared. But it no longer controls the pen.

    What writing has given me back is a relationship with my own inner voice. One that feels calmer. Kinder. Less rushed. I no longer feel the need to perform clarity before I have it. I let the writing find its shape as I go. Sometimes it is a full post. Sometimes it is just a paragraph that tells the truth well enough for that day.

    Learning to trust my voice again has also meant accepting that it does not need to sound like anyone else’s. It does not need to be optimised, polished, or packaged. It just needs to be honest. When I allow that, something interesting happens. The writing feels lighter. And I feel more like myself.

    I do not know exactly where this will lead. What I do know is that I am no longer waiting to feel ready. I am writing as I am. And for now, that feels like more than enough.

    — Raulito

  • Krachai: A Thai Lunch That Actually Tastes Like Thailand

    Last Saturday, I went to Krachai for lunch with a friend, and it turned into one of those meals that stays with you. Partly because the food was genuinely excellent, partly because it was a delayed birthday gift kind of day, and partly because the restaurant itself has that rare combination: stylish but warm, busy but not chaotic, polished but not stiff.

    Krachai sits on Calle Fernando VI, and on a Saturday lunch it was properly full. Not “a few tables taken” full. Properly booked. The kind of full where you feel like you have made a good decision before you have even opened the menu.

    A quick note, because I love this detail: Krachai’s story is rooted in a very personal bridge between Thailand and Spain, and it shows up in the way the place presents itself, confident and intentional rather than themed.

    The room

    There’s a main floor when you walk in, and then there’s a downstairs space. We were seated downstairs, and honestly, I loved it. The lighting is warm and flattering, the decor feels elegant with Thai touches rather than touristy, and the overall vibe is grown-up. Not shouty. Not “look at me”. Just quietly cool.

    The crowd also matched the room: people who came to eat well, not just take photos and leave.

    What we ordered

    We went for a mix of starters and mains, plus water, and finished with café con leche. Simple, perfect.

    Starters

    Kanom Jeep Kung
    These arrived in a bamboo steamer, and when the lid came off, there was actual steam, like the dish was still breathing. I know that sounds dramatic, but that is what it felt like. They tasted fresh, clean, and properly shrimp-forward. You could actually taste the prawn in each bite instead of it disappearing into generic “dumpling filling”.

    Kai Satay
    I have had a lot of chicken satay in Madrid. Some good, some forgettable, some tragic. This one was easily among the best I’ve had here. The chicken was tender, the char was just enough, and the peanut sauce was the star. Deep, nutty, savoury-sweet, and generous enough that we finished every last bit of it like it was our job.

    Mains

    Kai Pad Ped + Khao Suai (rice)
    This was the dish that made me happiest. The spice level was perfect for me, and I appreciated that the menu is transparent about heat levels so you know what you are getting into. If you are not used to spicy food, it might be a lot for many Spanish palates, but if you are a chilli person, you’ll feel seen. The rice came out hot and fresh, exactly how it should when you are about to mix it into curry.

    Pad Thai Kung
    A proper comfort dish when it’s done well, and this one was done well. It had that gentle touch of sweetness that makes Pad Thai feel glossy and addictive without becoming dessert. Good texture on the noodles, prawns that didn’t feel overcooked, and a balance that kept you taking “one more bite”.

    Extra spice, because of course

    I ordered extra salsa picante, which was basically red chillies in vinegar. Sharp, punchy, and exactly the kind of thing that wakes up your whole face in the best way.

    When I asked for it, the staff did that thing I love: they clocked my energy and basically said, if it’s not spicy enough, tell us and we’ll bring chilli flakes that will take it to another level. That is hospitality with a wink.

    Service

    Service was a big part of why the lunch felt so good.

    They were friendly, attentive, and they explained each dish as it arrived. The only thing to note is that they placed dishes on the table rather than serving onto our plates, so we served ourselves. Personally, I was completely fine with that, especially because everything arrived in a rhythm that made sense.

    The verdict

    Krachai delivered on the two things that matter most to me in Thai food:

    1. Flavour clarity: you can taste what each dish is meant to taste like.
    2. Confidence with heat: spice is not treated like an optional accessory.

    If you want Thai food in Madrid that feels authentic, well-run, and genuinely satisfying, I would absolutely put Krachai on your list.

    And if you go, do not skip the satay.

    Rating: ★★★★½ / 5

    — Raulito

  • The Wheel of Time, Book 5: Thoughts, Feelings, and So Many Spoilers

    (Yes, this is your final warning)

    This post contains full spoilers for The Wheel of Time, Book 5.
    If you haven’t read the book yet, this is your cue to leave now.
    There will be major plot points, character deaths, and endings discussed.
    You’ve been warned. Proceed at your own risk.

    I finished Book 5 and just sat there for a moment, staring into space, trying to process everything I’d just read. The last few chapters are intense in a way that leaves you emotionally wrung out. It ends on such a cliffhanger that my brain simply refused to move on. My thoughts kept circling back to the same questions. Who killed Asmodean? Is Moiraine really gone? What just happened?

    Moiraine’s sacrifice hit me the hardest. I had to reread that entire sequence several times just to understand what actually happened to her. Where did she go? What did she know? And then it really sank in. She knew. She knew this moment was coming. And yet, she still dedicated herself fully to teaching, guiding, and protecting Rand. That quiet goodbye, telling him “you’ll do well”, absolutely broke me. There was something devastating and beautiful about her certainty. I’m still not convinced she’s truly gone, but if she is, that loss left a mark.

    Then there’s Rand. Seeing Aviendha “dead” and the way that loss immediately triggers his raw, terrifying power was one of the most shocking moments in the book. When it said she lay there with her eyes open, I genuinely thought that was it. I remember thinking no, not her, not like this. And then Rand unleashes balefire. That scene left me open-mouthed. It took a moment for everything to click, for the time implications to make sense, and when it did, I was fully in awe. That was the moment Rand truly stepped into his power for me.

    And then, just when you think you’ve had enough emotional whiplash, Asmodean is killed off-page. Just like that. No answers. No closure. Just confusion and frustration. Who did it? Why? That mystery is still living rent-free in my head, and the book has the audacity to just end. I need answers.

    Morgase under Rahvin’s influence was deeply uncomfortable to read. Watching her dress and behave the way she did, stripped of agency and controlled so completely, was disturbing in the worst way. It was meant to be, and it worked. Those scenes made my skin crawl.

    On a more satisfying note, Egwene finally overpowering Nynaeve in Tel’aran’rhiod was incredibly gratifying. Nynaeve was getting increasingly frustrating in this book, constantly blocking herself, refusing to grow, crying, panicking, and trying to boss everyone around while barely holding herself together. Watching Egwene flip that power dynamic and force her to confront the truth felt earned. Honestly, Nynaeve needs to take a breath and calm down. Channeling only when angry is not the flex she thinks it is.

    That said, Nynaeve wasn’t my only frustration. Rand’s refusal to fully accept help drove me mad, especially knowing what ultimately happens to Moiraine. He could have learned so much from her. Been kinder. Listened more. The Aes Sedai politics also continue to feel unnecessarily slow and counterproductive, making everything worse rather than better. And of course, everyone keeping secrets for no real reason remains one of the most exhausting aspects of this series.

    The pacing didn’t always help. This book is long, and there are chapters that absolutely could have been half their length. There were moments where I genuinely wondered if a scene was about to end, only to realise there were still pages to go. It tested my patience more than once.

    The gender dynamics also feel very much of their time. Men are written as stubborn and emotionally clueless. Women as perpetually frustrated or domineering. The endless loops of “men don’t understand women and women don’t understand men” grow tiring quickly, and the romantic misunderstandings drag on longer than they need to. This is where the TV show, in my opinion, handled certain storylines with more nuance.

    World-building wise, I’m both impressed and confused. Five books in, I’m fully immersed in the world, but I still crave more clarity. I want deeper exploration of Lews Therin’s time and the Age of Legends. I want to understand how the world truly broke. I want the Forsaken to feel more like people and less like abstract villains. And I’d love clearer rules around the One Power. The curiosity is there, even if the answers aren’t yet.

    So where does Book 5 land for me overall? Somewhere in the middle of the pack. It has incredibly high highs and some very frustrating lows. It pushed the story forward in meaningful ways, deepened key characters, and delivered some unforgettable moments, even if it sometimes took the long way around to get there.

    I’m definitely excited to pick up Book 6. At the same time, I feel like I need a short break from the series. This kind of long, slow fantasy is best savoured, and I want to come back to it refreshed. Reading The Wheel of Time has already given me something important though. It pulled me back into reading after years away, offering the perfect escape from reality, and reminding me why I’ve always loved fiction.

    For now, I’ll sit with these questions. And yes, I’m still thinking about who killed Asmodean.

    Rating: 3.5 out of 5

    If you’re curious to start or continue the series, you can find The Wheel of Time, Book 5 here*.

    — Raulito

    * As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.

  • How My Mornings Usually Go

    Some mornings, it’s as simple as making chai and standing quietly in the kitchen while the water boils. No scrolling. No planning. Just waiting. Letting my mind arrive before the day does. Sometimes I’ll have the noticias playing softly in the background while I sip my chai, half listening, half still waking up. I try, as much as I can, not to reach for my phone first thing. Not to dive straight into the noise. Those mornings feel slower, more intentional, like I’m easing myself into the day rather than being pulled into it.

    Other mornings look completely different. I wake up and the first thing I do is put music on, loud. Spotify or YouTube blasting while I crank up my coffee machine and get everything ready to make the perfect drip coffee. The kitchen turns into a small concert. I sip my coffee, scroll through social media, catch up on the latest gossip, see what everyone else is doing. Those mornings are more chaotic, more indulgent, but just as real. I don’t always know which version of myself I’ll get when I wake up, and I’ve stopped trying to control that too much.

    Writing fits somewhere in between all of this. It’s become a place I return to when I need clarity, but not in a rigid or disciplined way. Some days it’s just a few lines. Other days it turns into a full page without me noticing the time pass. And sometimes it’s simply sitting with one sentence, adjusting it, rereading it, waiting until it feels honest enough to keep. I don’t force it. I let it meet me where I am. Lately, I’ve also been toying with the idea of writing about more and more different topics, because my interests are so varied. And then, just as quickly, the doubt creeps in. I wonder if anyone else out there would actually care about my thoughts or opinions. I don’t always have an answer to that, but I keep writing anyway.

    Food is another place where all of this shows up clearly. My mixed cultural background has shaped how I eat in ways I don’t even think about anymore. Some mornings I crave a pincho de tortilla, pan con tomate, or a tostada con aguacate. Other days I wake up wanting poha, upma, or a koki for breakfast. And then there are days when the lines blur completely. A butter chicken curry with a barra de pan feels like absolute perfection to me. It makes sense in my world, even if it might look strange to someone else. Food grounds me. It brings memory, comfort, and presence without asking me to explain myself.

    I think what I’m slowly learning is that these rhythms don’t need to be perfect or consistent to matter. Some days are quiet and intentional. Other days are noisy and indulgent. Both belong. What matters is noticing them. Coming back to myself through small choices, familiar tastes, words on a page, or a moment of stillness in the kitchen.

    I don’t need my days to look the same to feel anchored. I just need to keep paying attention.

    — Raulito

  • Madrid Teaches Me How to Stay

    There are cities that teach you how to leave. Madrid taught me how to stay.

    I don’t mean stay in the literal sense, although I have. I mean stay present. Stay grounded. Stay connected to myself even when life feels noisy or demanding. Madrid has a way of doing that without trying. It doesn’t rush you. It doesn’t perform for you. It just exists, confidently, unapologetically, inviting you to find your own rhythm inside it.

    I notice it most when I’m walking without a destination. No plan, no urgency, just letting the streets decide for me. The same streets I’ve walked a thousand times still manage to surprise me. A familiar corner suddenly looks different depending on the light. A café feels warmer in winter. A bench becomes a place to sit and think instead of just a place to pass by. Madrid rewards slowness if you let it.

    Being born here but shaped by other worlds has given me a particular relationship with this city. Madrid is home, but it is also something I continually rediscover. It holds my everyday life, while quietly making room for everything else I carry with me. Other languages. Other memories. Other ways of being. It never asks me to choose between them.

    There is something deeply comforting about that. About belonging without explanation. About being able to exist in a place without having to constantly define yourself. Madrid lets me be complex in a very simple way. It gives me space to think, to observe, to sit with my thoughts without needing to turn them into something productive immediately.

    I think that’s why I write so easily here. The city mirrors the way I want to live and write. Slowly. Honestly. Attentive to small details. Open to change without demanding it. Madrid doesn’t push me forward, but it doesn’t hold me back either. It just walks alongside me.

    Some cities push you to become someone new. Madrid reminds me of who I already am.

    And for now, that feels like exactly what I need.

    — Raulito

  • January Feels Like a Quiet Promise

    January has never felt loud to me. It arrives quietly, almost cautiously. While the world rushes to label it as a fresh start or a clean slate, I’ve always experienced it differently. January feels quieter. Softer. Almost like the year is stretching slowly after a long night’s sleep. Especially these early days, when the decorations are mostly gone, the messages slow down, and everyone seems to be finding their way back into themselves.

    Here in Madrid, and in Spain more generally, it also feels a little different because the celebrations are not quite over yet. We are still aware of the upcoming Reyes festivities, of what’s still to come. Many people are still off work, or taking things slowly until Reyes has passed. There is still a trace of holiday mood in the air. Not loud or chaotic, but present. A sense that we are easing into the year rather than jumping straight into it.

    There is something comforting about January 2. It carries none of the pressure of resolutions or grand declarations. It feels like borrowed time. A pause between what was and what will be. The year is technically new, but nothing has fully begun yet. I like that space. It gives me room to notice how I actually feel before deciding what I want to do with it.

    I’ve never been someone who thrives on sudden reinvention. I prefer gentle shifts. Subtle adjustments. Quiet promises made to myself rather than loud ones announced to the world. January supports that way of being. It invites reflection without demanding action. It allows curiosity without urgency. And right now, that feels exactly right.

    Writing fits into this month naturally. Not as a goal or a challenge, but as a rhythm. A way to check in. A way to stay present. Some days the words come easily. Other days they arrive slowly. Both feel valid here. January doesn’t rush me, and I don’t want to rush it either.

    As I sit with these early days of the year, I find myself less interested in where I’m going and more curious about how I want to move. What pace feels sustainable. What thoughts keep returning. What stories ask to be written. There’s a quiet confidence in allowing things to unfold without forcing them into shape too quickly.

    Maybe that’s the promise January holds for me. Not transformation, but permission. Permission to start slowly. Permission to listen. Permission to build something meaningful one quiet day at a time.

    For now, that’s enough.

    — Raulito

  • Welcome to Rollytime

    Welcome to Rollytime

    A personal corner of the internet, finally mine.

    Welcome. I’m really glad you’re here.

    This space has been a long time coming, even if I only decided to make it real recently.

    For months now, I’ve been writing consistently elsewhere, showing up week after week, sometimes day after day, letting my thoughts spill onto the page without knowing exactly where they would lead. Somewhere along the way, something clicked. Writing stopped feeling like something I did occasionally and started feeling like something I needed. Like a place where I could return to myself.

    And that is how rollytime.com was born.

    Over time, this will become a home for essays, observations, and recommendations rooted in lived experience.

    Before anything else, let me tell you why it’s called rollytime.

    Friends and family have never quite agreed on what to call me. Depending on who you ask, I’m Rolly, Raulito, Rauliii, Raul, Rahul or simply Rah. It changes with mood, language, closeness, and context. Over time, Rolly became the name that felt the most relaxed, the most familiar and the one being used the most. The one that shows up when people are comfortable, when they’re being themselves around me.

    Rollytime is exactly that. Time spent with Rolly… aka moi. Time spent slowing down, talking, thinking, reflecting. Like catching up with a friend, without an agenda.

    That’s the energy I want this space to hold.

    I wanted a place that was entirely my own. Somewhere I could write as much as I wanted, whenever I wanted, without filtering myself or compressing my thoughts to fit a format. A place where I could explore ideas freely, follow curiosity wherever it leads, and offer something a little more direct, a little more personal.

    This site is that space.

    Think of it as my digital living room. Or maybe my journal, left open on the table.

    So, who am I?

    I’m someone who has always lived between worlds. Born and raised in Madrid, with Indian roots that run deep, shaped by family stories that stretch across continents. I grew up moving between cultures, languages, and ways of seeing the world. Spanish is my everyday. Hindi and Sindhi carry memory and ancestry. English connects everything. Along the way, I’ve picked up fragments of other places too.

    All of this lives inside me and inevitably finds its way into my writing.

    I write about identity, belonging, culture, cities, memory, quiet moments, and the small details that often go unnoticed. I write about Madrid, about food, about language, about growing up global and figuring yourself out as you go.

    Sometimes I write reflectively.
    Sometimes playfully.
    Sometimes emotionally.
    Always honestly.

    This site is where all of that gets to coexist.

    Starting today, I’ll be writing here regularly. Sometimes daily, sometimes when inspiration strikes, but always with intention. There are no strict rules here. Just words, curiosity, and a genuine desire to connect.

    If you’ve found your way here, I hope you’ll stick around. Leave a comment. Share a post with someone who might enjoy it. Make this space feel lived in.

    You can also follow me on my other socials if you’d like to keep up between posts. All the links are right here, and I’d love to continue the conversation there too.

    I’m genuinely excited to see how this chapter unfolds. Writing has already given me so much, and this feels like the most natural next step in that journey.

    Thank you for being here at the beginning.

    Welcome to Rollytime.

    — Raulito