August 14, 2026
i opened a pharmacy and it cures nothing
reasonable rates. refunds strictly in vibes.
okay so i opened a shop.
not a real shop. nobody signed a lease. no aunty was harmed. i just sat down one evening, looked at the entire సోది janalu situation, and decided the only correct next step was merchandise. every cinematic universe eventually gets a gift shop. this is mine.
it is called సోది షాపు. the sodi pharmacy and general stores. it sells exactly two categories of thing — clothes for the people who carry సోది proudly, and medicine for the rest of us who have to sit and absorb it. let me give you the tour.
~ the merch counter ~
first, the tee. blush pink, soft cotton, a little brain and a retro computer printed across the front. i call it wear the diagnosis. you put it on and the room understands exactly what it is dealing with before you have said a single word. six hundred and ninety nine rupees to announce your entire personality at the door. honestly a bargain.
then the bottle. frosted glass, six hundred ml, bamboo lid, faintly smug. it exists for one situation only. someone begins an unnecessary monologue, and you take a slow dramatic sip and contribute nothing. hydration as a personality trait. four forty nine.
the davara set is my favourite thing in the store. steel tumbler, steel davara, filter kaapi included spiritually if not literally. this is the official vessel for leaning back and watching the సోది unfold in front of you like a nature documentary you did not ask to narrate. three ninety nine.
and if you cannot choose, there is the starter pack (tee, bottle, davara, all of it bundled) so you can become a walking, sipping, fully merched warning sign. it saves you two hundred and forty eight rupees, which you will immediately spend at the pharmacy, so it evens out.
~ the anti-సోది cabinet ~
this is where i lose the plot a little, and i want to be extremely clear about it before we go any further. the medicine is conceptual. it does not exist as a chemical. it exists as a feeling. please do not put any of it in your actual ear.
the drops are the best seller. two drops in each ear, look away slowly, repeat as the uncle continues. do not exceed the family function. one forty nine.
the lozenges are for the throat, specifically the throat that is about to say something it will regret at a wedding in front of four hundred witnesses. suck one, stay quiet, survive. fifty nine rupees for ten, which works out to roughly one per relative.
the balm you rub on wherever the సోది landed. it does nothing. it smells lovely. sometimes that is the entire cure.
and for the person who has simply had enough, there is the complete anti-సోది kit. all three, together, on offer. i marked it down myself. i am a generous pharmacist.
~ the fine print ~
payment is UPI only, because this is a proud indian establishment and card machines are, frankly, సోది. shipping is india only. the cure, once more, is conceptual. the merch is made to order and completely real. refunds are strictly in vibes. customer service is me, replying to a message, eventually, in whatever mood i happen to be in.
that is the shop.
i built an entire pharmacy to deal with people who talk too much, and then i wrote a blog post about the pharmacy, which is, if you sit with it for even one second, its own small act of సోది. i am aware of this. i have made my peace with it.
come in. buy a tee. take your drops. the doctor is in, sort of.