Hello. I’m Priyanka.
23. Mumbai-born. Chaos incarnate with a PhD in bad decisions that somehow always work out.

Let’s skip the “Hi, how are you?” and cut to the chase. I’m the girl who’ll show up at your hotel lobby wearing neon sneakers and a Kala Ghoda art festival tote bag, dragging you into a rickshaw before you can ask, “Where are we going?” Spoiler: You’ll end up eating vada pav from a street cart that’s older than my Instagram account while I rant about why Shah Rukh Khan’s 90s hair deserves a national holiday.

Why Me?
Because I’m not here to be your “dream girl.” I’m the one who’ll steal your sunglasses to haggle with a chor bazaar vendor for a broken vinyl player, then play Kishore Kumar on it while the cops show up. Age 23 means I’ve got the stamina to outlast Mumbai’s nightlife and the cynicism to mock its sunrise.

Final Warning:
If you want someone polished, swipe left. If you want a human fireworks show—equal parts spark, noise, and what the hell just happened?—my DMs are open.

P.S. Bring cash for pani puri. And maybe bail money. Just in case.