The itch to write

Sometimes, a report card is more than a collection of numbers. Sometimes, it holds years of struggle, a child's perseverance, a mother's silent prayers, and a beautiful reminder of God's faithfulness. Today, my son came home with his midterm results, and I found myself overwhelmed with emotions I could hardly put into words. He had scored so well, with his marks averaging around 80%. To some, this might seem like an ordinary academic achievement. There are children who score 100 out of 100, and parents who celebrate even higher marks. But for my son, for our family, this is HUGE. Because I know what it took to get here. The Journey Behind the Numbers All his life, my son has tried so hard academically. I have watched him struggle to keep up with his peers, even when he put in so much effort. I have seen how challenging learning could be for him, and I know how often the results failed to reflect the hard work he had invested. As a mother, it is difficult to watch your child...

One little flower bloomed today, quietly, without a sound. And suddenly, my balcony held a little more light, my heart felt a little more warm, and the ordinary felt almost magical. Funny, isn’t it.... how one tiny bloom can make you pause, smile, and believe that perhaps, there is still a little magic hiding in the everyday.  This is that flower from my balcony that turned a ordinary moment into a poem.

  Sometimes, life asks us to wait, much like a flower waiting to bloom. Beneath the soil, where nothing seems to happen, roots are growing deeper, silently gathering strength. Not every season is meant for blooming. Some are meant for patience, some for healing, and some for becoming. There is a couple longing to cradle a child in their arms, whose prayers grow deeper with every passing month. There is a young woman dreaming of marriage, wondering when she will find the hand that is meant to hold hers. There is a young soul standing at the threshold of adulthood, waiting for a career to take flight, uncertain of when the first opportunity will arrive. There is a mother who has spent years nurturing her children, now gathering the courage to step out of the familiar warmth of her home and return to a career of her own. There is someone who, after the unexpected loss of a job, is waiting anxiously for a new beginning, hoping that another door will open where one has closed. Each...

We have grown bewitched with the art of looking young, Of flawless skin and faces untouched by time. We chase the glow, the smoothness, the perfect hue, As though beauty were a thing the years could undo. A thousand steps to preserve a youthful face, A thousand promises of beauty, youth and grace. Yet, in this endless pursuit of perfection, Have we forgotten beauty's true reflection? We worship the skin, the face, the fleeting glow, While neglecting all the things that help us grow. We tend to the surface, so carefully and well, But what of the deeper things that dwell? Care for your heart, your liver, your lungs, The words you speak, the songs you have sung. Your body is more than the face you show; There is so much more to nurture and know. For beyond the skin, beyond the face, Lies a beauty untouched by time's embrace. A beauty that no mirror can reveal, A quiet grace that only the heart can feel. Let the years pass; let the fine lines appear, Let silver strands replace the ...

 It has been 9 years since I married Rohit and became a part of this beautiful family, and in that time I came to know Amma as an all-rounder.  I remember once asking Appa about the collection of awards in the showcase, and he told me that most of them belonged to Amma. From writing to creative thinking, to receiving “Best Employee” awards at Cochin Refinery.. ( thats wher she worked) —she was always at the top in everything she did. I even came across her handwritten recipe book, filled with recipes for many dishes including doughnuts which was uncommon back then. Every page was written with neat handwriting and exact measurements. Rohit often told me how Saturdays at home were almost like a feast when Amma would prepare a variety of new dishes for the family. Food was her love language and she found joy in serving the family.  Amma had a way of finding cute coincidences. Amma told me soemthig she had figured out. she told that all the daughter in laws of the house....

  ​Losing a childhood friend feels like losing a piece of your own history. Our journey began in Baroda, Gujarat, where for three years we played together and our families grew close. Those years created a bond that time could never erase. I still vividly remember how my sister and I, along with Ansu and her little sister, Anju, would play together. We spent so much of our time trying to entertain Anju since she was the smallest among us. ​While life eventually took us on different paths, social media allowed us to find each other again. We exchanged messages and caught glimpses of each other’s lives, always assuming there would be more time to truly catch up. ​The sudden news of Ansu’s passing on December 31st has brought my world to a standstill. It was a heavy, silent shock to lose someone like her. Watching the funeral online broke my heart, especially seeing her parents, her sister Anju, and of course, her husband and child. ​I am holding onto those three years of laughter...