Rakshabandhan- the sacred trust!!

Rakshabandhan is a beautiful festival that celebrates the bond between siblings. It's often seen as the brother's duty to protect his sister, but what if that protection goes both ways? This year, as I reflect on my own journey, I’ve come to understand that the truest form of protection is safeguarding our values and the bonds that matter most—even from the very people we call family.

For too long, I kept a painful part of my life locked away, not wanting to revisit the hurt. But this Rakshabandhan, I'm choosing to share my story because I believe it's a truth that needs to be told: not all women are the same, and the strength of a family isn't always what it appears to be.

After my father's passing, my world crumbled. In the midst of my grief, I was faced with an unexpected betrayal . My in-laws saw my sorrow not as a moment for compassion, but as an opportunity for gain. They pressured me to claim a share of my father's property and insurance, trying to manipulate a difficult time for their own benefit.

Their perspective was cold and calculating, rooted in an ambition that was really just greed disguised. They saw material things where I saw human life and connection. I always looked for people who could inspire me, but in this situation, life gave me a different kind of lesson: it taught me what I should never become. As Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam once said, "It is easy to hold others under microscopic lens for their mistake and difficult to find your own." While I am far from perfect, I know that my heart has never been driven by such a pursuit.

The laws in our country are meant to be a shield for women, not a weapon to be used against our loved ones. My personal values are simple yet fierce: I will never, for just money, cause pain or disruption to my family or in-laws ,

I have never sought a lavish life, nor have I ever shied away from hard work. The path I've walked has been difficult, and I've faced moments of frustration. Though I never got that lucky break. Yet, the thought of sacrificing my brothers’ happiness for financial gain is unthinkable. My bond with them is not a transaction; it's a sacred trust.

My in-laws may have judged me for my choices, but I no longer care. They misjudged the woman they thought I was. They believed I was someone who could be swayed by greed, but they failed to see that the ties of my heart run deeper than any inheritance. I pray to the Almighty that the greed of people should reduce so they can see the good in others, and find peace.

This Rakshabandhan, I want to say to all men out there: not every woman is the same. We have different values, different life experiences, and different motivations. Please, take the time to understand the women in your life—your wives and your sisters.  Don't assume that we are all driven by money. What we truly long for is to be seen, appreciated, and respected for who we are.

That, I believe, is the greatest gift we can give each other. It’s a gift that goes beyond a simple thread on a wrist; it’s a promise to protect the peace and love within our hearts, no matter the cost.

A tale of two loves !!

The rain fell in soft sheets outside Suman's balcony, a gentle rhythm accompanying the quiet tears on her cheeks. The smell of wet earth and brewing coffee filled the air, a comfort that only deepened the ache in her heart. Rain always brought her back to Abhinav.

It had been years. She had found the courage to marry, to build a new life with a child and a husband. Yet, this weather, the kind Abhinav used to describe with such romantic detail, brought his memory rushing back. She could almost hear him talking about all the rainy days they’d explore together. But life, relentless and unfeeling, had moved on without him.

Her reality was a stark contrast to those dreams. This morning, like many others, had been a whirlwind. She had woken early to pack her husband's lunch and get their child ready for school, all so he could make it to an important interview. She reminded him multiple times about the time, but he was still late because he didn't finish his chores. When she called to make sure he arrived safely, his words were a punch to the gut: "My interview got rescheduled because of you."

It was a familiar story. The blame always shifted to her. Whether it was being late or a visa being canceled, any failure was her fault. But when things went well, the credit was his and his alone. She had learned to take it, sometimes with silence, sometimes by simply ignoring it. But it always, always brought her back to Abhinav.

In these moments, she felt as if Abhinav was right beside her, whispering the words she desperately needed to hear: "You are brave, my dear. Don't worry, I'm around."

Her heart ached, and she wanted to scream at the sky. Why had her life been spared, while his ended so soon? Why did she have to know such a soothing, calm love, only to be left with a partner who was its complete opposite? She had loved talking to Abhinav; she dreaded talking to her husband. It was an unbearable contrast, a painful reminder of what she had so desperately wanted versus what she had.

And so, on days like this, she would close her eyes and let her mind drift to a future she knew she could never have in this life—a daydream of an afterlife where she and Abhinav would meet again. They'd laugh, they'd joke, and they would look at each other with the sense of coming home. A small smile touched her lips, and she realized her coffee cup was empty. The spell was broken. She went inside, ready to get busy again, to face another day.

DIY planters!!

 

Sharing a few pics of my latest DIYs. This is what I do when I'm utterly bored. Don't laugh—I have to do something to entertain myself! This is where my creative mind takes me.

Nowadays, I don't have much free time, so I don't want to take on more complex tasks because I need time for other things. So, I tried spray painting with acrylic spray bottles and used an acrylic marker pen. It's so easy to transform something old into something new! The photos of my finished work are below. I wanted to make these yellow from their original white color.

I think it's better to spend my time on myself, my home, and my life than to be bored, right? And I'm not a Gen Z who relies on technology alone for entertainment. Sorry, Gen Z, but the idea of being engrossed in AI hasn't appealed to me yet.

Authenticity!!

There was a moment today when I almost skipped writing. The thought flickered: Why bother? But then, something pulled me back, a quiet whisper that felt like an unseen connection, a sense that someone out there might just be listening, understanding, even if they never let me know.

I've heard the advice countless times: "Don't share too much. No one really cares about your happiness, or your struggles." For a long time, a part of me believed it. But a deeper conviction always pushed back, insisting that authenticity is a far better path than living in fear of judgment.

I often write here feeling a certain anonymity, a freedom that comes from knowing it’s unlikely anyone I personally know is reading. This space has felt like a sanctuary from judgment. Yet, lately, a question has been echoing in my mind: "Where did I go wrong?"

I've come to understand that often, it's not just my actions, but my background that plays a role. I don't have the luxury of a safety net, the kind of privilege where mistakes can be easily smoothed over. For me, there's no room for error. One wrong judgment, one misstep, and it feels like years of hard work could simply vanish.

Despite this, I've chosen to take risks. Because without them, how can you truly move forward? Playing it safe, paralyzed by the fear of failure, is, in itself, a form of failure. This applies to everything – your career,  your relationships and your wealth. 

My experience has taught me this: The earlier you take risks, the faster you learn the game. Do you agree?

This blog as a friend: A place without judgement!!

From the moment we're born, our lives are a journey of meeting people—our parents, siblings, and the friends we choose. I’ve always believed that every human relationship, at its core, is a form of friendship. These people love us, challenge us, and sometimes teach us hard lessons. And in their own unique way, each of them shapes who we become.

Some relationships are meant to be a chapter in our story, while others are a lifelong book. Looking back, many of us feel that the best chapters were written during our school and college days. Before the pressures of earning a living and facing "real life" challenges, life felt simpler. The good things seemed to come our way for free, which is why we often romanticize our youth as a time of pure joy.

But let's be honest, those years weren't perfect. We had days of uncertainty, frustration, and sadness. Yet, we pushed through because our hope was high. We were optimistic, even without knowing what the future held. As we age, life’s harsh realities can chip away at that optimism. Our options seem to narrow, and with that, our hope can fade.

This is where faith comes in for me. I believe the concept of God was created to keep that very hope alive. Unlike my two brothers, I find comfort in my faith. It helps me maintain patience and optimism on difficult days. It's also easier to hand over my anger, frustration, and sadness to a higher power rather than blaming the people in my life.

My blog has become a friend to me, a space where I can express my emotions without judgment. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to stumble upon this blog in another life—to read these words without knowing I wrote them. Would I laugh at my past self, or would I think, "Wow, this lady is crazy"?

This thought brings me back to friendship, and something my husband and I disagree on. He doesn't see all relationships as a form of friendship and doesn't seem to value friendship as much as I do. I'm not sure if this is a personal view or a general difference between men and women.

However, I believe how we think isn't determined by gender. Perhaps my husband simply hasn't experienced the value of friendship in the same way I have, especially since it's something that can't be measured in monetary terms. People who are focused on profit and loss may not see the importance of emotions and friendships, but for me, these connections are the most authentic and valuable parts of life. I will always choose them over any material possessions.

Happy friendship day dear blog!!

The good girl vs the girl who got what she wanted !!

 

My friend is a woman of immense strength. Not long ago, she lost her husband, and she is now navigating a world that feels both foreign and financially precarious. But the struggle isn't what you might expect. She is not being supported by her family or in-laws, yet she refuses to ask for a dime. Her family is financially stable—her brother is a professor, his wife a high-ranking officer, and their parents have a handsome pension—but they seem to take her situation for granted.

The problem, I've realized, is that people like her are not wired to show their fear. She doesn't want to admit her vulnerability or ask for a few thousand as "pocket money," even when she could really use it. She feels it's better to manage with her late husband's savings, which I suspect are not very large. I've never asked about her finances, respecting that this is a deeply personal boundary.

What I witness instead is a silent bargain. She has taken on the full-time care of her own child, her brother, and his child, all without any house help. Why does she do this, when her family could easily afford it? Because she doesn't speak up. She has accepted this as the price for a safe roof over her head for herself and her daughter. This is the ultimate expression of her self-respect and stoicism—she would rather endure the pain and exhaustion than compromise her dignity by asking for help.

This, I've come to believe, is the unspoken definition of being "good": you accept the pain, you carry the burdens, and you keep the family's secrets. The moment you break the silence, the moment you advocate for yourself, you are labeled as "bad." Your goodness is measured by how much pain you can silently endure.

But then I think of the girls from our school and college days. The ones who had multiple boyfriends, who accepted expensive gifts, and who always had a backup plan. They were not "good" in the traditional sense. They were assertive, strategic, and unapologetically pursued their desires. Some married their lovers; others, after keeping their options open, chose a partner with more money. One of them even became a model in her 40s. They all seemed to get what they wanted.

This contrast haunts me. Why did one woman's silent sacrifice lead to more pain, while the other's assertive choices led to everything she desired? Was the sacrifice of one simply a different way of getting to the same goal?

I'm left with a question that my heart and mind are still fighting over: Which is the right path? The one of being "good" at the expense of your peace, or the one of achieving your desires at the expense of traditional values? My own heart still clings to the idea of enduring relationships over money, but the world I see tells a different story.

Have you ever faced a similar dilemma? I would love to hear your thoughts.

The world in a hurry!!

 I read somewhere in the news that there has been a sharp increase in mental health issues ever since COVID broke out. Of course, this is now the new normal, I guess.

I want to understand why mental health issues seemed negligible in our previous generation. What made them more suited to adapt to situations, and what involuntarily goes wrong with us, Gen Z, and so forth?

Is it overexposure to data, which makes it a tough challenge for the human mind not to compare itself with others? Or is it because people are becoming more money-minded in comparison to our previous generation? Is it because of FOMO or YOLO? Everyone seems to be in a hurry to achieve, to gain experience of everything. Patience and tolerance are reducing over time. And it's not just my generation, but I see a sharp decrease in our previous generation's ability to harbor patience in old age, too. They sometimes seem to be comparing themselves with us.

Change is the only constant, yet accepting change is the major problem. Everything from infrastructure to the environment is rapidly changing. Things are turning very different in just a span of five years. This rapid growth is also the cause behind our inability to accept the change. Five years seems too soon for the human mind to adjust to all these changes.

When you go back to scriptures, they talk about a time that was slowly changing, but now the situation is very, very different. The safety net people had back then in the form of mental support is no longer available in today's world. Who really bothers about you? You seem to be fighting all alone always. Although you might be surrounded by many, there are very few who really understand you and are willing to make an effort to be available to just talk to you when you need them.

I read somewhere that it just takes eight minutes to console anyone in need. When someone is anxious, just listening to them for eight minutes can make a lot of difference. Yet, no one seems to have those eight minutes. Maybe that's why we now live in modern societies with lots of amenities, yet we suffer alone.

If love be sin!!

If loving's wrong, I did the deed,

You too, with me, planted the seed.

We both were lost, a twisted fate,

One freed, one left to bear the weight.

Why do I ask, then, day by day?

Is pardon's touch so far away?

If tears bring joy, or love's too slight,

Will mercy ever grace my night?

How long, dear Lord, must I endure?

Is kindness truly, surely pure?

This time, I'll try a different way,

Perhaps you'll smile at my new play.

खालीपन!!

 

क्यों मुझको इतना खाली रखा है तुमने?

जब मेरे अरमानों का कुछ होता ही नहीं,

तो इस खालीपन को मैं कैसे गुज़ारूँ?

हर साँस, हर पल, ये कैसा सन्नाटा है?

जीवन की बगिया में, बस सूखा ही छाटा है।

जब भी दिल से कुछ चाहा मैंने,

तुमने वो छीन लिया, कह कर कि वो मेरा नहीं।

क्या मेरा वजूद, बस एक झूठा सपना है?

क्यों हर खुशी पर लगा है तेरा पहरा?

बस इस ज़िंदगी से मुझको इतनी भी चाहत नहीं,

कि तुम इसे मुझसे छीन लो।

मिट्टी का पुतली हूँ, मिट्टी में मिल जाऊँगी,

क्या फ़र्क पड़ेगा, गर आज ही गुज़र जाऊँगी।

Unsealing the past: A letter to my future self!!

Today, while sifting through my wardrobe, I stumbled upon a forgotten letter – addressed to my future self, with strict instructions to "Open only in 2029." Of course, my curiosity got the better of me. Perhaps it was an after-effect of watching "P.S. I Love You" one too many times, but I couldn't resist.

What I found surprised me. It was a blueprint of my ambitions, penned just before I decided to leave my job. It’s peculiar, how my life often takes a complete U-turn precisely when I become too serious or ambitious about something. Things rarely unfold as I meticulously plan. This letter laid out exactly where I envisioned myself by 2029 – professionally, personally, spiritually, and in every other sphere.

Reading it, a wave of irony washed over me. I couldn't help but feel like writing back to my past self, saying, "That's a bit ambitious, isn't it?" Especially since I quit the very job that was supposed to be the launchpad for these dreams. 

What good will come of this detour, I don't know. But I've learned to practice the art of letting go, even of things I deeply desire. Maybe the universe is nudging me to master detachment in this lifetime, even while keeping me firmly rooted within a family, surrounded by all kinds of attachments.

Later in the day, we found ourselves in Hitech City. It's an area I know well, having witnessed its incredible growth firsthand.

I first arrived in Hyderabad with my family around 2000 or 2001. Back then, Cyber Towers, inaugurated in 1999, felt like it was on the city's outskirts. Hyderabad and Secunderabad truly felt like two distinct cities, with far fewer flyovers connecting them.

My next visit was in 2009, this time to join an organization housed in Cyber Towers. I remember that train journey from Bangalore – alone, with three ridiculously large trolley bags. My friend, who was supposed to pick me up, wasn't answering her phone right before I boarded. I was a nervous wreck, imagining myself stranded. Thankfully, she called back at 11:30 PM, having forgotten her phone at office. Can you even imagine someone forgetting their mobile phone nowadays?! When I finally landed early morning, taking an auto to Madhapur where she lived, I was struck by the sheer number of new flyovers from Secunderabad to Madhapur.

Working in Cyber Towers, I remember thinking how it looked so imposing in pictures, yet seemed less grand in person. There were only a handful of IT parks back then, easily countable on one's fingers. Inorbit Mall opened in 2010, and slowly but surely, the space between Cyber Towers and Inorbit began to fill in. The arrival of IKEA seemed to ignite an even more rapid development. It's hard to believe that this entire area, now teeming with towering IT parks that make it feel almost un-Indian, was once just a landscape of boulders.

And yet, despite this rapid growth, I had to quit my job.

Today, I truly missed it. I found myself wishing I could still walk from Cyber Pearl to Inorbit, just like I used to when work got a little too monotonous. Those days are gone.

And it feels like many of my dreams have gone with them. I only wish my life had experienced a steep upward trajectory, mirroring Hyderabad's infrastructure boom, instead of the steep downward curve I've felt.

Shifting my mood: one thread at a time!!

 Today was one of those days where everything felt like an uphill battle. The irritation was palpable, and I just couldn't shake it. But then, in the evening, I stumbled upon a piece of my past that offered an unexpected solace: a pure silk saree I bought during my Bangalore days, about 15 or 16 years ago.

I vividly recall buying a collection of these beautiful silk sarees, each a different design and unique color. Funnily enough, my mother and aunt ended up "claiming" two of them without a word, even though I'd bought them for myself. They both looked stunning in them at my wedding reception, so I couldn't really complain!

I still had two left. One I've worn regularly, but this specific one had been at my in-laws' house for years. I finally brought it back on my last visit and had been experimenting with different blouses. Tonight, however, I was curious to see if it would look better with its original blouse or a contrasting one. This simple, focused activity of styling the saree was incredibly therapeutic. It was like the irritation just melted away.

From there, I moved on to another project: giving a small grocery cabinet a much-needed facelift. It was a time-consuming task, but by the time I finished, I felt a profound sense of calm and accomplishment.

These moments of irritation often stem from a recurring thought: the feeling that people don't truly choose me for who I am. Instead, it feels like I'm chosen only when it's convenient or when they find me useful. It’s a tough realization to sit with.

What’s the answer when people don't choose you? You can't force anyone, can you? I just wish I was inherently "good enough" that they naturally would. And so, another day draws to a close. Perhaps I overthink these things. It's probably not even worth the mental energy, right?

यह नज़र भी उसी को ढूँढती है!!

 यह नज़र भी उसी को ढूँढती है,

जो कभी उसका था ही नहीं।

दिल की गहराई से निकली चाहत,

जिसकी कोई मंज़िल ही नहीं।

तन्हा रातों का वो मुसाफ़िर,

जिसकी कोई हमदम ही नहीं।

ख्वाबों में भी जिसकी परछाई,

हकीकत में जिसकी आहट ही नहीं।

यह नज़र भी उसी को ढूँढती है,

जो कभी उसका था ही नहीं।

Beyond the fairy tale: Family dynamics!!

Following up on my earlier post today, I want to share something deeply personal that has weighed on me. My upbringing was quite unusual for its time. I grew up in a nuclear family, a rarity in an era when large families were the norm. My grandfather was an only child, and I never heard of him having any siblings who might have died at birth, which was a common tragedy back then. An only child was quite the opposite to families with more than six to eight kids. 

My father’s family also faced its share of loss. He had two elder siblings; one passed away shortly after birth, and another at the age of eight from an illness. This left my father and his sister as the only surviving children. Tragically, my grandmother died while giving birth to her fifth child. What was truly uncommon was that my grandfather chose not to remarry, despite being young enough to do so in a society where it was expected.

After my aunt got married, our household naturally became a nuclear family. To add to this, my grandfather passed away the year before I was born. This meant my mother never experienced living with in-laws, nor did she ever have to navigate the complexities of a relationship with a mother-in-law.

When I got married, my understanding of handling in-laws was purely fictional. I had no practical experience, having never witnessed such dynamics at home. It was just what I heard from others, never saw it happen before my eyes. I was genuinely eager to learn how people managed large families, picturing them as vibrant hubs of activity and fun, with endless family functions. And yes, many functions do happen, which is wonderful! But what I hadn't anticipated was the undercurrent of "kitchen politics."

With no interaction with my husband before our wedding, I struggled immensely in the beginning to understand the unspoken rules and navigate who to say what to. Perhaps my innocent demeanor or my ignorance of this family led people to believe I can be easily manipulated, because my expectations of a large, joyful family quickly clashed with the harsh reality I faced. I found myself with a number of mothers-in-law, all seemingly ready to critique everything from my posture to my clothing to every word I uttered or even when I didn't speak at all. 

I have to admit, I now despise the "kitchen politics" so much that I've retreated, choosing to say nothing to anyone. It feels as though I've stagnated in building new relationships within my married life; my closest connections remain the same people I had before marriage.

A growing sense of isolation and loneliness consumes me daily. As a woman, there's an unspoken expectation that my primary attachments should shift from my birth family to my in-laws. But how can I achieve this alone when I'm consistently made to feel like an outsider, even after years of being a part of this family? Can I truly make everyone my own if they're unwilling to embrace me as one of them?

It's easy to hear advice like, "learn to leave the baggage behind if it's burdening you." But the truth is, I often wonder, how much, and what exactly, am I supposed to leave behind? Am I simply a solo traveler on this journey of life? Was it a fault to accept challenges head-on instead of trying to run away? Was it a mistake to hold onto positivity, even when a part of me knew things might not be as ideal as I hoped?

Life often feels like an endless series of problems to solve. Yet, it's those meaningful relationships that are supposed to provide moral support, offer new ideas, and inspire us to explore our abilities. Sadly, in my current situation, this feels unfulfilled. I've come a long way from being positive and believing that divine help would guide my every step, to now feeling quite the opposite. I've reached a point where I've had to accept that many of my dreams may simply remain out of reach.

I've found myself replacing my own aspirations with what was offered to me, even when it didn't truly resonate. Perhaps the first time I did this set a precedent, leading to a recurring pattern. I feel like a fool for understanding this cycle, yet feeling utterly powerless to change it. 

Family ties: sisterhood dynamics!!

I recently watched a powerful video of a woman my age, born the same year as me, openly sharing her struggles on social media. We both grew up in similar tier-3 cities or towns, and it was striking how much our mindsets aligned. Even if her background was more affluent than mine, I immediately connected with her experience.

Though she hadn't yet fully revealed the source of her pain, I had a strong intuition about it. She's a woman with only sisters. This resonated deeply with me because I have several friends from my childhood and college who also grew up in all-girl households. While I still wish I'd had a sister, I've witnessed some of the unique challenges these friends have faced.

I remember my parents talking about how, in their time, families often preferred not to marry their sons to girls who didn't have brothers. The belief was that without brothers, a girl would lack long-term ties to her original family after her parents were gone. One of my closest childhood friends, Kunu, didn't have a brother. Tragically, she passed away at a young age, and the reasons were never entirely clear to me.

Another college friend, who has two elder sisters, often shares the difficulties they've encountered with parental property and the disagreements that arose between the sisters after marriage. In some ways, it makes me feel like they behave more like brothers who drift apart after marriage. Yet, I also see my mother and aunt, both sisters, thoroughly enjoying their old age together. They aren't dependent on us or my cousins; instead, they prefer to live together, chatting about their childhoods in retirement, just like two best friends.

I'm incredibly grateful to the woman who is bravely sharing her story publicly. It takes immense courage to reveal your vulnerabilities and what you've been through. No one's life is a smooth, one-way road filled only with happiness. Most of our lives are marked by numerous U-turns, steep downhill slopes, and only brief periods of effortless upward movement. It's truly difficult to find such genuine openness in people these days.

What are your thoughts on shared experiences and the complexities of family dynamics?

Stuck in First love!!!

 

Never did I dream,

When I was just a teen,

That the love I felt so strong,

Would stay with me for so long.

I wish I could forget,

Erase every regret.

If only I had better luck,

To escape this memory's stuck.

Still, I live in that old dream,

It feels safe, a gentle stream.

My body's grown, but in my head,

Those young thoughts aren't quite dead.

Why did I care so deep,

For something you didn't keep?

It didn't mean much to you,

But for me, it felt so true.

I wish I could be like you,

So easy to let go, it's true.

To find new luck, new love, with grace,

Just like you did, in your own place.

Is solitude truly lonely??

Today was a day for rest and rejuvenation. After a turbulent night's sleep, my mantra was simply to unwind. I found solace in the soulful ghazals of Jagjit Singh, letting his melodies wash over me as I delved into the meaning of each word. It was a day dedicated to enjoying my own company, a much-needed reprieve.

It's interesting how often life seems to echo my thoughts. I've often found my internal questions reflected in the newspaper, and today was no different. An article touched on the very nature of these recurring questions, suggesting they stem from an inherent tendency to compare our life experiences with others. Perhaps it's true; maybe I see those around me navigating life with more apparent ease, wishing for similar moments of joy and success, even as I genuinely celebrate their happiness.

As an eight-year-old, I could never have imagined the complexities and beautiful moments life would throw my way. Yet, when I look to the future, an unknown fear creeps in, a sense of uncertainty about what lies ahead. Maybe everyone harbors these same fears, carefully hidden from view, especially when children are present. I remember, as a teenager, sensing my own parents' anxieties, and from then on, a similar apprehension took root in me. I've managed to navigate through it, but that lingering fear, in hindsight, still troubles me.

This is why I've always yearned for someone who could simply sit with me and understand, even without words. Life, in its peculiar way, did grant me such a connection – someone who could articulate my doubts and fears, but it was, unfortunately, short-lived.

I recall a particularly challenging time when I received two excellent job offers. However, my father's wish for me to marry first led me to decline them. Neither of us could have foreseen that marriage wouldn't bring the satisfaction we hoped for. I genuinely regret not taking those opportunities; at the very least, I could have gained more financial independence during those years. Despite witnessing so many difficult marriages among his peers and even people my age, my father remained remarkably optimistic about my future.

For the sake of his optimism, I reluctantly agreed, stepping into the unknown without a clear vision. To this day, I've managed to put on a good show for others, but deep down, loneliness persists. Perhaps this is why one must never compromise on their fundamental desires from the very beginning. Life will inevitably demand compromises, and one day, the weight of them might become overwhelming. But in those moments, I truly felt I had no other path. I took a chance, hoping for a stroke of good luck.

Is this life just a dream??

An evening spent with scripture recently stirred something deep within me. The text spoke of our earthly existence as merely a dream, an illusion for our soul, not its true reality. The interaction described was between the soul and the divine after death, with the divine declaring, "That was just your illusion, not reality." For a brief moment, those words offered immense comfort, a gentle easing of the ever-present weight of life.

But, as it often does, my mind quickly spun back into the familiar whirlwind of my daily reality. Is this truly an illusion? Or is the meeting with the divine something that awaits us only after death?

Perhaps psychology or philosophy could offer some profound insights, but I'm just a flawed human, grappling to comprehend the vastness of this creation, its intricate balance, and its mysterious trajectory. Yet, in that same moment of reflection, Osho's words resurfaced: "All these scriptures teach us what happens post-death, but not what we should do for a fulfilled life." He has a point. Where is fulfillment? It feels like our human minds are constantly busy manufacturing new desires, and perhaps that's the primary culprit in our inability to feel truly content.

Maybe you're one of the fortunate ones who sees a different picture, whose path is clearer. But I find myself caught in a relentless cycle of one storm after another, desperately trying to discern if it's finally passed or if it's just gathering strength to strike again. I've spent so long striving for happiness by any means necessary, only to realize, much later, that it's simply not going to happen that way.

I honestly wish I could just end this never-ending "bad dream" of mine. When I have a nightmare at night, I can jolt myself awake. Why doesn't that happen in life?

Just yesterday, some senior citizens in my community shared a lovely message about finding happiness in your 60s, and I instinctively forwarded it to my family. My brother's immediate response perfectly captured the irony: "Tell me how to be happy now! I'll worry about my 60s later." My cousins and I shared a good laugh over that. Then, today, one of them sent a list of tests for early cancer detection in your 40s. All I could think was, "Who wants a long life? If you do, go for it. I, for one, don't wish to prolong this." Life, after all, will inevitably end, whether by illness or accident. So, why fear it? Of course, I have no control over life or death. But if I'm meant to survive for a long time, please, just wake me up from this bad dream.

"Just for yourself" truly enough??

Today, I stumbled upon a thought-provoking reel that really made me pause. The speaker made a stark point: if you were no longer here, your position at work, your business, your friends, and even your family would eventually move on. Life, they argued, continues without you. Therefore, the takeaway was clear: we must prioritize caring for ourselves.

It's a valid perspective, and I understand the sentiment behind it. However, a question immediately sprung to mind: what exactly does "caring for ourselves" truly entail, especially when taken to an extreme? While the idea of focusing solely on oneself might sound appealing, I can't help but wonder if it's genuinely fulfilling.

Can we truly be happy in isolation? My immediate answer is no. We are, by nature, social creatures. We need people to share our joys, our laughter, and yes, even our moments of sadness and tears. The notion of going to the cinema or a restaurant alone, while sometimes necessary, often feels more like a concession than a celebration. While we should absolutely be prepared to navigate life independently if circumstances demand it – think traveling or dining solo in a new country – it's rarely a source of sustained enjoyment if it becomes the norm.

Perhaps this is precisely why we're designed to be sociable – to build connections, to share our journeys, and to experience life together. The richness of human experience often lies in the shared moments, the empathetic ear, and the collective support.

This brings to mind another speaker whose words resonated deeply with me. Her suggestion was simple yet profound: give what you feel you lack to others, and you will ultimately attract it into your life. I, for instance, often yearn for someone to truly listen to me. Following her advice, I thought about how I could be a better listener to others, offering compassion and understanding, especially to those facing pain and sorrow.

Shortly after, a friend called. I'd mentioned previously that he'd suffered a paralytic attack, leaving one of his hands impaired, and consequently, he lost his job. His wife now works in a different city, and their child is with maternal grandparents. It's a truly challenging situation, and I expected to hear the weight of his struggles. Yet, to my surprise, I heard a smiling voice on the other end, just as I remembered from our college days. His tone, his way of speaking – nothing had changed.

Despite knowing the immense difficulties he's facing, I found myself unable to directly ask about his situation. I simply listened to what he was saying. While I know the ache he must feel deep down, his ability to project such normalcy was both inspiring and heartbreaking. After a few minutes, we ended our call. I'm aware that many people are dealing with incredible pain, and perhaps my own challenges pale in comparison. Still, I find myself wishing for a bit more luck, a deeper sense of satisfaction and contentment in my own life.

What are your thoughts on finding balance between self-care and our innate need for connection? Share your perspective in the comments below!

Expections vs hope!!

I recently came across a fascinating image: a tree, not thriving in fertile soil, but stubbornly growing in the narrow crevices between two massive boulders. Its roots, against all odds, meticulously trace every tiny gap, gradually widening them. This image resonated deeply with me, mirroring the diverse journeys of human life. Some are born into nurturing environments, much like a sapling in rich soil. Others, however, endure harsh conditions from the very beginning, like that resilient tree.

When the weight of daily life feels overwhelming, I often find myself questioning the divine. Why does intervention seem to arrive only when I'm in the throes of immense pain? Why can't guidance appear before things spiral out of control? Why must suffering precede blessings? And why, oh why, couldn't I have been blessed with a bit more luck from the start? In these moments of agony, the solitude can be deafening, even with others physically present. It feels like no one truly sees or cares about the depth of the struggle.

I’ve heard scholars say that our expectations are the root of our pain. But then, what should I expect? Isn't expectation, in its purest form, a kind of hope? The hope that things will improve after a period of hardship, the expectation that suffering will eventually end. How can one expect nothing yet still remain hopeful? Without hope, where would this imaginative mind wander? And why must life stretch so long that the very thought of not hoping becomes a crushing burden?

Am I transforming into a worse person, or am I evolving into a better one through these trials? I have a multitude of questions, a cascade of "whys" and "hows," but to whom can I pose them? Who possesses the wisdom or the empathy to calm this restless mind? Who is willing to listen to a stream of unanswerable inquiries that seem to lead nowhere? I confess, I'm at a loss. If there truly is a higher power, I plead: unravel these knots, answer these questions, and bring some semblance of peace to this turbulent soul.

What are your thoughts on this perspective? Do you find yourself grappling with similar questions about hope, suffering, and divine intervention?

Ved Vyasa: The Sage, The Epic, The Lineage – Happy Guru Purnima!

Happy Guru Purnima, dear readers! Today, the air is filled with reverence as we celebrate the sacred occasion of Guru Purnima, a day dedicated to honoring our gurus and teachers. It is particularly auspicious as it marks the birthday of the very sage we are about to explore: Rishi Ved Vyasa.

So, let's step back in time, far beyond the confines of our bustling modern lives, to an era where gods walked among men, and sages held the wisdom of the cosmos. Our journey takes us to the heart of ancient India, to unravel the fascinating story of a being whose very existence shaped the destiny of a subcontinent and gifted humanity its most profound epic: Rishi Ved Vyasa.

His life isn't just a biography; it's a saga in itself, woven with threads of divine intervention, profound purpose, and an unyielding commitment to Dharma.

Born of the Waters: The Mystical Dawn of Dwaipayana

Imagine a serene morning on the banks of the mighty Yamuna River. A young, captivating woman named Satyavati, known for her captivating beauty and a peculiar fishy scent (which would soon transform into a divine fragrance), ferried people across the waters. One day, a revered and powerful sage, Parashara, sought passage. He was not just any sage; he possessed foresight and recognized a unique, auspicious moment.

Parashara was drawn to Satyavati, not merely by her beauty, but by the cosmic alignment that indicated the birth of an extraordinary being. With his immense yogic powers, he created a secluded, misty island in the middle of the river, ensuring their privacy. He blessed Satyavati, granting her the boon of a divine fragrance and preserving her maidenhood. From this ethereal union, on that very island, a child was born.

This child was Krishna Dwaipayana – "Krishna" for his dark complexion, and "Dwaipayana" for his island birth. But this was no ordinary birth. The moment he was born, he was not a wailing infant but a fully grown, enlightened being, imbued with immense knowledge and spiritual power. With a promise to his mother that he would return whenever she needed him, he immediately departed for the dense forests and mighty Himalayas to undertake rigorous penance and assimilate the vast cosmic knowledge. Thus began the journey of the one who would eventually be known as Ved Vyasa, the classifier of the Vedas.

The Architect of the Mahabharata: When Ganesha Held the Pen

Centuries passed. Krishna Dwaipayana, now revered as Vyasa, had accomplished monumental feats. He had observed that the human mind was growing weaker, its capacity diminishing, making it difficult to grasp the entirety of the vast, undivided knowledge contained in the single Veda. So, in an act of unparalleled service to humanity, he undertook the colossal task of classifying the Veda into four distinct parts: Rig, Yajur, Sama, and Atharva. This monumental achievement earned him the eternal title of Ved Vyasa.

But his work was far from over. He conceived of an epic, a grand narrative that would encapsulate the essence of Dharma, Artha, Kama, and Moksha – the four pursuits of human life. This would be the story of the Kuru dynasty, a tale of righteous kings, noble warriors, cunning villains, and the ultimate triumph of good over evil: the Mahabharata.

This epic was so vast, so comprehensive, that Vyasa needed a scribe of divine intellect. He meditated upon Lord Brahma, who then advised him to seek the help of Lord Ganesha. Ganesha agreed to write, but with a condition: Vyasa had to dictate continuously, without pause. Vyasa, with his sharp intellect, accepted, but with his own counter-condition: Ganesha must understand every verse before he wrote it. This ingenious exchange allowed Vyasa to compose intricate and complex verses, giving him a moment's pause while Ganesha pondered their meaning, thus allowing Vyasa to formulate the next verses.

Imagine the scene: the great sage, his mind a torrent of wisdom, dictating the verses, and the elephant-headed god, his broken tusk serving as a pen, meticulously inscribing the longest poem known to humanity. It was an act of divine collaboration that gifted us the very fabric of Hindu philosophy and history.

Father to a Dynasty: A Necessity Born of Dharma

Vyasa's life wasn't just about scholarship; it was intertwined with the very lineage whose story he was chronicling. Remember Satyavati, his mother? After her union with Parashara, she later married King Shantanu of Hastinapura. Shantanu's son, Bhishma, took an impossible vow of celibacy, ensuring his father's happiness but leaving the Kuru lineage without an heir. Shantanu's other son, Vichitravirya, died young, also childless.

The Kuru dynasty faced extinction. A desperate Satyavati remembered her powerful son, Vyasa, and invoked his promise. She pleaded with him to ensure the continuation of the royal line through the ancient practice of Niyoga – a custom where a qualified man could beget children with a childless widow for the sole purpose of lineage continuation, driven by duty, not desire.

Vyasa, despite his ascetic nature, agreed out of profound respect for his mother and his deep understanding of Dharma, which mandated the continuation of the royal lineage for the welfare of the kingdom.

 * First, Ambika, Vichitravirya's first wife, was sent to him. Overwhelmed by his austere and intense spiritual aura, she closed her eyes in fear. Consequently, her son, Dhritarashtra, was born blind.

 * Next came Ambalika, the second wife. She turned pale upon seeing Vyasa's formidable presence. Her son, Pandu, was born with a pale complexion and a tendency towards ill-health.

 * Disappointed, Satyavati asked Ambika to try again. But Ambika, still fearful, sent her intelligent maidservant instead. The maidservant approached Vyasa with reverence and calmness. Her son, Vidura, born from this union, was the epitome of wisdom and righteousness, considered an incarnation of Dharma himself.

Thus, Vyasa, the ascetic, the scholar, the divine compiler, also became the biological father of the three pivotal figures who would steer the course of the Mahabharata: the blind king Dhritarashtra, the pale but mighty Pandu, and the wise and just Vidura.

The Eternal Sage and a Serene Reminder

Ved Vyasa is not just a character from a distant past; he is a timeless presence. He is considered one of the Chiranjivis, the immortals who live on for the welfare of humanity. His teachings, embedded in the Mahabharata, the Puranas, and the Brahma Sutras, continue to illuminate the path of Dharma, guiding us through the complexities of life.

It's a testament to his enduring legacy that places associated with him still hold a unique spiritual pull. I remember a particularly memorable visit during my 3rd year of engineering, when I was in Rourkela for a summer course at the Rourkela Steel Plant. I had the opportunity to visit Vedvyas in Rourkela, Odisha. This isn't just a geographical location; it's a unique and serene confluence point of three rivers – Shankha, Koel, and Saraswati (which flows underground). The calm atmosphere, the gentle murmur of the rivers, and the ancient temple complex dedicated to Ved Vyasa create an incredibly peaceful and spiritually uplifting experience. It felt like stepping into a different realm, a tangible connection to the very sage whose stories I'd grown up with. It's truly a spot where you can feel the echoes of ancient wisdom.

His story is a testament to the power of purpose, the depth of spiritual wisdom, and the enduring legacy of a sage who, through his unparalleled contributions, truly became the "Guru of the Universe."

What are your thoughts on this extraordinary sage and the significance of Guru Purnima? Share them in the comments below!

Unconventional approach to motherhood!!

A story I read years ago in a Sunday newspaper has stayed with me ever since, its unsettling details lingering in my mind. I'm not sure why I was so drawn to such narratives back then, but now I wonder if it would have been better to have never encountered them at all. Did they shape me, or simply reveal the harsh realities life can present? Regardless, their imprint remains.

The story revolved around a married, working woman who desperately yearned for a child. Her husband's health condition, however, made conception impossible. Her depression was palpable, even to her colleagues. One day, her boss, a seemingly considerate man, broached the sensitive topic. Hesitantly, she confided in him about her struggles. To her surprise, he invoked a Hindu belief that permits having a child outside of marriage if the partner is unable to conceive. He suggested, "You can have a kid with anyone." When she, perhaps impulsively, asked if he would help, he was taken aback but ultimately agreed. They devised a plan: she would give her husband homeopathic medicine, claiming it would aid conception. Their clandestine encounter in a hotel room led to a successful pregnancy. Her husband, blissfully unaware, attributed their good fortune to the medicine.

Yet, a profound incompleteness settled upon the woman. In her private world, she replayed the intimate moment with her boss, the one that brought her child into existence. They never spoke of it again, remaining colleagues who respected each other's boundaries. Still, the memory of that shared moment continued to haunt her, leaving her with an enduring sense of unfulfillment.

A few months ago, I encountered a similar theme in an Amrita Pritam story. In her narrative, a woman conceives a child with her brother-in-law, raising the child with funds she earned or received from him. Despite her marriage, her affection for her brother-in-law persisted.

More recently, I watched a film about the first IVF procedure, though I only saw half of it. It struck me how thankfully, medical advancements like IVF now offer a path to parenthood, sparing women the need to seek out multiple partners to conceive. The desire to experience parenthood is a fundamental human need, and it should be accessible to all. While some cultures forbid IVF, our own scriptures offer a different perspective. The birth of the Kauravas—99 brothers and one sister—to mother Gandhari in a process akin to IVF, or Kunti and Madri conceiving children with different gods due to Pandu's inability to father, all suggest unconventional paths to procreation. Even Dhritarashtra, Pandu, and Vidura were born from Rishi Vedavyas, and Satyavati, Vedavyas's mother, conceived him with Rishi Parashar, not her husband Santanu.

Despite these historical and mythological precedents, there's a glaring omission: nowhere do these narratives fully explore the emotional and personal toll on women who undertake such journeys simply to have a child. Our scriptures often prioritize societal norms and lineage over the individual needs of a woman. Why is it that a woman's fundamental desire for a complete and satisfying life, encompassing the experience of motherhood, seems to be overlooked? Conversely, if a woman is unable to conceive, the man can simply marry another woman, often taking care of both women. Why is this disparity so prevalent? Atleast he do not have to just have a kid. 

The Game of Love!!

Love, a bargain, it seems, a peculiar art,

Where if you cherish, you play but a small part.

Too available, your worth starts to fade,

The love you deserve, a promise unmade.

Play too cautious, and love slips like sand,

For fading it does, with a careful hand.

Take a bold risk, yet it still takes its flight,

Perhaps too risky, you lose the good fight.

So tell me, dear heart, how is this game won?

For I have failed, and my loving's not done.

Though my love is gone, a part of me yearns,

For the self that was mad, where passion still burns.

That self that cared, and tried to embrace,

Gave its everything, in love's tender space.

Yet I lost in this game, with a heavy, sad sigh,

Still I love the same, as moments go by.

Maturity: A reckoning!!

 Did I truly mature, or did I simply age? This question gnaws at me today, amplified by a newspaper article on aging and maturity. Why couldn't I foresee my present struggles when I was younger? Why did I consistently sideline my own needs, prioritizing the understanding of others? Even when I didn't give people exactly what they wanted, I was always trying to grasp their situations, their states of mind.

Is this maturity, or a profound denial of my own problems, an endless effort to just "understand" others as they are? Was I seeking to please them, or just clinging to the hope that everything would somehow work out? Unlike my peers, why did I always believe "it will be fine"?

Now, I find myself struggling to understand my own needs, to discern what's truly best for me. Am I a fool for thinking I could navigate anything, or for not knowing myself at all?

Do Our Childhood Mistakes Shape Our Future Suffering?

I recently watched a powerful reel featuring a mother of a child with special needs. She candidly shared a profound realization: her current struggles felt like an echo of her past, a consequence of her youthful inability to empathize with her own mother's pain. As a teenager, her father suffered paralysis, rendering him bedridden. Her mother, overwhelmed by the demanding care, desperately needed help. Yet, this woman, then a teen, admitted she didn't grasp the gravity of the situation and often failed to offer timely assistance. She confessed that her present challenges, caring for her own child with special needs, felt like a harsh lesson, a mirroring of the very burden her mother once carried. Her message was clear and deeply appreciated: it's crucial to understand and support those around us.

It takes immense courage to acknowledge personal shortcomings, strive for amends, and then openly share that vulnerability to guide others. However, a nagging question lingered in my mind: Is it truly just for someone to carry the burden of a childhood mistake throughout their entire life? Wasn't witnessing her father's paralysis and the subsequent upheaval a punishment in itself? Surely, it brought immense financial, psychological, and emotional strain to the entire family. They must have, in some way, collectively endured that suffering. To then face a similar, lifelong dependency with her own child – how can this be justified? Is it not cruel that a lack of understanding as a teenager could lead to such a profound and enduring consequence? As I understand it, most religions depict God as all-merciful. So, why would such suffering not be alleviated? Why must a person who so clearly recognizes their past error continue to endure such hardship?

This reflection brought to mind a similar experience from my own life, back when I was in 9th or 10th grade. My aunt, my father's sister, visited and I overheard her comparing her misfortunes to my father's, lamenting her lack of his "fortune." At the time, I couldn't comprehend her pain; I only registered her jealousy. Of course, her life had been incredibly tough. She couldn't continue her studies after my grandmother's passing, married young, and had a much larger family than ours. She too had a child with special needs, all of which fueled her envy. Tragically, she passed away prematurely, unable to cope with the immense pain that ultimately led to her illness.

Where does it all go wrong? Why does God not grant mercy to those who so desperately need it? Sometimes, it feels like a cruel paradox: just as money begets more money, pain seems to beget more pain.

A phantom Love!!

A love in my mind, a phantom so bright,

He laughs with my soul, he holds me so tight.

Always beside me, a comforting guide,

This version of you, where true feelings hide.

But reality calls, a harsh, sudden chime,

It's just me, this vision, a trick of time.

Perhaps you were different, a stranger unknown,

Yet my heart won't release what my mind has sown.

Years fade like whispers, but he lingers on,

This dream I created, at dusk and at dawn.

Was it ever real? I truly can't say,

This love I still carry, come what may.

I question the heavens, why this path for me?

To love what was never, nor meant to be.

What good has this burden, this ache I still bear?

A love unfulfilled, hanging in the air.

Today, understanding, a truth I embrace,

How could I bring joy, or fill your life's space?

My soul etched with sorrow, a constant, deep sign,

If pain was my choice, then you were not mine.

You, meant for triumphs, for dreams to take flight,

And I, to surrender, and fade into light.

So different our paths, no match to be found,

Yet this echo of you, forever profound.

Let me hold this illusion, till memories cease,

Or I, too, am erased, finding ultimate peace.

My unfinished story!!

I wish I'd learned, when I was small,

To set my goals, and give my all.

To hit each target, year by year,

And chase away all doubt and fear.

I wish for siblings, older, wise,

To teach me things before my eyes.

To show me what I ought to do,

And guide my steps the whole way through.

I wish I'd put my looks first, then,

My confidence, again, again.

For girls, a truth, I now can see:

Looks matter most, for you and me.

I wish I'd left before they left,

Before my heart felt so bereft.

To guard myself from feeling deep,

No promises I couldn't keep.

I wish I'd chosen love for me,

Not sacrificed so willingly.

To own my wrongs, with open mind,

No hiding places left behind.

I wish I'd prayed for my own soul,

And made my well-being truly whole.

To know I'm just as worthy, too,

As anyone, in all I do.

I wish for bravery, strong and bold,

A story waiting to unfold.

So many flaws, I carry still,

Yet here I am, by strength and will.

Some find success, and fame so bright,

Then fade away into the night.

They die too soon, their race is done,

But I'm still here, without a sun,

No second chances, yet I stand,

A quiet life, across the land.

I know that after death's embrace,

These lessons learned will leave no trace.

If born again, in future years,

My own words read, might bring forth tears,

Of faults discovered, fresh and new.

So what's the point of all I gain?

This wisdom small, still brings me pain.

I feel so little, though I've known,

A wisdom small, yet all my own.

Dear Lord, This Time, I'm Angry!!

 

It's not often I feel this way, but right now, I'm genuinely angry. Angry at you, my Lord. I wish more than anything I could sit across from you and just get some answers. You've appeared for others, for your devotees. I know I'm not a grand devotee, or someone particularly special. You are out of your abode to meet everyone. But please, tell me: Where did I go wrong?

I look at my friend – she had her fun in college, got divorced a few years back, and now she's getting remarried. Is love and trust really that easy for some? If so, why has it been so incredibly hard for me? Why couldn't I just give up on this seemingly "out of syllabus" life questionnaire that felt impossible from the start? Am I being punished for even attempting it?

My choices have led me down a dark, uncertain path. Why couldn't I have made the same choices as my friends? Even realizing it now, I still don't have the courage to just walk away from everything.

And what about two years ago? Why did you allow something so unrealistic, so ideal for me, to happen? Why did I do something so foolish, something I'd guarded against for years? And last year? If something isn't meant for me, can't you just keep it away? And if there are loose ends, who's cleaning them up, dear Lord? Please don't tell me it's me. I prayed. That was my best.

I know my understanding of what's best for me is limited. I don't have all the answers. So, can't you just protect me? Who do you think is going to? I've even lost faith that you can change anything in my life. So, I'm begging you: Take something from me, resolve whatever I did without your approval. Maybe I make terrible choices, but I still believe you can keep me on the right path. Please, don't let me become someone I never wanted to be.

When life throws stones at you!!

During my college years, a particular quote resonated deeply with me: "If you throw a stone at me, I will carve statues out of it." It felt like a more active, perhaps even defiant, version of the familiar "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."

The first time life truly taught me a lesson through hardship, not through gentle learning, that quote immediately came to mind. I even posted it on my Facebook wall. A friend, perhaps trying to be witty, commented, "So, we should throw stones at you?" It stung, making me question if I was inadvertently inviting negativity into my life.

Since then, my journey has felt less like a stroll through a garden and more like navigating a rocky path. It often feels as though life has thrown more stones my way than it has offered pleasant memories. Despite this, I've consistently tried to embody that quote, reminding myself to keep going and to make the best of every challenging situation.

Yet, a persistent question nags at me: why does it feel like I'm constantly being given "waste" to turn into "best out of waste" projects? Why not the "best out of best"? Imagine the marvelous creations I could build if I had premium materials, rather than expending all my energy transforming scraps into something merely meaningful. When you start with the finest raw materials, the end product is undeniably more appealing than something painstakingly crafted from discarded junk. The effort required to make something worthwhile from waste is immense, and it often struggles to compete with creations born from fresh, high-quality materials. While an occasional "best out of waste" project can be satisfying, it's not a perpetually joyful endeavor.

I hope this metaphor resonates with your own experiences in life. Lately, however, I feel as though I'm drowning in that very "waste garbage." My interest in transforming it into anything meaningful has dwindled. Still, I find myself unable to escape, compelled to continue until something truly extraordinary offers a miraculous way out.

Oh lord of the lord's!!

 Oh, Divine within, my very soul's own core,

You see me bare, know depths I can't explore.

Yet in this knowing, a space I feel, unbound,

A whisper of Your presence, nowhere found.

No plea for boons, no bounty do I seek,

For Your true wisdom, my spirit's humble peak.

This time, no gratitude, no whispered prayer,

But all I am, laid vulnerable and bare.

Take this, I beg, before my spirit shifts,

Before the changing winds bring weary drifts.

Claim all of me, and set my spirit free,

Make haste, dear Lord, for patience fades from me.

I've learned its grace, yet now it slips away,

Before my thoughts condemn me to dismay.

Oh, right my sums, untangle every thread,

Let tears not fall, nor bitter words be said.

Release me now from every binding deed,

In peace, not fragments, plant my final seed.

Accept this offering, swiftly, I implore,

And let me find my peace, forevermore.

When your own mother breaks your heart!!

 I'm reeling from something I read today – a news story about a mother who abandoned her 16-month-old baby for ten days to go on vacation, returning to find the child had cried to death. The sheer lack of remorse from this woman, who was sentenced to life imprisonment, is utterly soul-destroying.

As a mother, this incident has shattered some fundamental beliefs I held. It's a brutal reminder that the capacity for immense cruelty can exist even within a mother. We're so accustomed to elevating mothers to near-divine status in our cultures, celebrating their role as life-givers. And yes, mothers endure incredible pain, they nurture, they care. But this story, and others like it, force me to confront the uncomfortable truth: a mother's love isn't always unconditional. It can wane, or even disappear, especially if a child challenges her will, or if she simply doesn't truly value them. Not every mother embodies goodness.

This profound realization has led me to a crucial wish for my own child. I don't want your love for me to be a default setting, simply because I'm your mother.

My dear child, when you are older and capable of critical thought, if you ever perceive that I've fallen short, I urge you to tell me. Come to me privately and explain where you believe I went wrong. Don't love me blindly. While I promise to always strive to be the best mother I can be, my judgment is not infallible. I'm not the smartest or the wisest, and I will make mistakes.

My only plea is that these important conversations happen in private. As I grow older, I will become more fragile and less able to cope with public humiliation. Our cultures often promote the idea of unconditional parental love, but in reality, it often comes with an unspoken boundary – the limits of a parent's tolerance for a child's independent thoughts and actions. You're too young to grasp the nuances of this now, but it's something we will both learn and grow into. I'll continue to reflect on this and articulate it better as I find the right words.

A mortal's plea to the devine!!

 Sometimes, the world just feels... heavy. The news, the hurt, the way we treat each other. And in those moments, a silent scream rises from deep within. A question, directed to the heavens, that feels too big to even whisper:

Oh, God, If you protect us all,

If you nurture every soul,

Then why the hate, this human mess?

 Why don't you stop this bitterness?

It's a bold question, I know. We're taught of your immense power, your endless grace. But then I look around and wonder:

 Are you so mighty, do you need

To come as Avatar, plant a seed

Of goodness here, on earthly ground?

Can't hearts be changed, without a sound,

From deep inside, where true change lies?

We wait. We suffer. We hope for a better time, a peaceful place. But why does it feel like an infinite journey, a cycle of pain we must endure?

Why must we wait, so very long,

Or die and rise, where we belong,

In peace at last, a sacred space?

If love is truly your embrace,

Why can't we simply reach there now?

And the pain... oh, the pain. Not just the physical, but the soul-deep ache of disappointment, of betrayal, of unforgiveness.

Why must we suffer, bear such weight?

Why does resentment seal our fate?

Why can't a father just forgive,

His child's misstep, and let them live

Without the harshness of a blow?

In those moments, when my spirit aches, and tears threaten to fall, my voice often catches. My mind wants to surrender to the despair, but something deep within refuses to break. It's a silent battle.

Sometimes, it hurts, everywhere I turn,

I want to scream, but lessons learned

Keep voice held back, a silent plea.

My mind gives up, but still I see

No way to stop this pain, it flows.

And so, I ask you, God, wherever you are, listening to the murmurs of our troubled hearts:

Tell me where it ends, how soon, how fast?

When will this shadow finally pass?

When can I truly find release?

When can I finally know your peace?

 "Perhaps the answers aren't simple, but asking the questions is the first step." or "Even in the asking, there's a kind of hope."

Unloved!!

I didn't hate the one I held so dear,

But your love for me just wasn't clear.

You let me go, without a sigh,

No feeling touched you, watching me fly.

It hurts me still, this very day,

I miss what was, come what may.

But I know well, it means to you

Nothing at all, my heart so blue.

So what then, is the greater ache?

To feel such pain, as love forsakes.

To know my love, though strong and true,

Was never quite enough for you.

I forgot what loving truly meant,

Only to learn, when all was rent,

That love is caring, deep and wide,

Even if in your heart, I cannot reside.

And worse, to live, forever bound,

By knowing I'll never again be found

As "enough," in any heart or mind,

A broken piece, left far behind.

Echoes of a Cheerleader

Oh, to be that cheerleader,

The one I yearned to be.

To lift my voice in joyful cheer,

For victories, wild and free.

I miss the taste of sweet success,

Baked by my own two hands.

The special meal, a loving press,

For triumphs across the lands.

But fortune's gaze, it turned away,

No luck for me, it seemed.

My patience tried, my courage frayed,

A path I'd never dreamed.

No grand parades, no quiet joys,

No wins, nor small nor great.

My wishes now, like fading toys,

Succumb to cruelest fate.

Yet sometimes, from the shadows deep,

A memory takes hold.

One person gone, a promise to keep,

My world shattered, stories untold.

And still, I breathe, still here am I.

Alive, beneath a fractured sky.

The Art of waiting!!

 Having tasted life's design,

A wisdom deep, I then did find:

That patience holds a truth divine,

The very core of humankind.

Should cruel words sting, or judgment fall,

'Tis patience that withstands it all.

When cherished bonds begin to pall,

'Tis patience answers freedom's call.

When anger burns, a sudden fire,

'Tis patience calms the wild desire.

When hopes are met with no acquire,

'Tis patience lifts us ever higher.

So let its gentle current keep,

Your spirit flowing, soft and deep.

The Curious Case of the India Post Parcel: A Near Scam Experience

 

Yesterday morning, a message popped up on my phone: "A parcel has been booked for you in India Post." My immediate reaction was a mix of surprise and suspicion. Who would be sending me something via India Post? Then, this morning, another message arrived, stating the parcel was near my location.

My alarm bells were ringing. A few years ago, I'd almost fallen victim to a similar scam involving an unexpected parcel and demands for excise duty. I braced myself, fully expecting a call from a scammer, ready to demand payment for some fabricated customs charge. But a nagging question lingered: how could a scammer generate a legitimate India Post tracking number, one that was actually traceable on their official website? This thought truly bothered me, especially considering how easily such tactics could trick elderly individuals.

As evening approached, my phone rang. A man's voice on the other end announced, "I'm from the post office, and I'm at your door. Please collect your parcel; it's from Amazon." Amazon? My confusion deepened. Since when did Amazon use India Post for deliveries? My recent Amazon order was still showing an expected delivery date of Thursday.

To my immense relief, it wasn't a scam after all! It turns out India Post has partnered with Amazon for deliveries, and surprisingly, they're providing speedy service. It's fantastic to see the government-run India Post, known for its affordable services, adapting to the times.

This whole experience got me thinking about how much India Post has evolved. With the internet boom and the advent of services like IMPS, I doubt many people are still sending money orders. And telegrams? A relic of the past! I remember drafting telegrams in English class back in school; now, I imagine that's been replaced by email drafting lessons.

It's truly a testament to India Post's resilience and adaptability that they're finding new ways to stay relevant in our rapidly changing digital world.

Have you had any surprising experiences with traditional postal services recently? Share your thoughts in the comments below!