Roots That Never Leave Us: Chapter 5

A Festival and a Truth Too Heavy

In 2013, when my wedding was planned for the following year, we decided to visit the village for the temple festival — the oor kodai.

It was my first time truly experiencing it.

I participated in rituals like Mulai Pari and the grand Thaer Thiruvizha, where the chariot rolled through the village streets.

Food was served three times a day in the temple itself. Those who couldn’t attend — especially the elderly — received food at their homes.

The village still followed traditions with love and care.

But behind my smile, a storm was brewing.

Just before we left for the village, my sister and I had accompanied my mother to the doctor.

That was when we heard the truth.

My mother had a severe heart condition.

She had only a few months to live.

As the drums played at the festival, my heart felt heavy.
As people celebrated life, I was silently preparing for loss.

That festival was both beautiful and painful — joy and sorrow walking side by side.

**To be Continued**

Comments

Tomorrow, My Morning Coffee Will Taste Different

It’s been three weeks since we moved to Vadodara. Every morning since, I’ve unknowingly built a quiet ritual—coffee in hand, eyes on the sky, watching planes take off from Vadodara Airport, which I can see clearly from our balcony. There's something calming about it. Hopeful, even. A small moment of stillness as the world begins to move. But today… today was not like the other days. Around noon, news broke about the Air India crash at Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Airport, Ahmedabad. And everything I felt in those quiet, breezy mornings shattered into something heavier, more fragile. It’s strange how suddenly a routine can take on new meaning and how quickly something comforting can start to feel ominous. My husband used to be a frequent flyer to Ahmedabad in the months before we settled down here. I was right there at that same airport with my dad and daughter, barely three weeks ago. I still remember my first visit to Ahmedabad and I wasn’t particularly excited. It felt temporary. ...

Journaling: A Habit That Became a Lifeline

Journaling has been an inseparable part of my life for over 20 years—almost as natural as brushing my teeth or taking a bath. It’s more than just a habit; it has become an obsession. Every day, I capture my thoughts, emotions, and moments, pouring them into the pages of my diary like an old friend who never judges. Growing up, I was an average student, often overlooked in school and college. My parents weren’t the most supportive, and humiliation became a constant companion, especially in front of family, friends, and neighbours. But amidst all of this, my diary remained my refuge, my safe space, and my most loyal friend. During my school and college days, my diary listened when no one else would. It never ridiculed or belittled me. It saw my laughter, my tears, my struggles—it even stopped me from making drastic decisions at times. If not for my diary, I don't know how I would have survived those years. Reliving the Past Through Old Journals Back then, my diary held stories of joy...

June 15: The Day I Buried My Mother and Met My Daughter

Eleven years ago, on this very day, our family grieved all over again. My mother passed away on May 8, 2015. While the initial rituals were completed within a few days, one final responsibility remained. Since she had been cremated, we decided to take her ashes to our ancestral graveyard, where my great-grandparents and grandparents were buried. On June 15, 2015, we laid her ashes to rest. Along with them went her favorite sarees, her notebook, the pen she always carried, and several belongings that had been a part of her daily life. As we buried those ashes, it felt as though we were saying goodbye to her all over again. Her ashes were the last tangible reminder we had of her, and letting go was not easy. Six years later, in 2021, I was pregnant with my daughter. My due date was June 7, 2021, but God had a different plan. Days passed, and there were no signs of labor. We waited and waited. By June 13, I had crossed 40 weeks, and labor was induced without much success. On the night of ...

Maithily's Scribblings

Search This Blog