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The Promise I Made on a Quiet Sunday

Three days after writing “ The Mother I’m Afraid of Becoming ,” a strong guilt lingered inside me. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it stayed. I began noticing something uncomfortable — my daughter had been trying her best to be the best version of herself… for me. She had been adjusting to my constant changes. Listening carefully to what I said. Watching me more than I realized. And then it struck me. She wasn’t just listening. She had been imitating me. She screamed at the top of her voice — because that was what I did when I was overwhelmed. She kept a long face when upset — because that was how I reacted in anger. She played alone in the living room — because I stayed in my room, working on my laptop, telling her I was “busy.” If she wasn’t supported, how would she truly understand what was right and what was wrong? That Sunday, something shifted. I sat beside her and read her a story. It was about a little boy who refused to put his toys back in place. Later, ...
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The Night We Searched the City for One Tiny Bangle

On 31st January 2026, my daughter was performing a Durga dance for her annual feast. Her excitement was sky-high. On 30th January, just a day before the event, we received her costume. We opened it carefully, checked every piece — and that’s when we realized something was missing. She didn’t have bangles. For a Durga costume, bangles are not optional. They complete the look. Without wasting time, we rushed to our usual go-to shop — Bombay Sale at Kodiyar Nagar. To our surprise, they didn’t have bangles for a four-year-old. We thought, “Okay, maybe another store.” That “another store” turned into roaming almost every familiar stretch we knew. Kodiyar Nagar. VIP Road. Harni. Amit Circle. Sama. Shop after shop. Not a single store had bangles for such a small child. We were genuinely shocked. How could something so basic be so hard to find? After hours of searching, we finally decided we would somehow manage with the few mismatched ones we had at home. And just when we were...
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When a House Is Demolished, But Memories Stay Standing

I have already written about how much I love my grandfather’s house in Supparayapuram. That house was never just a structure. It was my childhood’s silent witness. Front Entrance But now, it stands half-demolished — fragile, unsafe, and no longer suitable to use. After serious thought and discussion, my father and my chittapa have decided to demolish it completely and build a small new room in its place. Not something grand. Not something modern and flashy. Just something that gives the space life again. When I look at the recent images, my heart feels heavy. I don’t just see broken walls. I see my grandmother walking through the wide kitchen. I see my grandfather sitting outside, lost in thought. I see the lemon tree that stood proudly near the side. The curry leaves plant that always smelled fresh. The huge kitchen — fully equipped even in those days. The water storage “thooti” near the kitchen. The narrow pathway that led to the backyard. Every corner carries a memory...
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The Mother I’m Afraid of Becoming

  I am a mother to a 4.8-year-old girl. And often… I feel like I am not a good mom. I don’t know if other mothers feel this way. But some days, the guilt sits heavy on my chest. It’s just my husband and me managing everything at home. We both work full-time. He goes to the office; I work remotely. He is incredibly supportive. We share responsibilities — cooking, cleaning, caring for our daughter. He has never left me alone in this journey. Because of him, I have been able to build and sustain my career after becoming a mother. If not for his support, I wouldn’t have had the courage to continue working. Since moving to Vadodara, I spend almost 20 hours a day with my daughter. And she imitates everything I do. There are beautiful things she picks up from me. But there’s a darker side too. My temper. My tone. My impatience. My harsh words. Before becoming a mother, I was never around babies much. I didn’t know how to raise one. Some days I manage well. But most days, I ...
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When a Parcel From Office Felt Like a Standing Ovation

Since moving to Vadodara, I’ve been missing office life more than I expected. Not just the work — but the spotlight. The training sessions. The energy of team interactions. The personality development programs. The collaborations. The monthly meetings filled with ideas and debates. I miss the face-to-face conversations with colleagues. The spontaneous brainstorming. The learning that happens in hallways. The feeling of walking into a room full of ambition. When you shift cities, you don’t just change your address. You quietly step away from a version of yourself. In January, our office annual awards took place. For the past two years, I had done the voice-over for the event. This year too, I contributed — but remotely. Sitting miles away, recording from home, sending files back and forth. It felt strange. I missed being on the stage. I missed the lights. I missed the applause. I missed the possibility of either giving an award… or receiving one. I told myself it wa...
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The Quiet Birthday That Meant the Most

Today (18-Feb-2026) was my husband’s birthday. There was no lavish party. No grand dinner outside. Just a simple celebration at home. And somehow, that made it even more special. Last night, without anyone asking her, my daughter had drawn a picture for her dad. The moment I told her in the morning that it was Appa’s birthday, she ran to him and gave him her handmade drawing. Then she proudly declared that she would decorate the house for him. She was beyond excited. The morning felt unusually calm. As always, I packed his lunch — beetroot methi chapati with cauliflower, sweet corn, and cashew gravy. But today, he didn’t have to drop our daughter at school before heading to work. That small change made a big difference. He left home before 8:00 AM and said, almost smiling, that he had eaten peacefully after such a long time. Maybe that was the best gift I gave him this year — a peaceful breakfast and an early start to his day. As he reached the office, birthday messages fro...
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How One School Healed a Memory Another One Broke

Again, the intention is not to compare but sometimes experiences redefine standards. When Kidzee Sayajipura sent a notice about the annual concert, something inside me tightened. It was a paid event. No compulsion. And the class teacher personally asked us if we wished to enroll her. That itself felt different. Respectful. Thoughtful. A big tick. Practice Without Pressure The practice schedules were always within school hours. Only once was it on a Saturday — and we were informed well in advance. Yet deep inside, I was frightened. I was anxious. I had bad dreams. There were moments when I wanted to withdraw her from the program. I wasn’t ready to face another technical failure. I wasn’t ready to relive another invisible performance. I wasn’t ready to fail her again. Every day when I picked my daughter up from school, her class teacher would gently tell me, “She danced well today,” or “She needs a little more practice.” That communication meant everything. The childre...
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