Maithily's Scribblings

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...

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...

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...

The intention here is not to compare. But the wound is so, so deep that I had to pen this down — hoping that writing it might help me forget… or at least move on. Today, I received a video from Kidzee Sayajipura and saw my daughter dancing in full swing. It was beautifully captured by the school’s professional videographers. Watching her made me happy. But it also triggered something. It pulled me back to those dreadful days — the ones that still haunt me and quietly hurt me from within. Her first performance in Pre-KG was something I eagerly looked forward to as a mother. Like every mother, I was excited beyond words to see her dance on stage. We were seated far from the stage, but we managed to watch her perform. We clicked a few long-distance photos and videos on our phones. The event was live-streamed, and we were assured that a professional HD copy would be available online. We returned home tired but excited. We opened the video to relive the moment. And that’s when my hear...

 That was the name of the first house we stayed in after our marriage — in beautiful Mangalore. Mangalore was magical. Lush greenery everywhere. From our balcony, I could see endless coconut trees, swaying gently in the breeze. The view felt alive — peaceful, fresh, comforting. It was a simple two-bedroom, semi-furnished flat. It had almost everything we needed. More than the furniture or the space, it held our first memories as a married couple — learning each other’s habits, sharing laughter, building routines. I loved staying there. My mom visited us there once. I can still remember her presence in that house — her voice, her warmth, her quiet approval as she saw me settle into this new phase of life. But after she passed away in May 2015, something changed. The same house that once felt full began to feel empty. I started having nightmares. I missed her so deeply that every corner reminded me of her visit. Her absence echoed louder than the silence. And I realised somet...

This happened around the 18th of July, 2014. We were newly married, still learning about each other, slowly trying to become friends before anything else. My husband usually returned home around 8:30 or 9:00 PM. So when the doorbell rang at around 6:00 PM, I casually assumed he had come home early. But when I opened the door, it wasn’t him. It was his colleague, Sharma. He handed me my husband’s mobile charger and casually asked how he was doing. I was confused. I told him my husband hadn’t returned home yet. That’s when he said something that froze me. “There was a small accident at the office. Something fell on his head. He left in the morning itself.” My heart stopped. I didn’t know what to think. Tears started flowing instantly. Seeing me cry, Sharma tried saying something to calm me down and left. With trembling hands, I kept calling my husband. After a few attempts, he finally answered. He said he was at the guest house with his friend — the place where he used to stay ...