Maithily's Scribblings

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 ...

Since I work from home, my daughter often mimics everything I do. I have my office desk set up at home, and right next to it is her little writing desk. While I’m busy typing on my laptop, she quietly sits beside me — reading her books, colouring, or drawing. But the moment I step away for a tea break or even a quick restroom break, she jumps onto my chair. And that’s her moment. She starts typing — or at least, what she believes is typing. To make it more fun for her, I even got her a wireless keyboard. She happily uses it and genuinely believes she’s helping me with my office work. A few days ago, she wanted to do some “real typing.” So I opened Notepad for her. She started pressing random keys — letters, numbers — and looked so focused doing it. Then she said something that made me smile. “Amma, I also want a salary… I’m helping you with office work!” Today, she wanted to try again. This time, I told her to observe what I was doing. She noticed me pressing two keys togeth...

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, ...

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...

  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 ...

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...

Based on my daily experience with my four-year-old daughter... Daily Chaos Honestly, I wish knives became blunt the moment tiny hands touched them. I wish lipstick and nail polish would instantly dry up if kids picked them up. I wish the handwash dispenser allowed exactly one pump—no more, no less. I wish bathrooms were extremely inviting only until bath time was done, and then immediately stopped being interesting. And once they stepped out of the bath, I wish kids magically came out dry , especially the long, dense hair they absolutely refuse to dry, because patience is clearly optional at that age. Very Important Invention A device that tells me the exact time my child will need to use the bathroom. I could plan my entire day around it. Productivity would skyrocket. An I nvisible-to-Kids Rack A rack where chocolates, snacks, juices, and junk food are clearly visible to adults but completely invisible to toddlers. Because no matter where I store these things, they somehow g...

 Parent–Teacher Meetings. Three letters that still make my heart race. When I was a kid, PTMs were never a good day for me. I was an average—sometimes below-average—student, and every meeting followed the same script. Teachers would patiently explain that I needed to work harder. They were kind, mostly. But what waited for me at home was another story altogether. Once we returned, everything I loved was taken away. No TV time. No snacks. No family time. I was isolated with books and expectations, and that routine continued until the next PTM—where the cycle would repeat again. At one point, my teachers themselves started worrying about PTMs. If I failed, I’d be yelled at in school, in front of other parents. If I just managed to pass with bare minimum marks, I’d still be yelled at. That’s something teachers usually discourage, but it happened anyway. And the worst part? Once the PTM was over, the teasing began. Students would talk about how my parents reacted. How I st...

Childhood experiences shape us in ways we may not fully realize until much later in life. Incidents involving inappropriate behavior can leave lasting emotional scars, sometimes surfacing years or even decades later. As parents, our role is to create an environment where our children feel safe, heard, and protected. If a child expresses discomfort about a person or reports an incident of inappropriate touch, how we respond can make all the difference in their healing and trust in us. Here’s what you can do to support them: Believe them: Dismissing their words or doubting them can be more damaging than the incident itself. Let them know you trust them. Stay calm and supportive: Your child may already feel scared, confused, or ashamed. Your reaction should be one of reassurance, not panic or blame. Avoid shame or guilt: Never make them feel responsible for what happened. The focus should be on their safety and emotional well-being. Educate yourself: If you are unsure how to handle su...