Even when she knew she didn’t There is a quiet cruelty in life that no one prepares us for. Not the loud kind. The kind that arrives with noise and chaos.But the silent kind.The kind that sits inside you… and watches you continue as if nothing has changed. She had learned to live with that … Continue reading She Smiled Like She Had Time
Tag: mothers
Before Friends, There Were Strangers
Borrowed courage from unfamiliar hands The first person you ever met was a stranger. You didn’t know her voice, her face, or the meaning of the hand that held you steady while the world rearranged itself around your first cry. She knew you long before you arrived. You knew her only after you needed her. … Continue reading Before Friends, There Were Strangers
The Chair That Stayed Empty
On waiting, words, and the quiet courage of being read There is a chair in my house that has developed a strange habit. It listens. Not in a creepy, haunted-furniture way. More in the patient, indulgent way elders listen to children explaining something obvious as if it were a revelation. The chair sits opposite my … Continue reading The Chair That Stayed Empty
The Morning the Books Arrived
— A quiet milestone — This was not the story I had planned to post this week. That one is still sitting patiently in my drafts. Fully formed, properly punctuated, and mildly offended that it was passed over at the last minute. But then morning happened. And mornings, I’ve learned, have a habit of rewriting … Continue reading The Morning the Books Arrived
A Note Before the Next Story
Because one story was ready to become a book This week, I’m pausing the usual storytelling rhythm. Not because the stories have run out, but because one of them has finally reached its last page. After years of writing fragments, memories, and moments that kept knocking from the inside, I can now say this with … Continue reading A Note Before the Next Story
The Room Where She Died
Echoes from “Autobiography of a Yogi,” held together by memory, love, and the persistence of a scar I can still remember that house, and that room where my mother died, with a clarity that defies the decades. Time usually blurs even our brightest joys, but certain memories remain untouched—as if they belong not to the … Continue reading The Room Where She Died
When a Book Opened a Door
A Quiet Conversation Between the Living and the Loved. It was my friend Vasu who first told me about The Autobiography of a Yogi. He would quote little pieces from it during our conversations—especially whenever I wrote or spoke about my mother. More than once, he said, “You know, Mohan… the way you write, it … Continue reading When a Book Opened a Door
Half the Chaos, Twice the Silence
Great for Toys, Not So Great for Tears People think being an only child is a blessing wrapped in shiny paper.“Lucky kid,” they say. “No sharing! No fighting! No one stealing your snacks!” And yes, on paper, that sounds like a dream. If my father walked in with something that obviously looked like a child’s … Continue reading Half the Chaos, Twice the Silence
When Teachers Were Human
Before screens had answers, hearts did. I don’t usually read WhatsApp forwards.Most of them begin with “Must Read!” — which, to me, is reason enough not to. But one particular forward last week caught my attention.It was about a teacher. Maybe it was the word teacher that stopped me.Or maybe it was because, after all … Continue reading When Teachers Were Human
Eat Something, You Look Thin
The immortal echo of every mother and grandmother People say nothing lasts forever. Clearly, they’ve never met mothers. Or worse, grandmothers. Mothers don’t really die — they simply reappear in upgraded versions, also known as grandmothers. It’s the only promotion in the world where the pay is zero, the job description is vague, but the … Continue reading Eat Something, You Look Thin
The Loaf and the Love
From bakery ovens to childhood memories, and the warmth that endures The best bread in the world is the one you can’t wait to eat. Not the kind that comes sealed in plastic, looking like it was machine-cut by a barber with obsessive symmetry. Not the kind that sits politely in your toaster waiting to … Continue reading The Loaf and the Love
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