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On the loss, the pain and what’s left behind.

It’s been 15 years since I lost the privilege of calling someone “Mummy.” She passed away peacefully on this day, 15 years ago.

I still vividly remember the phone call that morning. It was a regular weekday when Pappa called.

“She’s gone. It’s over.”

His words were followed by silence. I mumbled a few words, told him we were coming, and hung up.

I walked into the restroom, turned on the faucet, and stared at the water pouring into the sink. My eyes filled with tears.

My mom was gone. She had left this plane. There was no one left to call ‘Mummy’. Just an echo of the word, suspended in a void.

For the last 30 days, we knew this was inevitable.

For the last three years, we lived with the weight of knowing this was coming. Yet, until the very end, we clung to an unexplainable hope—a hope that the divine or the universe might intervene with a miracle, bringing her back. Back to the caring woman who filled our lives with love.

For the past three years, I had hoped for a glimpse of the Mummy who could see this beautiful, messy world, watch cooking videos, and excitedly take notes.

She had lost her vision and was fumbling in the dark and grappling to find her way, literally.

She was losing control over her body and struggling to do the tasks that once were second nature to her.

I longed for the old Mummy—the one who was always dressed elegantly, bustling around, cooking delicious meals, tidying up messes, decluttering the home, and somehow keeping it spic and span, no matter what.

But she was slipping away, day by day. Dozing off on the sofa, in our living room with her head resting on the armrest, for hours on end, unaware of how the rest of the family moved through our daily routines.

She used to be so poised, always mindful of her appearance. Now, she can’t care for herself anymore. Simple tasks—like draping a saree she had worn a thousand times—became impossible without help from me or the cooking aunty.

During the three years of her sickness, I saw the house I spent all my life, transforming.

Mummy curated our home where every corner was delightfully arranged, drawing your eye to linger a little longer. I often wonder where she got her ideas from. This was before Pinterest, Instagram, or YouTube and she hardly stepped out of our small town in South Kerala, except for the two times she visited us in the U.S. much later in her life.

When she was gone, that magic faded. And the house began to lose the charm and sparkle it once had when Mummy was there.

Slowly, it turned into Pappa’s home. It went from being meticulously arranged to overflowing with his ever-growing collection of books, papers, and magazines.

Every corner slowly gathered dust, missing the touch she once infused.

The once beautiful Pothos plants in the corners have withered.

The shiny brass containers are piled up, stacked aimlessly.

Electricity bills, old wedding invitations, and newspaper receipts overflow from the drawers of the TV stand.

Photos are placed haphazardly.

The wooden statues she once arranged with care are now merely standing in line as if awaiting orders from their military commander. They are moved around every time the cleaning aunty dusts the end tables. They seem to have lost their bearings, just like me.

The prayer room, once cleaned daily with wilted flowers replaced without fail, now has a pile of dried flowers in the corner. My dad does his best to declutter it, but his eyes have always skimmed past the mess.

The Godrej shelves are now crammed with my dad’s shirts and pants.

Most of her beautiful saree collection is gone except for one or two—some given away to the cooking aunty, who’s been looking after her for the past three years. The most gorgeous ones found their place in my closet in San Jose. I now wear them with trendy blouses.

The green Pattu saree has a stain on the pallu pleats—perhaps from the chutney that dripped as she savored a chicken cutlet.

I still wear her jewelry, always drawn to her simple yet intricate choices. She had carefully wrapped each piece in old handkerchiefs, tucked them into tattered jewelry boxes and worn velvet pouches, and stored them safely in the bank locker. Now, they have made their way across the world and rest in mine. The cases have been replaced with new ones from Amazon, neatly organized.

Yet every time I wear her jewelry and trace the delicate patterns with my fingers, I can’t bring myself to think about the joy she must have felt when she collected each piece.

Every time I wear her jewelry or saree, I can almost feel her warmth, her soft skin brushing against the fabric.

Not a day goes by without me thinking about her, in small or big ways.

I was very close to her. I miss her every day.

I miss telling her the little things in my life. I miss hearing about how her day went. I miss hugging her, holding her hands, and laughing with her.

I miss sharing the new songs that I am listening to.

I miss her soft voice. I miss my daily video chats with her on the spotty Skype calls.

I miss the way she decorated our home. I miss finding new knick knacks displayed all around our home, every time we traveled back to India. Some of her collections have made their way to my home in California, as a memory of her.

I miss raiding her closet for new sarees I can bring back.

I miss buying gifts for her, to take on my next trip to India.

I miss her cooking—the aroma of her chicken biryani, the sight of her moving through our kitchen, still etched in my memory.

I miss her desserts. Every time we visited India, she would prepare sweet treats—laddoos, barfis, and the besan fudge—carefully packing them into containers. They were irresistibly delicious, perfectly crunchy, and infused with the aroma of fresh ghee.

In 15 years, so much has changed.

I wish she could have experienced the internet—she would have loved discovering new recipes and following Martha Stewart and Emeril. Those were her favorite shows. She would have enjoyed exploring new recipes on Pinterest and cooking for my son and husband.

I wish she had lived in a world of WhatsApp calls—I would have loved to video chat with her every day. I still remember the Skype calls, where all we ever did was repeat, ‘Can you hear me now?’ reconnecting again and again, just to keep the connection alive.

I wish I could share my music videos with her, ask her how I’m doing with my singing, and even get her take on how I dressed.

When she was gone I realized how much of her presence I had taken for granted, in her absence.

I would have loved to take trips with her when I visited India, especially Bangalore, to go wild shopping for new sarees and explore all the best stores together. I always admired her choices—15 years ago, they were impeccable, and even now, when I wear those sarees, I get endless compliments.

I would have loved to bring her to San Jose, to experience the cold and explore the places around here. I would have taken her shopping, and shown her all the sights. She would have adored Marshalls and Home Goods, discovering the beautiful handcrafted items on the shelves, and touching each one.

I would have loved to cook for her and drink chai together in the backyard.

Visiting India to see my parents used to be something I eagerly looked forward to—a chance to share special moments with her.

Now, it feels more like a chore, a ritual to check in on Pappa, to briefly restore a sense of order before everything slips back to the way it was. An order that would never have been approved by Mummy, but it’s the best we can do.

The excitement of shopping for India has faded. Now, I do the basic shopping for the people who help sustain my dad’s life in India until I can get there, in an emergency. I love them all, but nothing can replace Mummy’s presence and the joy of shopping for her.

The home has become a haven for dust. When she was here, she cleaned and cleaned, ensuring the house was spotless every day.

I wish she had rested a bit more.

Now, all I see is clutter everywhere—papers and magazines scattered around.

Somehow, my dad finds solace in this chaos. Maybe that’s his superpower—finding comfort in the mess, rather than worrying or missing her. He finds peace in the space and seeks his comfort in spirituality and prayer.

The plants are all gone.

The brass containers have lost their luster, their shine faded beneath layers of dust. Shoved into the storeroom, they sit forgotten in the dark.

All the precious cutlery, plates, and bowls she collected are stacked on the kitchen cabinet shelves. The collection has dwindled. Some are gone—maybe one of the cooking aunties took them. The glass plates with intricate rose petal designs were her favorites. I plan to bring those to my home in San Jose, so I can have a piece of her with me.

The kitchen, where everything used to be neatly organized—the spices stacked in labeled steel containers on the racks—is now in disarray. The cardamom container holds cinnamon sticks, and the turmeric powder jar is filled with peppercorns.

Things are messy, but the wheels keep turning.

For a long time, I argued with Pappa about how messy the home had become. Now that he is 81, I no longer do that. I’ve found peace in knowing he can find solace amid the chaos.

It was her kingdom once, where she ruled with grace. She decided where everything went, what came into the house, and what was discarded. Now, she’s gone, and with her, the beauty and order. Pappa is the caretaker now. This is his home now.

Everyone is doing the best they can with what they have. My dad hasn’t complained about anything. He’s let go of what was and has resigned himself to live in what is now, in this new form.

I was always close to my mom’s family, but when she passed away, that connection faded. We drifted apart for years, a radio silence on both sides.

She was the thread that held us together—something I never realized until she was gone.

Without her, and with the complexities of family dynamics, everything blurred. It took years, and the help of technology, to reconnect through messages. But I haven’t seen them in person for so long. My trips to India are now about managing my dad and keeping things in order, and in the process, I’ve lost touch with that part of my memories.

There are so many things I want to tell Mummy. There are so many things I want to ask her.

There are so many stories that I will never know without her telling me and they are now lost forever.

I wonder where she is now, how she is doing.

I wonder how she would have aged, how her wrinkled skin would feel, how her silver hair would show.

I wonder how my trips to India would be different if she was around.

I wonder how her visits to California would be. I would have loved to show her around the city and try out new cuisines with her. Would she have played with my fluffy doodle?

I wonder if I got my interest in singing from her. I never heard her sing except for the bhajans she participated in during her last few years. I remember she had a soft voice.

I watched for years as she cooked delicious new recipes for us. I wish I had cooked more for her.

Now, I understand how hard it must have been for her when I left the country. She never complained, never told me.

It took me 18 years to understand what she must have felt when my son left for college. That empty feeling. How much she must have missed me.

I still remember on my wedding day, she was unusually quiet. Now, I know why.

I wish I knew then what I know now.

It broke my heart to watch her go through the surgeries and treatments and fight cancer bravely and gracefully. Losing her was the toughest thing I ever experienced. I wish I held her hand longer, I wish I hugged her more.

Becoming a mom myself has given me a new level of respect for the things that she went through in raising me. Now I know how much I have to be thankful for.

I am so grateful for all the sacrifices she made to give me this life. I’m forever thankful for the lessons that still keep coming.

I wouldn’t be me without her.

I am slowly morphing into her- from how I decorate my home and keep it organized, sprucing up every corner with pothos, to embracing a slow, unhurried way of being.
I see traces of her in everything I do.

Even my jewelry choices and the colors in my wardrobe are shifting toward her taste.

She had an elegance, a simple yet refined less-is-more style, and as I approach 50, I find myself turning into that.

She used to lead bhajans at the temple, and here I am, singing as a hobby. She loved interior decorating and that’s exactly what I do in my small home in California. I’m quiet like she was, but I come alive in the right company. She was the same. She adored her family; her siblings were her world. I was her world. She loved me immensely.

I am grateful for all the vacations we took together, all the time we got to spend together, and all the shopping we did together.

I miss you, mummy. Wherever you are, I hope you are happy and well-rested and enjoying your time with your siblings and your parents.

I had no idea when I clicked that last picture of you, that that would be the last. It is now a framed memory hanging in my home office where I pause every morning to greet you.

I had no idea our last vacation would be the last one, how everything would change forever and take you away.

I wish I had stayed longer.

I wish I knew that time was not always on our side.

XO

On holidays, lights, consumption and the magic of winter

Growing up in South India, I had no memories of or knew what winter really meant. South India was known for its monsoon season and the heavy rains and winters are mostly mild or nonexistent.

I only knew it through Bollywood movies, where heroines clad in a flimsy chiffon saree and heroes in fluffy sweaters and trench coats danced against snowy mountain backdrops.

When I moved to the US, I experienced snow for the first time when living in our small apartment in Dallas.

It was magical. I was ecstatic to see snowflakes drop from the sky and it felt like stepping into a magical movie scene.

There’s something so special about experiencing something for the first time, especially when it’s better than what you’ve seen on screen.

I captured the moments with my bulky Minolta analog camera and braved the cold for those iconic snowy pictures I had dreamt about all my teen years. Except I was bundled up in layers, wearing my jacket, gloves, and beanie and my hubby refused to dance around with me or carry me in his arms like a Bollywood hero. Nevertheless I felt like a movie heroine.

Now after living in the US pretty much all my adult life, winter has come to mean comfort and warmth for me. It’s about staying in my PJs, sipping chai, snacking on store-bought treats, and reading a good book with jazz playing softly in the background. I love watching the cheesy Xmas movies, cooking meals with my hubby, and taking walks with Coco and exploring the neighborhood when there is a respite from the rains.

Home feels extra special this time of year, with the Christmas tree and string lights creating a cozy glow. I avoid traveling during this time when airports are crowded and flights are delayed—I’d rather enjoy the peace and quiet of my home.

Winter also means gathering with friends for parties, making that one dish I choose from the potluck menu, and savoring moments in the kitchen—slicing onions, frying nuts in ghee, stirring curries, and adjusting the flavors.

My favorite part of this season is indulging in plum cakes (which is a traditional Holiday treat in Kerala, South India -where I hail from) —rich, delicious, soaked in rum and loaded with fruits and nuts and tutti-frutti. While I am not much of a baker, my friends are, and the parties are filled with baked cakes and appetizers.

It’s a season filled with laughter, food, games, gifts, and lots of pictures, from Christmas celebrations to New Year’s Eve. For me, it’s all about being with the people I love.

Driving around the neighborhood is a visual treat, with homes adorned in twinkling Christmas lights and decorations. The cold, wet streets come alive with festive cheer, the homes are sparkling with the colorful lights, and the inflated Santa with his reindeers.

Music fills the air—from coffee shops to malls to homes. It creates such a joyful spirit, as long as you can look past the crowded stores and stressed-out shoppers rushing to complete their gift lists.

Winter is also a time for clearing the clutter at home, setting goals, creating vision boards, and dreaming about what’s to come.

While the world outside feels chaotic, I retreat into my cozy cocoon with my family, hibernating and finding peace. I journal a lot during this season, embracing the beauty of an ordinary, mundane life. Occasionally, I step out to connect with friends and loved ones, but mostly, this season is about turning inward and preparing for the year to come.

The trees stand bare, their branches wilted, with no leaves or flowers to brighten the landscape. I miss the colors of nature, but I understand she needs this time to rest, settle, and gather strength before bursting into life again in spring.

It’s a beautiful reminder that we, too, need to slow down and take a pause—to rest, reflect, and recharge.

But do we?

In the rush of our lives, we often forget to honor these natural rhythms, pushing ourselves to keep going when we should be embracing stillness, just like the Earth does.

I often wonder why people don’t slow down and savor this magical time instead of racing for the best deals.

The crowds and the rush during this season often show how much people overdo things and buy more than they need.

The superficiality of the season can be so troubling. Do kids really need so many gifts?

From white elephant exchanges to endless games, we create an overwhelming amount of waste. The trash cans in the neighborhood, overflowing with packaging and discarded items, are a stark reminder of this excess.

I read somewhere that this time of year generates the most waste—wrapping paper, packaging materials, and more.

This makes me sad:-(

It’s disheartening to see the strain this places on Mother Earth. While she needs rest and renewal, people continue to pile on excess, making it harder for her to heal.

It’s a stark reminder of how we often miss the essence of the season—simplicity, gratitude, and care for each other and our planet. And instead leave behind a trail of waste that lingers far longer than the fleeting joy of these material gifts.

It’s hard not to notice the Amazon trucks constantly driving through the neighborhood, often multiple times a day. I can’t help but wonder if the drivers truly appreciate the season, considering the overtime and the frantic pace they’re working at. Meanwhile, the hurried shoppers seem more focused on ticking off items from their lists, trying to play Santa for their kids, but not always with kindness or patience.

The season feels more about the transaction than the true meaning of giving.

When the house is full of my loved ones, there’s so much work to do, but I choose to let go of perfection. I remind myself that many families are alone or struggling during this season. I say a prayer for them, hoping they find solace in some way.

This time fills me with a deeper sense of gratitude. It’s what keeps me going—appreciating the messy floor as a sign of everyone playing and enjoying themselves. Thank you, God, for these moments, for this love, and for the joy of togetherness.

The endless laundry means we have warm clothes and PJs to keep us comfortable—thank you, God, for that.

The constant dishes and loading and unloading the dishwasher means there are people around me, enjoying the meals I make, and we’re sharing these moments together—thank you, God, for that.

Instead of stressing about my son’s unmade bed, I’m grateful for a family that’s together.

Instead of whining about cooking yet another meal, I take comfort in having a family to cook for—a husband and son who love what I make.

I try to fill my days with appreciation for everything I have, and gratitude for the small moments that make my life so rich instead of focusing on the tasks I need to complete.

I remind myself that I get to do these things, and somewhere, someone is wishing they had the same opportunities.

The lights everywhere add a special magic to this season, making everything feel brighter and sparklier.

Fairy lights, especially, bring a festive charm. In our living room, they stretch across the walls, casting a warm, cozy glow. I love coming down the stairs in the quiet of the morning to see them flickering softly. At night, when all is still, the fairy lights shimmer, and the Christmas tree sparkles, creating a serene and peaceful ambiance.

I love cuddling up with Coco under a thick blanket by the Christmas tree lights, reading a few pages before heading to bed. Before walking into my bedroom, I always pause to take one last look at the twinkling lights—a small, magical moment that fills my heart with joy.

Driving into our neighborhood, I catch glimpses of fairy lights and Christmas trees twinkling outside, and it makes my heart sing “Falalala.”

Candlelight adds such a cozy, peaceful vibe to this season. I love lighting my cinnamon candles when we have guests—it fills the air with warmth and a comforting scent. I also enjoy bringing a few candles as hostess gifts when I visit friends for their Christmas parties, sharing that cozy feeling with them.

One of my favorite moments is sitting on my prayer meditation pillow, with the soft flicker of candlelight around me, chanting my mantras and prayers. The gentle glow of the candles creates the perfect atmosphere to give thanks, and pray that the year ahead is just as beautiful as the previous one.

The lamplights turn on earlier than usual, casting a warm glow on the neighborhood. Walking Coco, I let him sniff around to read his “pee mail,” while I steal a few extra seconds to stand under the lamplight, feeling the cold breeze, watching the dried-out trees, and crunching the leaves beneath my feet. The street is wet from winter rains, and the world feels quieter than usual.

Driveways are fuller than normal, and as I stand under the lamplight, I catch glimpses of neighbors’ homes—families and friends huddled together, laughing with cocktails in hand. Merry truly is this time of year. I can smell the delicious curry drifting from my neighbor’s house, knowing she’s cooking up special meals for her friends. I’m sure I’ll be lucky enough to get some tomorrow. She loves me too well!

The moon glimmers on those dark winter evenings, casting its soft light over the decorations in the neighborhood and the bushes. Driving with the moonroof open, we catch a glimpse of the full moon. No matter how many lights the world has, moonlight holds a special kind of magic.

Even with all the string lights and fairy lights around, the sight of the full moon is breathtaking in its own way. I can’t help but pause for a moment, taking in her beauty.

There are so many lights in the world, but what about the light inside of us? Is it shimmering? Is it sparkly? Is it even glowing?

This is the time we bring out all the lights stored away in garage boxes, dust them off, and let them shine. But what about the light within us? Why not bring that out too and let it shine brighter?

We light up our homes, and the neighborhood with twinkling lights, but I wonder—are we nurturing the light within us? Or are we weighed down by the endless to-do lists, the pressure of holidays, and the looming new year with its goals and expectations?

Why can’t we just let ourselves shine as we are—glorious, shimmery, and still?

Why not let our lights radiate without trying to chase perfection?

What if our inner light could be a beacon for those rushing and struggling to pause and admire the beauty in themselves and the world.

If we let our light shine brightly, maybe it would inspire others to reflect, to shine, and to embrace their magic too.

What if we are the lights? What if our light, when shared, makes the world brighter and better for everyone around us? It’s not just about taking in the lights outside but also honoring the light within.

Smile a little more, show kindness, let someone go ahead of us, give a thoughtful gift—small ways to let our inner light brighten someone’s day.

Maybe this season is a chance to do just that. To make the holidays not just brighter with decorations but warmer with our actions.

Christmas and the holidays don’t have to be about stress, shopping, and ticking items off a list. They can be about shining from within—spreading cheer, kindness, and joy.

Just as we string lights around our homes, let’s remember to share the light within us. Let it sparkle in ways that make the season better, brighter, and merrier for everyone around us.

Happy Holidays and a very Happy New Year 2025!

The story of a quiet girl, an orange car and the power of choosing

Before we dive into the saga of the orange car, let’s journey back to a small town in Kerala, South India. Amidst the ancient temples, tall coconut trees, and lush greenery, lived a small family in a cozy home. The family consisted of a stay-at-home mom who loved cooking and decorating, a dad with his medical practice, and their little girl.

As an only child, she was pampered by her parents.

Mummy would cook her favorite chicken biryani and bake sponge cakes for special occasions. Pappa would sit with her and listen to her classroom adventures, even when a room full of patients was waiting.

The little girl loved sketching and scribbling in her journals, cutting out pictures of beautiful landscapes and cute animals from the pamphlets Pappa received from the medical reps.

She spent hours with her journals, drawing books, and colored pencils, making handmade greeting cards for her family. She dreamed up autobiographies for inanimate objects, giving each one a life and a story. She lived in her world of imagination and books. Her neighbor Aunty often caught her in conversation with the plants and trees outside her bedroom window.

Pappa and Mummy always chose what they thought was best for her. She was never asked for her opinion but was happy and content with whatever she was given. She rarely stopped to wonder if she wanted something different.

She was good at Math and Science, though they were never her favorite subjects. Her parents encouraged her so much in those subjects that she came to believe that she was supposed to favor Math and Science.

Whenever she brought home high scores, her parents beamed with pride, and she felt a sense of achievement.

She still vividly remembers her 8th-grade Math teacher rewarding her with a pack of Dairy Milk bars for scoring 100/100 on the final exam. Walking through the school corridors with that chocolate bar in hand, she felt exhilarated, soaking in the compliments. Her parents were on cloud nine—and she was, too!

For a kid who was a dreamer and artist at heart, she poured her creativity into decorating her science project books. She filled them with detailed illustrations, added cursive handwritten notes for each experiment, and drew intricate patterns on the introduction and table of contents pages. Her real focus was on making her projects look beautiful rather than on the experiments or lessons themselves. Luckily, she had friends who took care of the scientific bits for her!

After high school and some unsuccessful attempts at Engineering and Medical entrance exams, she ended up pursuing an undergraduate degree in Physics—a subject she had no real interest in, chosen by her parents as the “best path forward.”

She went along with it without hesitation, enjoying time with her friends and attending her classes. Gradually, her art, writing, and creative passions began to fade into the background.

A few days after she graduated, her parents and uncle gathered on the porch around their rattan coffee table. Between sipping chai and snacking on the sweet delicacies Mummy served, her family debated her future.

Her uncle suggested they get her married, while her mom insisted she pursue her Masters. The young girl was inside, overhearing their conversation about her future. No one asked her what she wanted.

Why was she not in the room? Why weren’t they asking her what she wanted?

But she didn’t speak up. She had no clear idea of what she wanted either. Her family had always decided what was best for her—Math and Science were her strengths, according to them—and that path was always laid out for her, one way or another.

As they discussed the next steps, another uncle suggested a new degree that seemed to be gaining popularity—MCA, or Master in Computer Applications.

The family reached out to cousins and friends in other states to gather information. After some research, they found a college in a small town called Mandya, near Bangalore, that offered the program at a price that fits her parent’s budget.

A month later, the family, along with her uncle, piled into their black Ambassador car and set off for Mandya to check out the college.

The young girl was mesmerized by the scenic 6-hour journey—winding paths shaded by trees on both sides. The air was noticeably cooler than back home, and the breeze felt refreshing. Everything seemed so different. The scenery was new, the people were different, and they spoke a language she wasn’t familiar with.

For a small-town girl, this was the first time she was stepping out and exploring the world, and it excited her more than the college or the degree.

She was a creative dreamer at heart, but here she was, being thrown into a degree she had no interest in. Still, she went along with it—partly because she was good at it, but mostly because it was the path that had been chosen for her.

Away from her parents for the first time, she learned to navigate friendships, live with roommates, and savor simple joys like going out for Set Dosa and By 2 Tea before classes.

She spent hours memorizing Bollywood song lyrics, cramming for exams at the last minute with notes from her bestie, and shopping with whatever little was left of her monthly allowance. Those three years flew by in a blur.

In the final year of her degree, she received a call from her parents asking her to come home immediately. A family was coming to see her—specifically a boy who lived and worked in the US. Her parents had decided this was a good match, a relationship worth pursuing. For those unfamiliar with the process, this was how arranged marriages worked in India, especially back in the day.

The girl was initially nervous about moving so far away from her family, but as always, she went along with her parents’ choices. In the few hours she spent talking to him, he seemed quiet and charming.

The wedding ceremonies were all arranged by her parents and extended family.

Her mom chose her wedding saree and jewelry, while her aunt took charge of decorating the wedding hall and planning the Mehndi ceremony. Her sister-in-law handled her hair and makeup, and someone else decided which car would take the bride to the wedding hall. Every detail was arranged by everyone but her.

If you haven’t guessed it yet, this is the story of my life.

From that little girl in the small town to the young bride ready to embark on a new journey miles away from home, I was happy and content, never complaining or voicing my opinion about anything.

I didn’t even know what I wanted. I never learned how to stand up for myself or think about what I truly needed. I didn’t have a favorite color; I just went with whatever my mom chose for me.

I admired my cousins and aunts who spoke up, were strong, and stood firm in their choices. But I was never one of them. I was always the good girl—the one who got along with everyone. The nice one. The quiet one.

After I got married and moved to the US, it was an exciting new phase in my life. I was on my own, but did that mean I was making my own decisions?

You guessed it. NO. I handed over that responsibility to my husband.

When we went out for dinner, I would glance at the menu and let him choose my dish. I never took the time to look through it and think about what I wanted, what would taste good to me—for my palate.

When we went shopping, I would let him choose the clothes he liked. They were mostly collared shirts and checkered or striped patterns—his picks, but I was fine with them. Khaki pants and collared T-shirts became my go-to uniform.

It wasn’t that he didn’t let me buy what I wanted. The truth was, I never had my own opinions. I had never taken the time to pause and reflect on what I truly wanted or what genuinely caught my eye in the store. Collared T-shirts and striped or checkered patterns weren’t my style at all. I preferred ruffled tops and bohemian-patterned skirts.

Everything changed once I turned 40. It was like a switch flipped.

Surprisingly, I owe much of this transformation to Instagram memes. Yes, Instagram memes!

Social media often gets blamed for many things, but in my case, it played a key role in my journey toward growth and empowerment.

I began to realize what I had been missing all along—understanding that my opinion mattered. That I needed to have a voice, a perspective, and a sense of what I truly wanted.

I began to experiment, starting at the dinner table. Choosing what I wanted to eat from the menu was my first step.

When it was time to grab food at the airport lounge, I looked at my two options: tomato soup and chicken soup. Although my husband suggested the tomato soup, I chose the Thai chicken soup because I genuinely wanted to try it. And I loved it. Instead of just sitting there waiting for someone to tell me what to eat, I made my own decision. It felt so empowering, and I couldn’t help but feel proud of myself for making that choice.

Next came picking my clothes—ones that truly reflected me. I swapped collared shirts for ruffles and flowy, girly tops, embracing the styles I loved.

And I figured out that my favorite color is orange. Yes, orange—it makes my heart sing.

If you’ve been to our home, you’d know that instantly.

Splashes of orange peek out from the terracotta pots holding my giant Monstera plants, the cozy pillows tossed around the house, the vibrant mural on the living room wall smeared with shades of orange, yellow, and green, the camel-colored sofas in our family room, the orange placemats brightening up the dining table.

Orange is everywhere—it’s my color, my voice.

When it was time to get a new car for me, I had a few thoughts in mind. I wanted a small, sporty car in the color orange. It was my one wild, crazy dream—one that I had held onto on my vision board for years.

My family cringed. An orange car? Are you sure? My son rolled his eyes!

My husband dropped some subtle hints too—”Are you really sure? How about blue? Black isn’t a bad choice either.”

But this time, I was more sure than I had ever been. Orange is my choice, and nothing is going to change my mind!

Would it look like I am riding inside a pumpkin? Maybe, but do I care? Not one bit.

I checked in with myself again and again. Yes, I was 100% sure.

They say when you truly want something, the universe conspires to bring it to you. We walked into a car showroom, and there she was—the orange beauty, with the special black optics package and the all-black trim.

It was love at first sight. I knew immediately she was the one.

When I test-drove her, the seat hugged my every curve, and my feet fit perfectly on the pedals. The ride was smooth and fun, and I was smitten. My heart was all in.

This car marks the first time I’ve made a brave, bold choice—one that goes against the grain.

It represents a version of me finally staying true to my feelings and listening to my inner voice, rather than conforming to what the world around me dictates.

A first step toward living a life that reflects who I truly am.

It symbolizes a decision where I let my flamboyant side shine—no longer coy, shy, or doing things quietly.

For me, this car is more than just a vehicle; it’s a statement—the beginning of many unapologetic, bold moves I’m ready to embrace.

It stands as a testament to voicing a strong opinion, holding onto my vision, and seeing it through, regardless of others’ thoughts or suggestions.

It reflects my adventurous spirit, in my introverted way, and a willingness to carve a new path and stand up for what I believe in.

Above all, it’s a symbol of breaking free from the box of blandness and being a trendsetter – in a sea of grays, whites, blacks, and neutrals. It is embracing risks, and being okay with standing out—even if it means being mocked.

It’s my way of saying, “This is who I am, and I’m proud of it.”

I feel like a total badass when I step into my orange car, crank up the music, and hit the road. I’m completely obsessed with her. I can’t help but take countless pictures—adoring her for a few extra minutes even after parking, before heading to my appointments.

I’m constantly clicking photos of her and sending them to my husband, interrupting his work crises with a big “Look at her!”

I love it when neighbors comment as I drive by, sneaking glances at the bold orange beauty.

I revel in the admiration from friends when they gush over the color. One of them was so inspired that he now rides an orange bike!

It’s amazing to see how a bold choice can spark a ripple effect. Sometimes, taking risks doesn’t just change your world—it starts a movement.

And there are some unexpected perks too—spotting the car in a crowded parking lot is now a breeze! My husband has no trouble spotting me from a mile away when I drive to the airport to pick him up.

As my kid grows, I want him to have his own opinions and make his own choices.

“Pick something, anything,” I tell him.

Because if you don’t, someone else will end up driving your entire life. Maybe it seems easier now, but I don’t want you to look back one day and wonder if you could’ve made different choices.

Even when the choices aren’t perfect, they’re still yours. They’re still your mistakes, and that’s okay. They shape you, you own them, and you learn from them.

Now, I love my parents and my husband with all my heart and am ever so grateful for the sacrifices they have made to give me this beautiful life. And I know they are all doing what they think is best for me.

This post is not to blame them or find fault with them. This post is about taking responsibility for your own life.

My story is a reflection on how things work in society and a plea to every woman on this planet: Do not give your power to somebody else.

You need to have a say in your matters. Only you can decide what you want and what’s best for you—from the clothes you wear, the food you eat, the car you drive, the degree you pursue, to the career path you take.

You need to fight for what you want. Your dreams matter.

They might look silly or unreasonable to others, but only you know what’s in your heart. Lead with that, and you will never go astray.

When you get to your 40s and beyond, you’ll be in a much happier place.

As for me, I continue to cruise around in my orange car, a little more confident in making decisions and embracing colorful choices. Every drive in my orange car is a reminder to honor my needs, listen to my heart’s desires, and go after what truly makes my soul sing.

I am now the person who dared to own an orange car, and I approach my decision-making with that same courage. I hope my story inspires you to find the confidence to make bold choices and live true to yourself.

Timeless lessons on using your passions and profession to create a beautiful life.

Last weekend, a friend who knows me well, shared details about an event in our community where the keynote speaker was a writer and an artist. After a quick research into his works and interviews online, I was instantly captivated and knew I had to attend the event—and I didn’t regret it one bit.

His name is Krishnan Jayakumar, better known as K Jayakumar. He is an Indian civil servant, and an Indian Administrative Service (IAS) officer who retired as the Chief Secretary of the Government of Kerala(India). He has also worked as an author, lyricist, poet, translator, and screenwriter.

And for some context…

He is 72 years old. With over 55 years of writing experience, he’s authored around 30 books, written over 100 movie songs, and translated the work of popular writers like Tagore, Kahlil Gibran, and Rumi. He is a painter and has held over 17 solo exhibitions in India and abroad. All this long before the age of the internet, social media, and digital marketing.

He hails from my hometown in India (Kerala) and speaks my mother tongue, Malayalam which made the connection even more special.

On top of that, he has an uncanny resemblance to my dad, later confirmed by several of my dad’s colleagues and people who knew him in India.

When Mr. K Jayakumar took center stage amidst the uproar of applause, I was immediately mesmerized by his every word.

With a grounded and down-to-earth personality, he shared his insights and experiences while working on song lyrics that became major hits in the community. His words were infused with kindness, humility, humor, and knowledge.

I’ve always loved listening to older folks, especially from my hometown. Hearing my dad talk about his work and experiences is something I treasure, and listening to K Jayakumar felt like hearing my dad’s voice, offering advice and wisdom.

There was an aura of simplicity around everything about him, something I’ve been craving as I approach my milestone birthday. Later, I learned that he had written a book titled SIMPLE LIFE: An Inquiry into the Joys of Simplicity in a Complex World. “Clearly he walks the talk”, I thought.

He comes from my dad’s era, a generation shaped by newspapers and books. The lessons he shared from his life experiences are timeless and applicable to writers and artists of any age or era.

As I savored the samosas and sipped my chai, some of his insights caught my attention as an aspiring artist and writer.

His number one piece of advice for writers is to cultivate discipline. He worked a full-time job in the government services until 9 PM. And he dedicated his evenings—from 9 PM to 1 AM—solely to his art and writing. During those hours, he focused on one thing at a time, devoting himself to his craft without distractions.

While distractions were fewer back then, today we face a much bigger challenge in staying focused. Avoiding distractions requires a lot of willpower.

Writing is like leaving a part of yourself as a gift to the world. It allows you to capture a moment in time—whether it’s romance, joy, or sorrow—and revisit it whenever you want, even at 70, without needing to relive it in the present. Through words, you can transport yourself back to that feeling, giving it a forever life.

“Writing enabled me to spend time with other writers and connect with people from all around the world. They recognize me through the work I’ve done,” he said.

He managed to survive the grueling demands of his IAS career by staying connected to his passions. Despite criticism or judgment from others, his unwavering faith in himself as a writer kept him going with his creative pursuits.

His strong desire to become a writer drove him to study the writing styles of other legendary Malayalam writers. Though comparing his work to theirs often left him feeling not good enough, he continuously worked on improving his craft.

“When I write something, I keep thinking about how I can improve upon this,” he said.

At a very young age, he had the conviction that he would be known as a writer. He wasn’t swayed by the prejudices around writing songs for movies, even while working as a government officer.

He had this deep desire to express himself—something within him that needed to come out. Through his words, he brought out what was in his heart.

“I am writing to publish my name. To let time erase all evidence that I was an IAS officer,” he said.

It was never easy for him. He faced a lot of criticism and judgment from society mocking his passion and asking, “Who is he to write?” But he made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t let these doubts or negativity deter him from doing what he loved.

Some of his favorite works didn’t receive the recognition he hoped for, while pieces he didn’t think much of gained widespread popularity. We can never predict what will resonate with our audience; all we can do is show up, put in the effort, and have faith in our work.

He was often asked why he spread his work across writing songs, painting, and writing books instead of focusing on just one thing. “Where is all this going to get you?” they would ask.

I loved his simple yet profound response:
“You will ultimately get where you are supposed to. While you have health and this body, do whatever makes you happy. We’re all just visiting this planet for a short span, and we have the opportunity to live on this beautiful earth for a while. I’m glad I didn’t waste my time or the little talent I have. I used this visiting time to experiment with all the gifts I’ve been given.”

For someone who’s struggled for over a decade to fit into just one mold, hearing that message felt like the permission I needed. I realized I must own my identity as a writer, artist, singer, and technologist, and continue experimenting with my gifts while I’m here on this planet.

As I relished the paneer and rice mixed with the curry, I pondered what drew me to his words…

Here was someone who had walked his own path for 55 years, standing on the other side. He was spreading his light and wisdom to a room full of his followers, simply by staying true to his passions for five decades. He spoke with no other agenda- no masterclasses to promote or courses to sell – but to share his story, and his journey.

And he became a beacon of hope for me as I was just beginning my own journey, stepping into the unknown.

By staying true to his path and being disciplined, he showed that when we consciously choose to follow our own journey and honor the promises we make to ourselves, we can overcome any challenge life throws our way. You can’t be indecisive and expect good things to come.

There’s so much noise around us about digital marketing, newsletters, posting on social media, and building an audience, but his talk focused on honing one’s craft and staying true to one’s convictions—all things within our control.

He didn’t mention any grand strategies or 10-year plans. Just one big vision for himself and a continuous, disciplined effort towards it, trusting that things would eventually work out.

What he shared was old, tried, and tested— with no gimmicks of digital media and marketing.

The challenges he spoke about are ones we still grapple with today, and social media adds another layer of complexity to our lives. Regardless of where we are or what stage we’re in, these feelings are completely normal. All we can do is push through and keep doing the work.

While I’ve come across similar advice in blogs or newsletters, hearing it from him made it easier to relate. It felt more impactful in-person, sitting around a table with friends, and our phones down, rather than scanning it on a device, lost in a sea of a thousand other articles.

Maybe it was because I actually gave myself time to process everything he shared, instead of just swiping up to the next article.

Maybe it was because it was the first time I had heard something like this from someone as old as my dad.

His advice was simple: while working on your craft, be a good human, live a simple life, and be righteous. That’s it. I was drawn to this straightforward approach—his deep love and passion for something he truly wanted to express, something he craved to bring forth into the world.

There is something that needs to come out of me, and I will write, no matter what others think or whether it gets accepted by society. He kept writing, despite the criticism, despite the questions. Why do we need another writer when we already have so many? He didn’t let that stop him—he knew his voice mattered.

He showed how he blended all his passions with his profession, leading a fulfilling life while managing a full-time job. That’s the most valuable lesson I took away from that evening.

Now, I approach my writing with renewed purpose, inspired by this meeting. It gave me a deeper sense of direction in using my passions and profession to create my beautiful life.

It was a serendipitous and delightful evening, ending perfectly with a bowl of soft gulab jamun soaked in sugary syrup!

Diary of a homebody who loves to travel.

I’m a homebody who also loves to travel. I enjoy the simple comforts of home—slipping into clean pajamas, sinking into my cozy bed, and enjoying a hot shower. My routine brings me so much ease.

But after a few days at home, I start to feel restless. I’m always tidying up, organizing, folding laundry, cooking—doing all the little tasks that come with being a bit of a perfectionist. My body starts craving a change, and I begin dreaming about my next vacation, imagining new places to explore.

I start noticing the signs—Google showing me ads about planning the next trip, Instagram suggesting the top summer destinations, and my cousin sharing her recent travel on WhatsApp. The final push comes when a friend calls to chat about our next getaway.

And just like that, we’re off planning the next adventure!

Out comes the travel bucket lists. The map becomes our oasis, guiding our travel dreams. Then it’s down to the deciding factors—how much time we have, the weather and political climate in different parts of the world, and what we’re all in the mood for.

Once we lock in the destination, book the hotels and flights, and arrange a sitter for our cuddly doodle,the real fun begins. It’s all about planning, reading up, and romanticizing the adventure ahead!

Preparing to travel abroad always fills me with a mix of anxiety and excitement. I wonder about the experiences I’ll have, the foods I’ll get to taste, the new things I’ll learn, and the unexpected situations we might face. It’s all about stepping outside my comfort zone—scary, but so exhilarating!

It’s time to start checking off items from my travel list.

Yes, I have a long list in my Notes app—things to do and pack. After countless family trips, I keep adding to it every time I realize something’s missing while in another country.

I start checking for visas and making sure I have the necessary vaccinations for the country I’m planning to visit. How’s the weather going to be? Do the flights have special baggage requirements, especially for local travel?

There’s this surge of excitement mixed with a bit of fear, all part of the journey!

I’m usually the sole planner, unless we’re traveling with our family friend—then it’s me and my friend teaming up. We have daily check-ins to exchange ideas, share what we’ve found, and work out the itinerary. Collaborating makes the process more fun and interesting. But when it’s just me, I’m extra careful, reading the fine print to avoid any bloopers (which, yes, have happened before!). You definitely learn from those mistakes!

In my spare moments, I dive into reading about the destination and watching videos. I research the best tours, read reviews, and make sure they’re legit. Platforms like Viator and GetYourGuide have made this so much easier. Reviews are my best friend! It all started with Pinterest before ChatGPT, but now it’s so simple to get a full 6-day itinerary from ChatGPT in no time.

By this point, we’ve got a solid calendar plan, and we’ve already booked admission tickets to museums or major attractions.

As the trip gets closer—about one or two weeks out—the backpacks and stroller bags come down from the garage shelves, and the packing angst kicks in.

What clothes should I bring? Should I go shopping for a new wardrobe so I don’t repeat outfits in photos? Jeans or pants? Will it be humid, making tight jeans uncomfortable? Dresses are tricky for hiking Machu Picchu, and mosques don’t allow sleeveless tops. My battle with my fashion choices continues!

The day before the trip, you’ll find me on the floor with an open suitcase -rolling up clothes and fitting them neatly into the bags.

The currency and phone eSIMs are all set. I’m the type who always notes the U.S. embassy location when traveling abroad—better safe than sorry in this crazy world! Apps and boarding passes are added to my Apple Wallet, and now it really feels like it’s happening.

Then comes the big question: who’s going to drop us off at the airport? I have my superstitions about this one. It’s either Uber or one of our few friends with good energy. I definitely don’t want anything to jinx the trip!

There’s always a tear when we drop off our dear Doodle at his sitter. He’s excited for a playdate, but the dog mom is crying! My son is often puzzled, wondering why I get emotional about the dog but not when he is off to college.

And then the day arrives, just like any other—except excitement is buzzing! The moment we lock the doors and hop into our friend’s car, it all feels real.

Heading to the airport is one of my favorite parts; there’s something about the energy there that’s just different. By this time, we’re all in a relaxed state, with our adventurous spirits kicking in. First order of business: food! If it’s breakfast, it’s straight to Starbucks for my must-have lemon cake. After all, I’m on vacation now, and calories don’t count anymore!

When the flight takes off, I either fall asleep or wait for that magical moment when the wheels lift off the ground—it always gets my heart racing!

I actually love being on the plane (except for the bathroom). It’s a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, free meals, and endless entertainment. Honestly, that alone feels like a mini-vacation! Meanwhile, my husband struggles to sleep, and my son is completely glued to the in-flight entertainment.

As soon as the flight lands, the excitement kicks into high gear. Months of planning have finally paid off! Clearing immigration, stepping onto new ground, and figuring out the Uber situation (does it even work here?)—it all hits you at once.

The first impressions as you land are always a rush. Taking in the weather, the traffic, the cars, roads, people, and even the way everyone’s dressed—it’s all part of the magic of arriving in a new place!

Everything feels new and different the moment we reach the hotel or Airbnb. I immediately start jotting my thoughts in my app, on the way to the hotel. We already start scouting for the closest eatery, deciding where our first meal will be.

When I travel, I’m all in. I completely immerse myself in the moment, snapping a million photos of everything that catches my eye. My eyes are always looking for new things—anything different from my usual environment. I want to soak it all in: the food, the people, the weather, nature, trees, flowers—everything.

We’re fully present with each other, with no schedules (except for our travel plans), no work emails (though we might sneak a peek), and I even take a break from podcasts, letting music set the mood. Social media? Out of the picture. No Instagram scrolling, no checking in. It’s like I don’t care about anything beyond my little world—just me, my family, and the new place we’re exploring. If we’re traveling with friends, they’re part of it too.

Everything pauses. We’re in this alternate universe, far removed from the noise of politics, social media, and everyday life.

Every day brings a fresh wave of excitement—what new adventure awaits today? What will I learn, and what interesting conversations will I have? I especially love chatting with Uber drivers; you can learn so much about a place and get a local’s perspective just by asking them questions.

Google and Google Maps are my lifelines! I seriously wonder how people used to travel before Google. How did they figure out when palaces open, or where the best restaurants near their hotel are? How else would you know what locals eat for breakfast, or where to find the perfect souvenirs?

The days go by, the plan is working. Sometimes we shift things around based on how we feel or what we discover along the way. Sometimes, we get new ideas from a cab driver or stumble upon hidden gems that weren’t in our original itinerary. It’s all part of the adventure. We let the journey unfold naturally.

By the end of the trip, we’re all tired, and the energy starts dipping. The thought of returning to our usual routines—work, school—feels a little unappealing. That final meal is always bittersweet.

And then we start counting down to the journey home. This is when I begin scrolling through the million photos I took, reliving the moments. I check the calendar to see what’s coming next when we get back. Bit by bit, life starts to pump back into my veins. Reality kicks in, gently pulling me back into the rhythm of normal life.

When we touch down on home turf, it’s back to business as usual. The most exciting part of coming home is reuniting with Coco- when he runs into our arms, and we all shower him with kisses.

Then, it’s off to the grocery store to prep that first home-cooked meal. The clothes go straight into the laundry. The first shower and that long-awaited sleep in our own bed, wearing clean pajamas, feels like heaven. There’s a sense of stillness at home as we recover from the travel and the jetlag and ease back into our everyday lives.

I’m a homebody who also loves to travel. I enjoy the simple comforts of home. But after a few days at home, I start to feel restless. I begin dreaming about my next vacation, imagining new places to explore.XO

A letter to my son on his 21st birthday

My son turned 21 this month. He’s officially an adult now.

I can hardly believe it’s been 21 years since I first held my baby. After a year of bed rest and a complicated pregnancy, my hubby and I were eagerly awaiting the day we would finally meet our little one and know that he was a healthy baby boy.

I remember my hubby telling me how he counted our newborn’s tiny fingers and toes, making sure everything was just right.

The grandparents, who had been eagerly waiting to meet their first grandchild, were overjoyed to catch a glimpse of him before the nurses took him for the routine tests.

When we first heard his cry, it was such a relief—especially after those few tense moments when the doctor was trying to get him to cry, and he took his time. Everyone panicked for a bit, but once he let out that big scream, the whole room erupted in laughter and applause.

Every year around his birthday, I find myself looking back to that special day. But this year, I felt more emotional than usual. It felt different—he’s an adult now, ready to embark on his own journey.

As a mom, I only wish the best for him. I hope the world is kind to him, and I want to shield him from heartbreak and pain.

But I know I can’t. Not anymore.

He has to navigate life on his own, learn from mistakes and failures, and keep moving forward.

Our birthday celebrations have always revolved around food, often featuring a meal at a grand restaurant. Since this was a significant milestone, we decided to splurge on a newly opened Michelin-starred restaurant in the Bay Area, which promised to be “a love letter to the cuisine of our home state in India”. What better way to weave our traditions into our celebration in our hometown?

But I also wanted to do more, something beyond our usual celebrations. Then, out of the blue, I had the idea to write a letter—a collection of thoughts for this milestone, something he can refer to as he steps into the next years and chapters of his life.

So here it goes…

Being a mom has been the hardest job I’ve ever done. It hasn’t been easy—at times, it’s been downright ugly, and oh boy, you’ve pushed me to my limits where I felt like handing in my resignation!

But I’m so proud of the person you’ve become. I see so much of myself in you, and I also see a lot of your dad in you.

You are my greatest achievement to date – The one project I’ve done consistently for two decades!

For 21 years, I’ve watched you grow—from a shy, quiet baby to a loving goofball with a quirky sense of humor. Now, on your 21st birthday, there are things I want you to know.

The valuable life lessons I’ve learned over 25 years of my adulthood, from my mistakes and the many ups and downs in my life and career.

I hope that by sharing them with you, I can make your journey a bit simpler and provide you with tools to navigate your life more effectively than I did.

1. Don’t spend your life trying to please everyone else. Live a life that’s true to what you want, and don’t worry about disappointing others. The first person you should never disappoint is yourself.

   Don’t stress about what others think—people are too focused on their own lives to dwell on yours.

   Everyone is dealing with their own anxieties and worries, so just focus on what brings you joy.

2. Don’t expect the other person to read your mind. Speak up when you don’t agree with something—in a nice way, of course. Always communicate your needs verbally. Growing up as an only child, like me, you might find it hard to speak up at times. But it’s important to stand up for yourself and express your needs. Do it gently, and with a smile. Even when you don’t agree with someone voice your opinion in a kind way.

   Raising your voice won’t get your point across, and keeping things to yourself will only make matters worse in the future.

   It’s a common challenge for us, single kids, but addressing it will help in the long run.

3. Don’t shy away from doing hard tasks. There’s a reward at the end when you put in the effort—whether it’s working on a challenging project, planning a memorable trip, or taking on an intense hike. The skills you gain, the confidence you build, and the memories you make are invaluable.

   Remember, there are no shortcuts in life.

   Social media might make things look easy and glamorous, but every venture involves hard work. Anyone who has achieved something, big or small, has put in tremendous efforts behind the scenes, that they are not talking about openly. Every job has its challenges, so embrace the hard work and give it your all.

   Even if the outcome isn’t as expected, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you did your best.

4. Trust your intuition and make decisions from the heart. Your instincts and intuition will never lead you astray. If something doesn’t feel right, there’s usually a reason, even if you don’t understand it right away.

5. Nature and walks are a great way to take a pause when your mind needs a break from technology. Get out in nature, even if it’s just a walk around the block. There’s something about being outdoors that resets you. Don’t stay cooped up at home, playing video games, or working on the computer all day.

6. Having good friends makes all the difference in the world. Spend time with them and make an effort to plan activities together. Meet people in real life rather than just online. Instead of staying home and playing video games, make the extra effort to get dressed and go out—you never know who you might meet and what it could lead to, in the future.

   Remember, don’t feel obligated to spend time with people whose company you don’t enjoy.

   Choose your friends wisely and stay away from those who bring negativity or make you feel bad about yourself.

   Learn to set clear boundaries and find a close-knit group of people you can rely on, even if it’s just one or two or five.

   As long as we’re around, we’ll be there to drop everything and support you. When we’re not, make sure you have your own small circle of trusted friends who you can count on any time of day or night.

7. Take lots of pictures! I know you don’t like being in photos, but when you’re older, the memories you have with your family and friends will mostly be in those photographs. You’ll want something to look back on and share with your kids someday. You might cringe in the moment, but later on, those moments will be gone, and the photos will be your only reminder of the experiences you had.

8. Work out and exercise regularly—whether it’s running, playing basketball, or whatever else works for you. Do it consistently, not just to build muscles and biceps, but also for your mental health. Computer Science is a tough job, and keeping your mind clear will help you perform better.

   Listen to your body—take care of your posture, and make sure you get enough rest and sleep.

9. Looks matter. Dress well. If nothing else, dressing well will boost your confidence. Even if you’re just going grocery shopping, put yourself together—your clothes don’t need to be expensive, just clean and presentable.

   Use deodorant, maybe even some perfume.

   Wear your good shoes and shirts; don’t save them for a “better” occasion. Let them get dirty and messy, but make sure you use them.

   And don’t forget to moisturize—dry skin is a major turn-off and looks hideous.

10. Travel as much as you can and step out of your comfort zone. Experiencing different cultures and life in various parts of the world will broaden your perspective. It might also help you appreciate what you have and where you live, a little more.

11. When things don’t go your way, stay calm. Instead of complaining and dwelling on the problem, focus on finding a solution. Think about how you can address the issue, in the best way possible at that moment.

12. Don’t stress about the little things—like a stain on your T-shirt or a mark on the back seat of the car. Little messes are okay, so let them go. Always keep the big picture in mind:

    Will this matter in 5 days, 5 months, or 5 years?

    Most of the time, the answer is no. So don’t worry about the little things you can’t control. Focus on what you can do and what you can control in the matter.

13. Treat everyone with kindness. Treat them the way you’d want to be treated —whether they’re the waiter or the president. Be patient with elders. Because one day you’ll be in their shoes. It might not seem like it now, but time flies, and you’ll be older before you know it.

    Treat women with respect, regardless of your relationship with them.

14. Spend money on things that truly matter and will improve your life. Save the rest. You don’t need 10 pairs of shoes or 20 watches—just a few good ones. Invest in things that save you time or make your life easier and better.

15. Keep your home clean and organized. It should be a place you love to return to, not just a dumping ground for your things. Take out the trash, and always make your bed, first thing in the morning.

16. Never drink and drive. And never get into a car with a driver who’s been drinking. Always take an Uber or a cab—saving money isn’t worth risking your life.

17. Don’t rush to reach the next milestone. Enjoy where you are right now. When you’re 20, you might think your 30s will be amazing; when you’re 30, you might look forward to your 40s. And before you know it, you’re 50, wishing you had savored the moments along the way. So, embrace every stage of life and live in the present.

18. Learn to cook simple meals. Make healthy eating a priority. It’s okay to indulge occasionally. And remember to drink plenty of water.

19. Do what you say you will do. Don’t cancel plans with someone unless it is absolutely unavoidable. When you cancel plans at the last minute especially because you are too lazy to get out, you send the message that the other person’s plans aren’t important.

    Respect others’ time as much as your own.

20. Be satisfied with what you have. There will always be someone with more, but there are also people with less. Social media can distort reality, so stay grounded. You are a content boy with little needs; Don’t let the world change you.

21. Practice spirituality. You might not fully understand this until you’re in your 40s or 50s, but having a spiritual guide can help you worry less and surrender your fears and anxieties to a higher power. It can make your life a bit easier as you grow older.

22. Don’t let life make you too serious. You’re a goofball, and I love that about you. Stay that way. Laugh more, smile often—you have the most beautiful smile. That and those curls make you look so handsome!

23. Be honest with yourself and others. It’s much easier to tell the truth than to cover it up.

24. Journal. It’s a great way to release your emotions and gain clarity on what you want and what’s bothering you. It also helps you understand yourself better, whether you choose to journal in a Google Doc or a physical journal.

I know it’s a lot to take in all at once from this list. Come back to this letter whenever you find yourself at a crossroads or in need of answers.

Read it when you’re worried or confused. Somewhere between these words, you’ll find the guidance you’re looking for.

I aimed to make this a list of 25, but I’m one short! As you continue to grow, I might add to it, sharing more as I learn and grow alongside you.

Love,

Umma

Finding my way back to writing and creating

I had a meandering career in the tech world. For almost 2 decades, I tried different hats – from web development to technical writing – to see what fit me perfectly.

All the while, I harbored a deep yearning to write and create art, secretly nurturing my dream of becoming a writer and artist.

I longed to express myself through writing and art—specifically hand-lettering and illustration. I admired women building their creative brands and dreamed of one day doing the same. I craved that life.

I saw myself in the characters from movies and books who were writers—the aspiring Aisha Banerjee in Wake Up Sid, who moves to Mumbai to chase her dream of becoming a writer, and Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, who pens a weekly column and freelance articles, typing away on her computer, her work eventually compiled into books. Among all the Desperate Housewives on Wisteria Lane, I was particularly drawn to Susan Mayer who freelanced as a children’s illustrator.

Their journeys resonated deeply with my own aspirations.

I made countless attempts at writing, starting several blogs, only to abandon them halfway as life’s demands—from motherhood to career and to the responsibility of caring for my parents —took over.

My Google Docs and Notes app are filled with ideas and thoughts I collected during my travels, but I never dared to share them. I have countless notes filled with topics that never saw the light of day.

In 2022, I took on a daily writing challenge. I committed to writing for 30 minutes every day and published blog posts on my tech website for over three months. While the articles didn’t make a splash in the publishing world or attract much attention, I vividly remember the euphoria I felt while writing. I was in a state of flow, and my heart sang the whole day, whenever I typed away on the keyboard.

But like all my previous attempts, I dropped off after three months. Yet, the bliss I felt during that time stayed with me. Even now, when I think back to those moments, I can still feel the joy that writing brought me. I’ve been longing to recapture that feeling.

Last month, I joined a coaching group, and through a series of coaching and journaling, I realized that my heart truly wants to write and create.

I’m yearning to feel what I experienced during those three months. I want to express myself creatively once more.

I learned what was holding me back. Coming from an immigrant background, I was told writing and art are impractical and unrealistic paths. That belief became so ingrained in my mind that I saw them as mere hobbies to be pursued “one day.” Coupled with self-doubt, fear of failure, and fear of judgment from others, I retreated to the safety of my tech job.

For years, I hid behind my tech roles, afraid to reveal my true self or even admit it to myself. But deep down, I knew I was a creative soul bursting to break free.

Last month, I read a romance novel called It’s All in the Planets by the Indian author Preeti Shenoy. She had a popular blog back when blogs were just being discovered, and I had followed her journey since those early days. I’ve always admired her writing life from afar. I even met her in person during my last trip to India, when I ran into her at an event in a Bangalore mall while I was hanging out with my family. Her story, her talk, and how she became a published writer left a lasting impression on me.

In the book, the main character, Nidhi, is a thirty-two-year-old woman who quits her corporate job to follow her passion and now teaches pottery classes because that’s what nourishes her soul. I fell in love with this character and yearned to be her. I felt my heart couldn’t hold it in any longer—this desire to pursue my passion needed to come out.

It’s time for me to find my way back. To reconnect with my dream, dust it off, and give it the care it deserves.

As I’m getting close to a milestone birthday at the end of 2024, I thought, “What better time than now to do something special for myself and start working on my dream!”.

And thus it began!

What’s a dream you’ve been holding off, one that you admire in others but have always thought is impractical and unrealistic, one that is clouded by self-doubt and fear? drop me a note at femyram@gmail.com.

The story behind Sunshine & Chai

I live in sunny California with my hubby, P, our son, K, and our fluffy Goldendoodle, Coco. Every month, my hubby travels to Dallas for work, and every so often, I tag along—escaping the hustle and bustle of Silicon Valley for a change of pace.

Tucked away in a quaint neighborhood shopping center in Dallas is a cozy little café called The Froggs. With its green walls, arched windows lined with lavender flowers, and shelves stacked with tins of tea and coffee, it carries an old-world charm that transports me to a quiet European town.

Whenever I visit Dallas, I make my way to this café with my laptop and journals in tow. It’s my little retreat, a space where time slows down.

One of their most popular drinks is the Sunshine Chai—a chai tea latte with a double shot of espresso and a hint of lavender. It’s become my ritual to sip on a Sunshine Chai at least once every trip, a small but grounding tradition that reminds me to pause, savor, and just be.

From the moment I book my tickets to Dallas, I start looking forward to my time at The Froggs—sitting in my favorite nook, sipping the warm Sunshine Chai, and soaking in the moment.

There’s something deeply calming about the blend of espresso and lavender. Even when the café hums with activity, the first sip instantly relaxes me, wrapping me in a quiet sense of calm.

I always settle into a cozy corner facing the park and trees, letting time stretch as I savor every sip. The lavender flavor sinks in slowly, and the espresso dusting and the foam on top add a comforting touch.

To me it’s more than just a drink—it’s a ritual, a moment of stillness, a meditation in a cup.

As I sit and sip, I take in the world around me. Groups of young girls in Converse, iced drinks in hand, exchanging notes over their laptops. Teenagers, noses buried in their phones, casually hanging out, their laughter weaving into the café’s hum. Elegant older women, dressed up, deep in conversation about life. Moms stealing a well-earned break, savoring sips between stories. Behind the counter, baristas and chefs move with passion, crafting delicate crepes, frothy lattes, and trays of warm, flaky pastries.

It’s a space alive with stories—each table, each cup, carrying a moment of its own.

You are in a place where women like you gather. Even as you sip your chai alone, you know—you feel—that you are not alone. You are among your people. You can simply be, doing your thing while wrapped in the quiet comfort of shared energy.

There’s something powerful about being in the presence of others who are walking their own paths, yet moving alongside you. It fuels you, inspires you, and reminds you that you are in the right company. And who knows? A simple smile, a shared glance, a warm hello might even lead to a new friendship.

Everyone here seems to be learning, growing, and embracing life together.

And that’s exactly the experience I hope Sunshine & Chai brings to you.

I hope to bring you a sense of calm, a moment of relaxation, and a smile that softens the weight of the day. A space where worries fade, self-doubt quiets, and the endless to-do lists pause—if only for a little while.

Like sipping your morning chai, let these letters and stories I share be a warm, comforting ritual.

A pause that invites you to dream, to explore possibilities, and to simply be.

Something you look forward to—an exhale for your mind, a reset for your soul.

Welcome!

Brewing stories and stirring souls since June 2024

Have you ever been swept away by a wave of emotions, followed by guilt, anger, and the relentless “why me?” thoughts?

It’s as if you’re the only one feeling this way, and you start to wonder if there’s something fundamentally flawed within you.

Instead of showing compassion to yourself, you find yourself questioning your feelings—wondering if they stem from a deep-seated flaw or if they’re just the result of your upbringing.

I’ve been there. More times than I’d like to admit.

Welcome to Sunshine & Chai.

A collection of personal essays that decode life’s experiences, unearthing the beauty, humor, and lessons in the chaos. And stories that forge a connection, stir your heart, and leave a touch of sunshine in your soul. Sprinkled with hand-lettered quotes and illustrations.

I share these essays and stories to help you navigate life in a way that’s true to who you are at your core—beyond society’s expectations. My hope is that other women feel less alone and find comfort in knowing they’re not the only ones walking this path.

Every essay is a reflection on something that sparks my creative curiosity.

Through my journey—hustling in tech at the cost of my well-being, navigating the weight of societal expectations, enduring the relentless pressure of staying in tech as an immigrant, being an only child, losing my mom, and balancing the grief of loss while caring for my aging dad who lives across the globe—I’ve learned what truly matters.

I’ve witnessed firsthand how cancer and blindness can slowly erode a person’s vitality. I’ve found the courage to let go of relationships that no longer served me and set healthier boundaries.

In the process, I’ve discovered who I am, what I need (and don’t need) to live, and embrace a more conscious, intentional life.

Rooted in observations, adventures, and travels and sprinkled with personal stories, these essays resonate with you and bring comfort, clarity, or even just a moment of pause to someone walking a similar path.

As you read, I hope you forget the hustle and the endless to-do lists, and simply sink into the stories.

Like sipping your morning chai in a quiet, sunlit café with a friend.

Where everyone is having a good time, learning from each other and growing.

I want you to feel this same sense of connection when you read Sunshine & Chai.

To know that you’re not alone in this journey—that others are navigating the same storm. We are all woven together in this shared experience.

My hope is that these stories inspire you to embrace life fully and unapologetically, to step into who you truly are.

Think of this as a ritual—one that sparks dreams and possibilities, a moment you look forward to, a pause that helps you reset and unwind.

I plan to write daily for 30 minutes and share 1-2 essays each month. But I hold this goal lightly, knowing that I cherish a slow, unhurried life—one where depth and meaning matter more than speed. I’d rather create something excellent than simply on time.

Come on in!

How this newsletter came to being.

Sunshine & Chai is a collection of personal essays and stories that decode life’s experiences, uncovering beauty, humor, and lessons within the chaos. It’s where simple joys and profound truths intertwine, where words, art, and life brew together like the perfect cup of chai.

This space is for you if you crave connection, seek reflection and scout inspiration in life’s everyday moments—if you’ve ever discovered wisdom in the unexpected or felt comfort in shared stories.

Why me? Because I live at the crossroads of creativity and technology, where vintage soul meets modern life. I believe stories—like a perfectly spiced masala chai—are meant to be shared, savored, and stirred. So, pour yourself a cup, settle in, and let’s navigate life’s beautiful mess together.

Who am I? Hi, I’m Femy Praseeth. I am a writer, storyteller, artist, and dreamer. I’m also a mom, wife, daughter, and Asian Indian living in San Jose, California with my hubby, my son, and our fluffy golden doodle, Coco.

I cherish a slow, unhurried life—one where depth and meaning matter more than speed. As I navigate the relentless pace of Silicon Valley, I seek and savor moments of stillness in a culture that glorifies the hustle.

On the side, I’m a singer, chai enthusiast, and avid traveler with a love for photography and interior decorating.

While I worked as a technologist for almost 2 decades, I nurtured a dream of being a writer and an artist, in my heart. I craved to express myself through writing and art – specifically hand-lettering and illustrations. I admired women who published books and built their creative brands and hoped one day I would do it.

As I got close to a milestone birthday at the end of 2024, I thought, “What better time than now to do something special for myself and start working on my dream!”.

And thus it began…

I plan to write daily for 30 minutes and share 1-2 essays each month. But I hold this goal lightly, knowing that I cherish a slow, unhurried life—one where depth and meaning matter more than speed. I’d rather create something excellent than simply on time.