THE DAY UNFOLDS

Wednesday, 15 October 2025

The Day Unfolds

The gentle rhythm of coffee, light, and unhurried breath; small reminders that peace often hides in the ordinary. No rush, no lists. Just the day arriving softly, and me learning to let it.

Some mornings don’t need big plans or promises.They simply ask us to wake, breathe, and listen. And to let the day arrive at its own pace.

Today, I didn’t rush.

No long list, no heavy thoughts. Just quiet movement, soft light, and the gentle rhythm of being here.

There’s something sacred in that…in letting the day unfold without trying to shape it too soon.

I had my coffee and toast with my favourite Lurpak butter, that perfect balance of warmth and salt. It’s such a simple thing, yet it felt like a quiet celebration. The taste of ordinary joy.

There’s a lightness around these next few days too. 

A corporate yoga session tomorrow evening (a small blessing close to home), my regular Friday class and a long–awaited meet-up with my healer-friend later that afternoon.

The weekend that follows will be slower; the planned road trip can wait, because Diwali is near. And yes! a long weekend, a time to breathe and light lamps of rest instead of travel.

Maybe that’s what this week is about; 

not racing ahead, but allowing life to flow in gentle timing.

The day unfolds, and I unfold with it.

Pause and breathe — what stirred within you?

Notes / What I Felt:

Small rituals create quiet joy.

Blessings often arrive disguised as ordinary days.

Allowing flow is its own form of gratitude.

The heart feels lighter when we stop trying to hurry life.

Closing Note:

Peace in. Love out. Always. 

THE UPSTAIRS QUIET

 The Upstairs Quiet

October Reflections; Leading to Diwali

The house felt lighter today. Maybe it was the breeze through the windows, or maybe it was something quieter; like Amma’s presence softening the air.

The maid and I returned to continue what we’d started last week, the upstairs rooms! They felt as if they’d been waiting quietly, holding the same stillness that greets me each time I return. There’s a rhythm to coming back here actually, the dusting, arranging, pausing and then the remembering.

We worked for hours, and at some point, while soft Healing Mantras played in the background, I dozed off, just for a moment. The kind of nap where your body gives in before your mind can argue. When I opened my eyes, the maid was smiling gently, saying, “All done.” It felt like such a small kindness, but in that moment, it wrapped around me like Amma’s approval.

I walked around doing the final checks, leaving a few lights on as if to keep her company. 

Lunch followed; simple, comforting, shared with the maid before sending her home. There’s still more to do, but slowly, the house feels more like it used to be; lived in, loved and cared for.

Next week, Diwali arrives. We won’t celebrate fully as it’s been less than a year since Amma’s passing. But cleaning, lighting lamps and saying a small prayer feels right in my heart. It’s less about festivity and more about continuing her rhythm of care and devotion.

By the time I locked the doors, I could almost feel her grin in the photo by the wall; that familiar warmth that always said, “You did well.” (Me in response, ‘Thanks, ma…)

Pause and breathe. What stirred within you?

Notes / What I Felt

Healing can happen in the middle of chores.

Quiet smiles carry deep comfort.

A house remembers love through care.

Even gentle rituals can honor those we miss.

Grief changes shape, but love remains constant.

Closing Note:

Sometimes, coming home isn’t about grand gestures. It’s about quiet rooms, soft prayers, and the familiar hum of love that never leaves. 

A CHAI STOP, QUIET CONNECTIONS AND A HUG THAT SPOKE

13 October 2025

A Chai Stop, Quiet Connections, and a Hug That Spoke

A tender return to family, warmth found in everyday rituals, and the quiet joy of reconnection.

Family, evolving relationships, tenderness in the ordinary.

It had been over a month since I last saw him, my nephew, Jeevan who’s my brother’s son. I call him “baby” in the way that only family love can bend words. I mentioned this in my earlier post. 

So, as I was taking a rest after my chores, he called me, to meet at mom’s! 

So, today, he took the train, and I went to pick him up, feeling the small thrill of seeing him again after time apart.

Before heading to my mom’s, we stopped nearby for chai. Steam rising from the cups, the familiar warmth between sips; 

it was a small, ordinary pause, but in it, I felt the subtle joy of being together, of sharing a moment that belonged only to us.

At home, I showed him the house, the worn corners, the kitchen needing attention, the promise of a maid returning tomorrow to clean the rest. 

In those small updates, he noticed the care, and I felt the comfort of our easy rhythm together.

He has always been closer to my mom and sister, softly nurtured by their love; but our connection has its own shape. 

I was stricter, firmer, the visiting aunt, the daughter, the sister roles that demanded presence in a different way. 

Yet even in that structure, he leaned into me, and I into him, today in quiet gestures; a shared chai, a tour of a lived-in home, a moment of laughter and observation.

When he was leaving, he hugged me, tight and unhurried. In that instant, I was gently reminded of a moment nine months ago, in the hospital when Amma was passing. He had been the only one to turn me around and hold me when I needed it most. 

That same quiet comfort echoed in today’s hug, a single gesture bridging past grief and present love.

Being with him reminded me that love wears many faces: sometimes tender, sometimes steady, sometimes annoyed-upset-angry too and sometimes gentle enough to let you lean on it without asking for anything. 

And in that love, time apart only makes the return sweeter.

Pause… and breathe.

Notes / What I Felt:

Even small, everyday moments carry deep connection.

Love has many forms, soft, steady, structured, instinctive.

Presence matters more than perfection; showing up is enough.

Time apart makes reunions sweeter, even in ordinary routines.

Family bonds are layered: some closeness is gentle and nurtured, some firm and guiding, yet both are equally meaningful.

Shared rituals (chai, walks, house tours) create lasting, quiet memories.

One hug can carry past grief and present warmth, bridging memories and today’s connection.

Closing Note:

In the warmth of shared chai, quiet rooms, and a single, unspoken hug, love often speaks the loudest.

MY BABY, MY ANCHOR

My Baby, My Anchor is my nephew, my brother’s son. 

Today it’s all about a quiet reflection on timeless connection and love as a steadying force.

Enduring bonds, presence, grief, and love’s gentle anchor.

Pause to breathe…

He has always been “my baby,” though now he’s grown, married, with a little daughter soon turning two. 

But in quiet moments, I still find myself leaning toward him, almost without thinking, when life stings or when the world feels too heavy.

Growing up surrounded by my mom’s and sister’s love, he carries that softness in him, gentle, humble, attentive. 

And though they are gone, their absence echoes in him, in the pauses between his words, in the way he listens, in the quiet strength he offers without asking for anything in return.

He’s a photographer, yes, capturing light and shadow through his lens; but I see him capturing life in his heart too!

Noticing the small, tender moments, the subtle expressions, the invisible threads that connect us.

And I, in turn, lean on him; not because he has all the answers, but because his presence steadies me. It’s unexpected, instinctive, a soft tether to life’s rhythm. 

In him, I find reflection, grounding, and the enduring reminder that love, even across loss, never truly leaves us.

Pause and breathe — what stirred within you?

Notes/What I Felt:

Some connections are timeless, beyond age and circumstance.

Love can be a quiet anchor, even in moments of grief.

Leaning on someone doesn’t diminish strength; it strengthens it.

Presence speaks louder than words.

Small gestures, instinctive acts, carry immense comfort.

Closing Note:

Love, once rooted, never fades. 

It simply changes form, echoing softly through those who remain.

JUST LIFE AS IT COMES

 No More Chapters 

Just Life as It Comes

(Epilogue: Still Coming Home)

There comes a point where stories stop needing numbers.

Grief doesn’t stay neatly filed between beginnings and endings; it just folds itself into ordinary days. Like today, when I 

went back to Mom’s house.

It’s been a month since I last stepped inside. 

Dust had gathered in corners, and the house was not in its best. 

Silence seemed to cling to the walls. 

I brought a maid along, and together we began what I call half-baked cleaning; you know, the kind that’s equal parts dusting and remembering?

At one point, my hands found the photo 

of Mom on the wall. I traced her face with my fingertips, the curve of her smile, the softness around her eyes. 

The moment cracked something open. I found myself talking to her, apologizing for so many things; for not keeping the house the way she would have liked, for letting time slip by too quickly.

Later, I spoke with my nephew on the phone, about the house, about family, about preparing for her one-year death anniversary. He listened quietly as my voice trembled. I told him about the price of caring too much, of trying to hold together pieces that were never mine alone to mend.

The maid heard me crying. She didn’t 

say much; just kept working, quietly wiping surfaces as if cleaning could somehow soften grief. Maybe it does, 

in small ways.

There’s still more to do ie the upstairs waits for Tuesday. 

But tonight, I’m sitting with the ache and the gratitude, both. Maybe healing is a kind of half-baked cleaning too, something you return to again and again, until the dust finally settles around the love that remains.

By the time I locked the doors, 9 hours later, I wasn’t sure if we had cleaned the house or if the house had quietly begun to clean me.

Mom felt near, like the hum of light just before sunset; present, unseen.

Maybe this, too, is coming home.

Yet, 

Still learning how to come home.

Pause and breathe, what stirred within you? 

Notes/What I felt:

Healing doesn’t follow a timeline.

Grief can hide in everyday chores.

Sometimes, wiping dust is a way of 

saying I still care.

Love remains, even when everything 

else changes.

Coming home is not a destination; 

it’s  a feeling we return to, over and over.