Grieving through the karthikai month...

 The month of Karthikai, often bring a profound sense of loss,  the grief of losing my younger brother has become an inseparable part of my life. It has been almost a decade since he passed, yet the pain feels as raw as it did in those first days. Every holiday season, the memories of us playing games, watching movies, and sharing laughter flood back, making his absence all the more palpable.

Recently, I visited the site where he was cremated. Standing by the river where his ashes were immersed, I was struck by the passage of time and the enduring ache of loss. Though ten years have passed, the longing remains unchanged, and the sorrow surfaces in waves—sometimes unexpectedly. It’s a strange thing, this grief; some days it feels distant, and on others, it crashes over me with full force, leaving me breathless.

I often wonder what life would be like if he were still here. Would he recognize the person I’ve become? Would he see the changes in me, in the life I’ve built since his departure? These thoughts linger, a constant companion to my grief. While they bring a sense of connection to his memory, they also remind me of everything we’ve missed together.

Grief is an odd emotion. At times, it feels as if letting go of the pain means letting go of him. But over the years, I’ve come to understand that grief and love are intertwined. The ache is a testament to how deeply I cared for him, and it is through this pain that his memory endures.

Yet, I am learning to shift my focus. His presence isn’t in the sadness; it’s in the stories I share, the habits and traits I’ve inherited, and the little moments that remind me of him. As I navigate this journey, I find that the pain begins to soften, making room for joy in the memories we created.

Grief may never fully leave, but it evolves. It transforms from a sharp sting into a bittersweet reminder of love. And while I will always wonder what could have been, I take solace in knowing that he remains with me, not just in sorrow but also in the enduring love that time can never erase...

Greif and I

 As I try to leave my grief behind, just for a night, it clings to me like a shadow, refusing to let go. "You can’t leave me behind," it whispers. My heart aches, exhausted by its weight; sometimes, it's simply too much to bear. But Grief only sighs and replies, “I am a part of you now.” It feels unfair, a darkness that follows me everywhere, refusing to release its grip. "Why are you doing this to me?" I plead, desperate for some reprieve. But Grief shifts, offering an unexpected perspective. "I’m here because of love," it says, softening in tone. I want to reject this, thinking Grief exists because I’ve lost my loved one. Yet, even through my sorrow, love is still there, undeniably alive within me.

Grief isn’t the absence of love, it explains, but the enduring presence of it. "You just renamed me," it whispers. "I am Love, the love you still hold." My defenses falter, but I confess the pain—the empty chairs, the lost plans, the silence where laughter once lived. It feels unbearable. But Grief, now Love, gently insists, "Running from me only makes it harder. Sit with me. I am the love you still have to give, the light you carry forward." Fear has kept me distant, afraid of the reminders, the reality. Yet, Love promises that with time, each memory will not sting but shine with warmth, bringing smiles through tears.

“Think of me as the love you carry," Love urges, "not as a burden, but as a light—a candle within you. I remain because your love remains, and together, we carry on until you’re reunited.” So, in the quiet of that night, I hold this candle, realizing that my grief, this love, is a gift—a way to hold them close, until the very last of days.

And, I began loving again, with  all my heart.

For a child unborn but flew wings and grew…

 There are experiences in life that defy words, emotions so profound they are almost impossible to capture. This is a story of one such experience—the story of a mother who held her first child in her heart but never in her arms. I often find myself wondering who you might have been. Would you have had your father’s laugh, my eyes, a curious mind, or a mischievous grin? I picture the first steps you’d take, the laughter that would fill the room, and the sleepless nights I’d have spent just watching you breathe, counting every tiny miracle of you. But fate had other plans, and I never got to hold you on this side of life. In a way, you remained forever pure, untouched by the world’s burdens and pains. Maybe that’s why I feel a quiet peace, even amid the aching void you left behind. I tell myself that in another place, somewhere beyond time and space, you exist—whole and vibrant, waiting for me. Sleep brings a gentle solace, for in my dreams, you are real. In that soft twilight, I see your face. I feel your hand in mine, and in those fleeting moments, I am whole. You are the child who grew wings—a soul who touched mine and flew to places beyond my reach. Yet, I feel your presence in the soft flutter of leaves, in the quiet of dawn, in the stars that glimmer as night falls. Dreams are gifts in themselves, tiny miracles that grant me brief glimpses of you, like stolen moments from a story that ended too soon. And though I cannot reach you, each dream reminds me that love knows no bounds; it crosses beyond life and loss, beyond time and space. You taught me so much, even in your absence. You taught me to cherish every breath, to find strength in sorrow, to seek joy in little things. My love for you remains a powerful force, a reminder that you were here—that you are here, forever etched into my soul. You may not walk beside me, but you are a part of me, woven into the fabric of who I am. And though my arms ache to hold you, my heart carries you always. One day, my darling, I believe we will meet again. And until then, I’ll meet you in my dreams, where you are free and whole, where I am your mother, and you are my child—my child who grew wings and took flight, leaving behind a legacy of love that will never fade.

I love you now. Still....

 I can’t bring myself to say “I loved you.” That phrase rings too final, too complete, as if my love for you were confined to some past that no longer exists. But it does exist—more vividly than ever, woven into every moment of my life. My love is not a closed chapter, not something that faded away when you did. It didn’t end. It simply became something else.

I love you now. Still.

You left, but this love stayed, refusing to leave just because you’re gone. It lingers like a shadow that never loses sight of me, binding me to you in ways I never anticipated. Some days, it’s quiet, a soft hum beneath my daily routine. Other days, it explodes to the surface, catches me off guard—raw, fierce, like a reminder that my heart still remembers every detail of what we shared.

Some days, it feels like this love is my only anchor, giving me strength to rise, urging me forward. And then there are days when it’s a challenge, a test of endurance. A dare to keep going, to honor you with each step I take, even when the weight of it feels too much.

But mostly, it’s this presence within me, woven into every breath I take, every decision, every pause, and every flicker of memory. It’s there in every forward glance and every backward look, in the quiet solitude of night when I close my eyes and find you, still.

There’s no distance far enough, no goodbye final enough, to make this love waver. It isn’t dependent on you being here. It simply is, vast and unbroken, echoing through the silence you left behind.

So no, I won’t say, “I loved you.” Because it’s not past tense. You haven’t taken it with you. It’s here with me, steady and unyielding. And I know I’ll carry it with me always.

Because I love you.

Still.

In his memory, with the moon...

 There are nights I feel only the moon understands me. It watches silently as I grapple with a grief so profound, it aches in the quietest, loneliest hours. My brother is gone, and in his absence, memories flood in, relentless waves of joy and sorrow. He was beautiful—not just in looks but in spirit. His smile was bright enough to fill a room, his laughter the kind that lingered long after he’d left. I was always "the other one," the awkward, shy sister trailing behind his golden light. I grew comfortable with that role. I never expected to outlive him.

In his absence, the air feels colder, emptier, though the moon is constant, hanging above me like a quiet witness. Sometimes, I talk to it, telling stories of my brother, reminding it of the laughter we shared. It feels absurd, yet somehow comforting, like he’s listening through its steady glow. Each memory is a reminder of how much I miss him, and yet each one is tinged with an unbearable sadness—the moments I took for granted, the warmth he brought to the smallest things.

I grapple with being the one left behind. He was beautiful, loved by so many, while I was just the “ugly” sister, shadowed by his radiance. Now, without him, I feel like a shadow without substance, living in the hollow he left behind.

Yet, there’s an odd resilience in this solitude. I find myself talking to the moon, breathing through the grief. It’s an ache I live with now, one that reminds me of the beauty he brought into this world. And as I sit under the moon’s watchful eye, I know I’ll carry him with me, forever—the imperfect sister to a perfect brother, a flicker in his lingering glow.

Walking down the memory lane...

A memory saved in the secret orchid, visiting often to get the feel of being cherished, and then locked safe. Isn’t it peculiar how certain memories become like those rare orchids, treasured and hidden away in the quiet gardens of our hearts? They exist in places not often visited, yet, when the world grows loud, we find ourselves slipping away to linger there.

These memories are tender fragments of a time that felt as close as home. They’re the snapshots we took without a camera, moments carried by senses rather than pixels. The smell of a place we once called ours, the warmth of a voice now faded, or a glance from across a room — these become keepsakes, held so dearly that they seem to bloom in the depths of our thoughts, like petals opening with every recollection.

In our musings, we find a solace, a reunion with something or someone long gone. It’s as if by remembering, we can reach across time and touch that precious thing we lost, if only for a moment. The memory doesn’t remain static; it evolves, becoming a bit sweeter, a bit softer, a bit more like the version we need.

But eventually, we lock it away again, as if afraid that too much light might fade it. That orchid is meant to stay vibrant in shadows, not scrutinized but felt, sensed in the heart’s quiet corners. As we walk away, the memory remains, tucked away in its fragile beauty, a reminder of what was once cherished. We return to the present, carrying with us the lingering comfort of having known and loved something deeply, however distant it may now seem.

The First Meet - A keep sake!

There are bonds in life that sneak up on us quietly, slipping into our hearts until they are woven inextricably into our lives. That’s what happened when I met him—a soldier, yes, but now so much more to me. A dear friend first introduced us, and in 2021, I sent my first Rakhi to him, a gesture i hold dear, since 2015, not knowing how meaningful it would become. When he called on Rakhi day, I felt a surge of joy that was both surprising and warm—a beautiful connection began to grow. Gradually, our bond deepened over messages, though he always replied late (a habit of his, which I secretly find endearing). Every message from him, though rare, made me smile and filled me with joy.

When I heard he was moving closer, a whirlwind of emotions took over me—excitement, anticipation, and a touch of nervousness. I had been imagining this moment for so long: the chance to meet him, finally, in person. In my mind, I had painted a vivid picture—a soldier in every sense of the word, with that steadfast, resolute strength, the quiet, almost unbreakable intensity that often comes with the uniform. I expected a man with a stoic expression, someone who held himself with the air of discipline and distance that life in the forces often demands. I thought I’d be meeting someone unshakeable, perhaps even slightly intimidating.

But when the moment came, and I finally saw him face to face, my heart took a sudden, unexpected turn. There he stood, yes, in his soldier's frame, but with none of the rigid reserve I’d imagined. Instead, he greeted me with the warmest, most genuine smile that instantly melted away all my preconceived notions. His expression wasn’t just friendly—it was contagious, radiating a lighthearted charm that could make anyone feel at ease. The gentleness in his eyes, the almost childlike openness—it caught me completely off guard. It was as if all the anticipation and nerves I had felt dissolved into pure, simple joy.

He was astounding in a way that words don’t quite capture. His presence was effortless, casual, and yet somehow profound. It wasn’t just that he was a soldier; he was himself—real, grounded, with a spirit that was both strong and soft. There was a warmth that emanated from him, something that made the air around him feel lighter, brighter. I felt like I could see, even in those first moments, his kindness, his humor, and a heart as vast as the journey he must have traveled as a fauji.

I felt an instant desire to capture this feeling, to hold onto it, to save every detail in my heart’s memory. Every second we spent felt precious, each moment something I wanted to press like a wildflower in a book, to keep safe and revisit. I realized that what I felt wasn’t just admiration for a soldier but a deeper bond—a connection that transcended words or expectations. Meeting him was like discovering a rare, unexpected gift, and every time I think of it, a warmth fills me that I know will stay with me always.

What we have is hard to describe. Perhaps it’s simply a connection of unwavering affection, one that goes beyond titles or labels. Yes, he’s a soldier, and I’m immensely proud of that. But now, he’s so much more—a cherished friend, a brother figure who has become a permanent part of my heart. I can’t explain why our bond is so special; it just is. And I feel incredibly lucky to be his little sister in spirit, knowing that, no matter what, this bond will stay with me always.

PS: I so love to share the pics that melted my heart but I wont :-) 

A dream within a dream . . . !

 She had always been enchanted by the delicate boundary between dreams and reality, captivated by how the mind conjures such vivid worlds when the eyes are closed. Each morning, she tried to hold onto those hazy images before they slipped away, wondering if there was really a difference between life as she knew it and the moments that played out in her sleep. As time passed, she began to suspect that what she saw behind her eyelids might reveal as much truth about who she was as the daylight ever could.

A quiet determination grew inside her. She believed in chasing her dreams, both the ones that came at night and the ones born of her deepest wishes. Yet, doubt crept in whenever reality contradicted her grand hopes. Philosophical questions danced through her thoughts, echoing the age-old query: could the world we see each day be just another layer of a dream? She realized that pondering such mysteries gave her the courage to trust the path her heart was urging her to take.

At times, she felt torn between two selves: one guided by society’s expectations, and another who thrived in that swirling realm of imagination where anything seemed possible. But each setback, each heartbreak, revealed a hidden reservoir of strength. Gradually, she understood that embracing uncertainty and daring to dream were not weaknesses but the key to discovering her truest self.

One evening, while gazing at a soft glow on the horizon, she felt an unshakable clarity. She resolved to reshape her life until her reality echoed the beauty of her sleeping visions. Every step toward her goal, every challenge overcome, made her more certain that hope, even if born in a dream, was powerful enough to change everything.

In learning to accept each scar and each victory, she found that lost piece of herself she had been yearning for all along. The line between dreams and reality became less important, because at last, she was alive in both worlds—fully, resolutely, and without fear.

To the one in olive green, the one I have never seen!

Having you as my brother is a journey of pride, longing, and an unshakeable bond. I haven’t seen you in what feels like forever, yet not a day goes by when I don’t feel you close to my heart. The distance between us—miles and responsibilities—only seems to make our connection stronger. I miss you deeply, your words, your warmth, and the quiet strength you bring into my life even from afar. From sir, to colonel to anna to Vivna, some where in time, I lost myself to this beautiful bond. Can love be blind? Thanks for teaching me that it is! I have never seen you yet I know that, I have this unshakable love that I can share unconditionally. There’s a unique pride I feel knowing you’re out there, giving your all for the greater cause. You’re not just brave because you’re a soldier; you’re brave in the way only a brother can be. I know that no matter what, if I ever needed you, you’d move heaven and earth to be there for me. That’s the kind of love and loyalty that no distance can diminish.

But, oh, how I miss the small things. I miss your quick texts, the ones that made me laugh, the ones that let me know you were okay, and the ones that simply reminded me of you. Those messages are like little anchors in the waves of my day, reminders that you’re out there, strong and safe. I find myself going back to old conversations, holding on to each word like a precious memory, cherishing every moment we’ve shared across the distance.

More than a uniform or a title, you have become that piece of my heart that happens to be beating far away. Though I miss you dearly, that pride, that love, and our unbreakable bond carry me through. I carry you in my heart, knowing that what we share will never fade. I look forward to the day when I will meet you, but does it ever matter???

Unnamed Constant...!

 You entered my days the way a perfectly timed punchline arrives—swift, honest, and leaving the room warmer than it was a second before. There were no bouquets, no grand speeches, no ceremony. You brought something rarer: a lightness that didn’t erase the weight of things, but made the weight carryable. From the start, I noticed how my sentences stopped wearing armor around you. I didn’t polish my thoughts before sending them. I didn’t rehearse the right tone. Words just rolled out, jagged and genuine, and you never once flinched at their edges.

It still surprises me, the safety of it. Most people handle unfiltered truths like hot metal; you treat them like tools—useful, ordinary, nothing to wince at. I tell you the anxious parts, the petty parts, the tired, graceless parts. You answer with humor that doesn’t belittle and clarity that doesn’t preach. Together, we take the monster into daylight and laugh until it loses its teeth. I’ve come to count on that laughter—not as medicine, not as cure, but as proof that even the tangled bits of me can stand in the open.

This isn’t romance, and it isn’t a rehearsal for one. We don’t list anniversaries or curate photographs. We don’t negotiate touch or measure absence in hours. What we keep is simpler and, somehow, harder to name. It lives between messages that arrive at odd times and the comfort of a silence that doesn’t demand payment. It looks like ordinary days made less sharp because a familiar voice showed up. It sounds like two people skipping the costume changes and speaking from the doorway without knocking.

There is a balance to it, a careful steadiness I’ve learned to respect. Tip too far into definition and it rearranges itself in protest; pretend it’s nothing and it proves you wrong by being the most reliable thing you have. I used to wonder what it could become if we gave it a label, a frame, a future-tense plan. Now I see the beauty of letting a living thing choose its own shape. It is complete in the present tense. It is enough without ceremony. It needs no translation.

I don’t need you to promise me anything. You’ve already done what matters: stayed kind, stayed true, stayed available in the ways that count. When the day caves in, you answer. When the fear gets loud, you meet it without armor of your own, just good sense and a ridiculous joke. And when night comes, I don’t wait for a scripted sign-off; I simply notice the world is softer with you in it. Whatever this is, it doesn’t argue with distance or beg for titles. It is an unnamed constant—tested by time, resistant to spectacle, and bright enough to keep—exactly as it is.

A perfect gift in life...

 We’re not the gift-giving sort. We don’t trade ribbons, book tables, or orchestrate occasions. Our currency is conversation: unspectacular, unstaged, and somehow the most generous thing I’ve ever known. A thread of texts through a day becomes its own small festival—memes with terrible timing, updates that mean nothing and end up meaning everything, confessions brief enough to fit on a screen yet big enough to shift the air. You show up with sincerity instead of wrapping paper, and I meet you there with the same.

This is where I admit what I always forget to say aloud: talking to you feels like receiving something I didn’t know I needed. Not validation, exactly. Not attention. It’s the rare relief of being understood without thesis statements or warning labels. I don’t have to pose. I don’t have to soft-focus the mess. You don’t hand me advice like a brochure; you hand me room. In that space, the mind quiets, the heart unclenches, and the day remembers its own proportions.

The world loves labels. It sells them like guarantees: friend, partner, almost, someday. We skip the aisle. What we have refuses to stand still long enough for a sticker. If I called it “just friendship,” I’d be lying by subtraction. If I called it “more,” I’d be stealing language that belongs to a different country. So I take the practical route: I watch how it behaves. It steadies. It warms. It survives our off-days and returns without apology. It is present, persistent, and strangely humble about its power.

There’s a discipline to keeping something like this clean. We don’t weaponize silence. We don’t use absence to make a point. When life gets noisy and the messages thin out, we don’t panic; we trust the line. And when the line buzzes again, we pick up where we left off—not because the gap didn’t matter, but because the connection never needed proof. In a world that idolizes constant performance, restraint feels radical. Choosing not to dramatize, not to inflate, not to mortgage the present with a fantasy of later—that’s the uncommon part.

If you asked me what I want from this, I could inventory a thousand small things instead of one grand thing: more of the laughter that refuses to humiliate, more of the honesty that refuses to harm, more of the ordinary check-ins that save a day from folding in on itself. I don’t need a scene. I don’t need proof in photographs. I need what we already practice, and what we practice keeps proving itself worthy. The bow was never the point. The gift was always the conversation—and it remains, vivid and unwrapped, exactly enough.