Everyone Judged His Marks. Today, He's Joining IIT 🥇

I still remember the day Sanju (My nephew) was born. The moment I held that tiny little cutie in my arms, the world stopped for a second. People often ask, "How did you feel when you held a newborn baby for the first time?" Even today, I struggle to find the right words. ❤️ Maybe every parent understands this.😊

You look at that tiny face and silently promise: "You angel, We will do everything we can for you."

Years passed faster than I expected.

The little boy who once held my finger while walking is now joining IIT. (No not the I’m In Trouble 😄, the real IIT)

And as I look back on his journey, I realize something important. His success is not just about marks, ranks, or achievements.

It is about positive parenting, trust, support, and giving a child the freedom to become who they are meant to be. 

Children Are Not Projects. They Are Kites. 🪁 Hold the string with love, but give them enough sky to fly.

Many parents unknowingly make one mistake. We try to create the child we want.

Why do we expect every child to excel in academics? Why do we assume engineering, medicine, or corporate jobs are the only paths to success?

Every child is different. 

Some children shine in studies. Some shine in sports.

Some shine in music. Some shine in art.

Some shine in acting. And some surprise us with talents we never imagined.

One of the biggest lessons I learned as a parent is this: "A child grows best when they are allowed to grow in their own direction."

If a child loves studies and enjoys spending hours with books, wonderful. Encourage them.

But if a child is naturally good at sports, don't force them to treat sports as a reward after studies. Let them explore what they genuinely love. The same applies to acting, music, art, dance, or any other talent.

Our job as parents is not to decide what our children should become. Our job is to help them discover who they are.

When this boy wanted to play sports, and participate in competitions, his parents made a bold decision. They chose a school that genuinely valued sports and gave children opportunities to grow beyond academics.

It was during his 10th grade. When the results came out, many people mocked him because his marks weren't what they expected. But for me, he had already won something far more valuable. He had spent his childhood doing what he truly loved, exploring his interests, playing sports, and learning lessons that no textbook could ever teach. Those experiences shaped his character, built his confidence, and taught him how to face life with courage.

Looking back, it was one of the best decisions they made. What amazed me most was that he never followed the crowd. He always chose something unique.

One day, he became interested in Rubik's Cubes. Until then, I didn't even know there were competitions for solving Rubik's Cubes! He was solving different cubes in what felt like seconds.

Then he explored other sports, I don't know the name, its something like Gatta Kusthi, and once again he surprised everyone with how quickly he learned and excelled.

Watching him taught me something important.

Children are naturally talented. Sometimes they discover talents that even parents never knew existed.

The environment around them can either help those talents grow or slowly suppress them.

If the environment helps them grow, let's stand back, clap our hands, and feel proud.

If they face setbacks, disappointments, or even toxic situations, let them learn from those experiences. It's okay. They are learning. Life has its own way of teaching lessons that no classroom ever can.

As parents, We simply need to stand beside them.

One of the biggest examples of this came after he secured admission to VIT, which is a highly respected institution and a dream for many students.

Most people would have happily accepted the seat and moved on. But he wasn't satisfied.

He said, "I want to take a break and try once more."

That wasn't an easy decision.

It involved uncertainty, risk, and plenty of questions.

What if it didn't work?

What if he lost a year?

What if things didn't go according to plan?

Yet his parents chose to support him.

Today, he has achieved the goal he was chasing.

But here's the question other's might have:

What if he hadn't? Would that have made him a failure?  Absolutely not.

He would still have learned something valuable. He would still have grown. He would still have found another path. 

Sometimes children understand their own dreams better than we do.

They know what excites them. They know what they want to explore. They know what kind of life they want to build.

Sometimes the greatest gift we can give our children is trust.

Support them. Guide them. Encourage them.

And when the time comes, have the courage to let them chase their own dreams.

So today, spend a little extra time with your child.

Listen to them.

Encourage them.

Believe in them.

Because sometimes the greatest thing a parent can say is:

"I trust you. Go chase your dreams."

Grade 1 or IIT? Every Parenting Survival Story

June has been a month full of pressure.

Pressure not because of my office work. Pressure because my son is in Grade 1 👊

Before you judge me as the parent who sits behind a child with a pile of books and forces him to study every evening, let me clarify something.

I consciously decided years ago that I would never turn my home into a second classroom.

My belief was simple.Until at least Grade 5, children should be children.

They should play outside. They should get dirty and make home dirty. They should climb walls, chase dogs and cats, ask silly questions and create memories that will stay with them forever. 

Whatever they learn in school should be enough.

That was my philosophy.

But, It's just a month since the school reopened, yet somehow my son has already completed his Unit 1 Formative Assessments in every subject. I am still trying to figure out which notebook belongs to which subject, and now Unit 2 assessments for all subjects are starting this week.

Suddenly, I find myself feeling pressured as a parent.

When I open a Maths chapter, it is no longer just a simple lesson on addition or a single concept. Every topic comes with multiple types of questions, and each question has several variations that require practice.

Then comes homework. Then comes revision. Then comes preparation for the next assessment.

Then comes another set of activities.

In between, every week introduces a new concept activity, project, or assignment that needs attention.

And somewhere in all of this, there is a six-year-old child who still wants to play.

As parents, we focus so much on helping our children succeed academically. But are we giving the same attention to protecting their mental and emotional well-being?

I am not blaming the curriculum, the teachers, or the school structure.

But I do wonder: When did we stop asking children, "Did you have fun today?" and start asking, "What homework do you have today?"

Study. Study. Study.

Again, I am not writing this to criticize schools.

Perhaps I feel this pressure more because I consciously chose not to turn my home into a classroom. I wanted my son to play freely every day, explore the world around him, and learn naturally without spending hours studying at home.

Now, I find myself questioning that decision.

Am I doing enough?

Should I be teaching more at home?

Or should childhood still be allowed to remain childhood?

I am writing this because I know thousands of parents feel exactly the same way. They want their children to succeed, but they also want them to be happy. 

They sit beside their children every evening, helping with homework and revision. And if you are a working parent? Well, congratulations! The moment you walk through the door, you are greeted with, "You don't spend enough time teaching your child!" Instant guilt delivered free of cost. 😄

June taught me something important.

The pressure is real. The overwhelm is real.

And as parents, we know we cannot simply ignore studies. We want our children to learn, grow, and build a strong foundation for the future.

And if you are a parent like me, someone who has consciously decided not to turn evening into a second classroom, I know it can feel uncomfortable.

There is always that little voice asking, "Am I doing right?"

Should I make him revise more?

Should I make him practice another worksheet?

Should I be spending more time teaching?

But I made a choice.

I chose to protect my child's evenings.

I chose outdoor play over extra worksheets.

I chose conversations, cycling, running around, and simply being a child.

And honestly, I believe it is one of the boldest decisions a parent can make today.

Not because studies are unimportant. They absolutely matter.

But because childhood matters too.

When I see my son come home excited to play, when I watch him laugh outdoors, when I see him discover the world beyond textbooks, I am reminded that these moments are also a form of learning.

The pressure to do more will always be there.

Another worksheet will always be waiting.

Another assessment will always be around the corner.

But childhood will not wait.

A happy child learns better than a pressured child.

So if you have chosen to let your child play a little longer, explore a little more, and simply enjoy being a child, don't feel guilty.

You are not doing right thing

You are making a choice.

And perhaps, in a world that is constantly asking children to grow up faster, that choice is more valuable than we realize.

Parenting | Child Education | Academic Pressure | Grade 1 Learning | School Stress | Modern Parenting

The Honk That Saved Us 🚨📢

Sometimes the most unexpected stories happen on the ordinary days.

What started as a routine drive to Bangalore became an experience our family will never forget, and it taught me two important lessons.

We were driving to Bangalore. A flyover construction project was in progress near the Thoppur forest area, forcing all vehicles onto a temporary service road. If you haven't heard of the famous Thoppur Ghat, It was one of those chaotic stretches near Thoppur Ghat - heavy traffic, ongoing elevated flyover construction, patchy mobile signal, and a road known for its steep descents and sharp curves.

The traffic map was glowing deep red, showing a 30-minute delay ahead. Usually, I sit in the front passenger seat. But that day was different.

My son had a fever. He was exhausted, restless, and struggling to sleep. So I moved to the back seat beside him, hoping to comfort him and help him rest during the drive.

A few minutes later, I noticed a strong, pungent smell.

"What's that smell?" I asked my husband.

"It's probably from the road," he replied and I went back to focusing on my son.

Then came the honking from a lorry driver.

Not once. Not twice. But Continuously, An annoying one!

The kind of honking that immediately makes you think, "Okay, what mistake did we make?"

If you have driven in India, you know that a horn is rarely used for an actual emergency.

Most of the time, honking is simply a driver's way of expressing impatience or irritation.

My husband, like many others (and I suspect many men), seems to have multiple personalities while driving.

Most of the time, he is calm. But the moment another vehicle tries to overtake from the wrong side, or someone manages to touch his wrong nerve, a completely different personality takes over.

It's as if an Ajith Kumar racing character suddenly wakes up inside him. Suddenly, it is no longer a family drive. One speeds up. The other refuses to give way. It becomes the final lap of a Formula 1 championship. 

So when the lorry driver kept honking behind us, my first thought was not danger.

I casually asked my husband, "What did you do to the lorry driver this time?"

What happened next was scary then we could imagine.

Suddenly, we saw smoke. At first, it appeared near the road. Then more smoke. Then even more.

The service road was narrow. Cars surrounded us on both sides. In typical Indian traffic, vehicles seemed to occupy every available inch of space.

The lorry driver somehow managed to overtake us.

As he passed, he shouted urgently through his window:

"Smoke! Smoke!"

The smoke was coming from our vehicle.

Everything changed instantly. Now it felt dangerous.

I don't know whether movies conditioned me, but the moment I saw the smoke, my mind immediately jumped to all the worst-case scenarios.

Get my son to safety. I looked to the right to open car door. No space.

I looked to the left. Still no space.

Cars everywhere. The smoke was getting thicker.

I lowered the window, preparing myself for the possibility of jumping out with my son if things got worse.

By then, the smoke had become so dense that it was beginning to obscure the windshield.

My son and I managed to get out through a small gap between the vehicles.

My husband couldn't stop abruptly in the middle of the road, as traffic was moving around us from every direction.

I got down blocked the approaching vehicles and guided him toward the left side so he could safely pull over and park the car.

Finally, we halted and we got out of the car without fully understanding what had just happened.

Behind us was a massive cloud of smoke. We all stood there, staring at it, coughing as the harsh smell of smoke filled the air.

As we stood there staring at the smoke, a bus slowly passed behind us.

Painted across the back was a large image of Lord Murugan, his hand raised in blessing.

I have never been particularly religious. Yet, over the past few months, I kept hearing about Lord Murugan from different people. Somehow, that led us to visit one of his Arupadai Veedu temples, and it hadn't even been a week since we had returned.

Standing there beside the road, coughing and staring at a cloud of smoke, I couldn't help but wonder if that bus appearing at that exact moment meant something.

Maybe it was just a coincidence. Or maybe it was a reminder that life can change in the blink of an eye.

We needed help. Roadside assistance. Insurance. Anyone.

I grabbed my phone and saw that it had only 3% battery left. Within moments, it died.

By then, it was around 7:00 in the evening, and darkness had already settled in.

My husband tried calling roadside assistance. The calls weren't connecting.

We searched through the car's papers, looking for insurance details and roadside assistance numbers. We Googled support numbers. showroom support. Insurance contacts. No luck.

My son, who was already down with a fever, looked at me and said,

"Amma, can you make me sit somewhere? My legs are hurting, and the noise from the road is giving me a headache."

Hundreds of vehicles passed by.

But not a single one stopped.

To be Continued... 

The 13th Time

As I lay on my bed, exhausted, I thought about what happened with my son today.

For the 12th time, I had politely told him the same thing. 12 times. The same request. The same explanation. The same patience. But he didnot do. 

By the thirtheeth time, I was tired. Mentally drained. Frustrated.

And I shouted. Magic, He listened immediately.

As silence filled the room, a thought crossed my mind:

"If shouting works so quickly, why didn't I just shout at the first time?"

If parenting had data & analytics, the report would read: 

"Polite requests -> 0% conversion. Shouting ->100% engagement (reponse Rate less than 0.001 seconds.😆)

But the more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I became.

Because parenting isn't just about getting children to obey. It's about teaching them how to become good.

And that's when my mind wandered back to my own childhood.

Many of us grew up in homes where every household item had a secondary purpose: A Weapon for beating children.

The belt wasn't just a belt. The dosa karandi wasn't just for making dosas. The comb, the scale, the newspaper, the towel, even the legendary saattai (whip) every item in the house seemed to have a hidden job description.

Primary purpose: Household use.

Secondary purpose: To beat and Correct our behavior

Back then, the definition of a good parent was simple: the stricter, the better. 

If a child misbehaved and the parents didn't beat them, relatives would arrive with free parenting advice: "You are spoiling the child! Beat and Rise" (adichu thuvachu valathu, lol)

"In our days, one look from the father was enough!"

But as a kid, I lived in constant fear that any household object could suddenly receive a career upgrade. Like Anniyan switching personalities, a harmless comb could transform into a weapon used to beat me.

Looking back now, I know my parents loved me deeply. But somehow, my memory has preserved those beatings in crystal-clear detail.

I don't remember what I ate on a random Tuesday in 1998. But I can still remember exactly why I got beaten that one afternoon.

The funny thing is, the beatings were usually for "discipline." Yet even today, I can't remember what rule I broke. I only remember the dramatic beating and shouting performance that followed.

But enough about my childhood survival stories.

Let's come back to the present, where I had just shouted at my son after 12 times.

My son listened after I shouted. But I don't want fear to become the language between us.

I want trust. I want respect. I want him to listen because he understands, not because he is afraid.

Parenting is strange that way. Sometimes we repeat ourselves eleven, 20  times and feel like we are failing. Yet those 12 patient conversations may matter far more than the one moment of anger that finally gets a result.

Children may remember what we teach them.

But they also remember how we made them feel.

That night, lying on my bed, I wasn't proud of the shout. I wasn't devastated by it either. It was simply a reminder that parenting is not about perfection.

It's about trying again tomorrow. With a little more patience.

A little more understanding. And hopefully, one less shout.

When Silence Becomes Heavier Than Words

There comes a point where explaining your pain feels pointless. You speak, but it feels like talking to a wall. I realized this slowly, not in one just moment, but through a series of small, exhausting incidents.

After hearing complaints about me being shared by a person casually with others, I chose silence. I accepted the blame, not because I agreed, but because I was too tired to defend myself. Sometimes, it feels easier to carry the blame than to keep proving you deserve to be heard or solved. 

It’s exhausting when the people you turn to for a soft landing or a supportive shoulder don’t even bother to support you. Even if they had two additional ears, they would still ignore you, simply because they take you for granted.

I held it in for two days, hoping when I finally shared it, I would receive at least a little comfort. Instead, I recieved igonreance. 

There were other moments too. Times when I needed support not dramatic gestures, just presence. Just someone standing beside me, showing I mattered. But that support never came. And over time, the absence of care started hurting more than any harsh words.

And then there’s something harder to say out loud. abuse. Not just emotional, but physical. What hurts even more is realizing that this is not “normal.” That other women around you are treated with basic respect, while you are left questioning your worth.

So, what is the real problem here?

The deeper issue many women face is being unheard, unsupported, and made to feel invisible in their own lives.

Early Years Graduation Day 🎓 My Biggest Emotional Moment

When my 6 years old son first told me about his Early Years Graduation Day, my reaction was honestly… Spiky.

Come on.

I am an MBA, M.Sc. graduate and I never had a graduation ceremony in my life.

My sister, who holds a PhD said, “I only had a graduation ceremony for my PhD!”

So naturally, my first thought was, “Wow, graduation already?” But today, my perspective completely changed.

When the Tiny Graduates Walked In 🎓

The moment the ceremony started, the little kids walked in wearing graduation robes and tiny caps.

And suddenly…

There was a lump in my throat.

Those little six-year-olds looked adorable in their graduation hats, blushing shyly when they saw their parents😊

Each child carried a small lamp and sang their graduation song.

It was unbelievably cute.

But more than that, it was emotional for me.

And for those tiny ones they believed this was a big day.

The excitement had been real for the past week. 

🎓🎓

Why Early Years Graduation Actually Matters Now:

When we were kids, moving from LKG to Grade 1 was just… another day.

No ceremony.

No celebration.

Honestly, our teachers barely knew us.

I remember having 62 students in my UKG class.

The teacher probably recognized my name only when she read my report card.

Things are very different today.

Schools now have:

Smaller classrooms (18 : 1 Ratio)

More teacher involvement

Personal attention

Emotional bonding with children

These teachers know the kids deeply.

They celebrate their small wins, their personalities, and their progress.

So when children move to Grade 1, it’s actually a big transition:

New and more teachers, New structure, More assessments, A different environment

For these kids, it really is a milestone.

And today I understood that.

🎓🎓🎓

One moment that  touched my heart was when the teachers called each child’s name.

But they didn’t just call names.

They spoke about something special about each child.

When my son’s name was announced, the teacher said:

"Our little author who wrote Kumki, The Elephant."

I was stunned.

The teachers had observed the children so closely.

For another child, they said: "Our Yellow Belt holder."

For someone else, they spoke about her curiosity.

The teachers weren’t just teaching.

They were truly seeing each child.

🎓🎓🎓

The Moment That Made My Eyes Wet

While my husband was busy capturing videos and photos, I was simply watching.

Observing and Absorbing.

My son was standing there holding his Early Years Graduation Certificate proudly.

On the other side, the teachers were smiling at him with genuine pride.

That was the moment.

My eyes filled with tears.

Because suddenly I realized:

This was not about the certificate.

It was about his years of tiny steps, learning, friendships, and growth.

🎓🎓🎓

The Beautiful Teacher Handover Ritual

One part of the ceremony was incredibly thoughtful.

The Early Years teacher handed a bouquet to the Grade 1 teacher, with each flower in it representing a child’s name. 🌸

It symbolized something beautiful: "We took care of them until now. Now they are yours."

Each child then walked forward and shook hands with Ms.Usha mam thier future teacher.

It felt like a mini convocation with heart.

Small touches. But unforgettable.

🎓🎓🎓

A Father’s Love That Made This Day Special

My husband was actually not supposed to be here today. He had other plans and commitments.

But my son insisted. He cried. He pleaded. He wanted his dad to be there.

So he travelled all the way just to attend this half-day graduation ceremony and then travelled back again.

Watching that… made the day even more meaningful.

Because sometimes children don’t remember what we say.

But they remember who showed up.

🎓🎓🎓

My Final Thought Before Sleeping Tonight

When I lay down on my bed tonight, I kept replaying the day in my mind.

Tonight I feel something different.

These ceremonies are not for the certificate.

They are for the memories.

For the teachers (Principal Mrs. Minni Adhikari mam, Ms.Maria Pavithra mam, Ms. Lakshmi mam, Ms. Priya Anand mam and Grace mam) who nurtured them.

For the parents who watched their babies grow a little bigger.

And most importantly…

For the children who walked proudly today believing:

“I graduated.”

And honestly…

Maybe they did. 🎓

When One Person Gives Up in a Relationship

As I sat down to write this, I didn’t plan to be emotional.

But somewhere along the way, I realized that even the strongest couples don’t stay the same. And if I am being honest, mine changed too.

In the beginning, every couple fights, argues, cries, even tries to control but we always run back to each other, say sorry first, patch things up at any cost, because losing the person feels far more terrifying.

I remember those days.

If he didn’t talk to me for ten minutes, my heart would pain.

If we fought at night, I would not sleep.

Not even one single night passed without patching up each other.

And now?

Now, after a decade… when we argue, I don’t rush back to patch up.

I withdraw. 

Because, I want silence, peace and space.

And that scares me.

Relationships almost follow a strange pattern.

In the beginning, you spend all your time together.

Then children come. Responsibilities grow. Careers expand.

The middle years almost 30 to 45 years become survival mode.

You are not lovers.

You are not even best friends sometimes.

You are no longer lovers dreaming together.

you are just two exhausted souls managing a house and quietly ticking the boxes of being “good parents".

They tell you, “After 60, when the children are settled, you will have time again for just the two of you. Love blossoms again”

But what about the 28+ years in between?

Does love dry out there?

Or do we just stop watering it?

Honestly… I don’t know.

Now we fight less.

Not because we understand better.

But Arguing with him? Feels Waste of energy.😓

He thinks, “She will talk tomorrow… she has to.”

I think, “He will come back to me in a week… he has no choice.”

Now we patch things up not because we miss each other,

but because life forces us to talk.

Because,

we have Decisions to make.

Parents meetings to attend.

So we speak.

Not to heal. Not to reconnect. But to FUNCTION.

So somewhere in between responsibilities and routines, we stop choosing/loving each other and start taking each other for granted.

But moving away from a fight without resolving it is a big Red Flag.

Have you ever thought about how many unresolved emotions a person carries when you extend silence or unresolved emotions like that?

The Illusion of “I have Got Them”

At some point, both partners start thinking:

“I have got my wife.”

“I have got my husband.”

That’s when effort reduces.

It’s not space.

We stop trying to impress.

We stop trying to understand.

But here’s the truth, people evolve.

Think about your childhood best friend.

Is that person still your best friend today?

Maybe yes.

If yes, you are blessed.

But most of us our personality change.

After a crisis.

After loss.

After success.

After motherhood.

After failure.

A fun person becomes calm.

A calm person becomes guarded.

A soft heart becomes practical.

The man I met on day one is not the man today.

And I am not the same woman either.

But we are still tied to each other not because we are the same, but because marriage doesn’t allow easy exits like friendships do.

And sometimes that scares me.

When Love Changes Shape

There was a time I had a thousand packets of love.

Today?

I don’t have hatred.

But I have layers.

Mixed feelings.

Exhaustion.

Distance.

Maybe this is what emotional giving up looks like.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

Just… quiet.

You stop expecting.

You stop chasing.

You stop fighting to be heard.

And that is more dangerous than anger.

The Funny (But Not So Funny) Twist

Let me end with something lighter. Remember the possessiveness in early love?

Before marriage, 

If another girl talked to him,  "war."

If he looked at some girl,  "mini heartbreak"

If some girl text hims, "World War III."

Now?

If a girl talks to him, I don’t burn anymore.

I laugh and I tease him.

And somewhere, I genuinely feel happy that there are still women who notice him.😉

I look at him and smile,

“Ah… so the charm hasn’t faded after all.”

But sometimes I wonder:

Did I lose that cute possessiveness?

Or did love just mature?

Or worse…

Did I stop caring the way I used to?

The Real Question

When a person gives up in a relationship, it doesn’t happen in one day.

It happens slowly.

When you stop resolving fights.

When you assume they will stay anyway.

When silence becomes normal.

When effort feels unnecessary.

Love doesn’t die loudly.

It dries quietly.

And maybe the real danger isn’t fighting too much in the beginning.

Maybe the real danger is not fighting at all later.

Because at least fighting means you still care enough to react.

Silence or not resolving it?

It means someone has already given up.

Two Chocolates, and that ORDER - I Can’t Forget

When my son called and asked for two chocolates, my first response wasn’t “okay.” It was a typical parent reaction.

“Why chocolates?” I continued, “You know chocolates are junk food. Why do you need them?”

There was a short pause. Then he said, “Amma, I am not going to eat. I am going to gift. One for my badminton master, and one for my Dance Master.”

That answer stopped me and I suddenly felt proud.

Grateful, even. I smiled, stopped my vehicle, and walked into a nearby shop to buy them.

And that’s where the moment changed.

Inside the shop, a little girl - around 7 years old stood near the counter.

In a calm, practiced voice, she said, “One cigarette, uncle. It’s for my appa.”

The shopkeeper didn’t question her. Since she asked for just one, he opened a fresh packet and handed her a single cigarette, loose, with no cover and it went straight into her tiny hand.

She held it between two fingers. That image cut deep.

Here I was, buying chocolates as a sign of respect and gratitude and right beside me, a child was carrying addiction home.

Her hands were too small for that responsibility. Too innocent for that habit.

I walked out with the chocolates, but my mind stayed inside that shop.

Did that parent justify it by saying, “She’s just delivering it.”

But if a child can confidently ask for a cigarette, what are we normalizing for them?

A child should carry books.

Toys. Chocolates. Dreams.

Not cigarettes.

Even now, that moment hasn’t left me.

So I want to ask every parent reading this:

Are you sending your child to buy cigarettes for you?

Are you unknowingly teaching them that this is normal?

Today, my son learned about gratitude and respect.

That little girl learned how to carry a cigarette.

Both lessons were taught in the same shop.

And that difference… still hurts.

Let’s protect their innocence, not just from big dangers, but from the small, everyday ones we overlook.

The Day I Lost My Cool

Some mornings start with Kaavaalaa song Vibe with the bgm of Mani Ratnam's Kannathil Muthamittal.

That’s exactly how our day began. My son and I were happily getting down the stairs and then one tiny moment changed everything.

A mistake happened.

Actually… not one. Two.

And yes, both were from my son’s side which has a zero-tolerance.

I lost my patience.

I did something I usually never do.

I slapped him. YES!

The moment my hand touched him, I knew it wasn’t just his mistake anymore, it became my (our) moment of heartbreak.

Before I could take a breath to fix it, to hold him, to say “sorry” or “come here,” the school bus arrived like the worst timed guest.

No time to talk.

No time to hug.

No time to repair.

He got in with a sad face.

We both stood there helpless.

And that… that was the worst feeling a parent can experience.

The Whole Day Felt Heavy

I carried the guilt like a stone in my chest.

I cried more times than I can admit.

In the office, at my desk, even while drinking coffee, I kept replaying that moment.

I kept asking myself: If I, as a grown-up with 30+ years of experience in controlling myself, broke down so easily,  How was my little boy handling it at school?

Was he sad? Confused? Angry?

Was he blaming himself? Or me?

That thought shattered me all over again.

The Guilt Spiral Every Parent Knows

We parents don’t just feel guilty.

We feel three layers of it:

Guilt

More guilt

And extra guilt with interest

I tried to distract myself, didn’t work.

I then ordered his favourite toy on BlinkIt, so he would feel excited after school. And while returning from office, I picked up all the snacks for him.

We finally patched things up… and just when I thought the storm had passed, he made another mistake. And boom !!! the loop continues. 😉

But, What I Learned something today. Parenting is not a straight line.

It’s a messy, emotional rollercoaster where both the parent and the child are learning how to love better.

1. Kids make mistakes. Parents do too. It’s normal. Human. Natural. (Even AI does mistake)
2. Losing control doesn’t make you a bad parent. It makes you a parent who needs a breath, not punishment.
3. Kids forgive faster than we forgive ourselves. Their hearts don’t hold grudges the way ours do.
4. The repair matters more than the mistake. What you say after the anger matters more than what caused the anger.

To Every Parent Reading This

If you have ever lost your cool…

If you have ever shouted…

If you have ever reacted too fast…

You are not alone.

And your child doesn’t need a perfect parent.

They just need a parent who comes back, hugs them tight, and tries again.

Parenting is not about never making mistakes

It’s about repair, connection, and growing together.

Seasons of Friendship And the Pain of Being Replaced

Friendship is one of the strange, yet most beautiful journeys we walk through in life. It grows with us, and sometimes… breaks us in ways we never expected.

But if you look back, the purest form of friendship always begins in one place:

School : Where Friendship Is Innocent and Unfiltered

School friendships are magic.

You don’t choose them based on status, comfort, convenience, or mutual benefits.

It’s the time when:

Sharing one lunch box meant sharing a piece of your heart

One bench held a thousand secrets

You never feared being judged

Back then, friendship was simple.

Uncomplicated.

Pure.

College : When Having a “Gang” Feels Like a Personality

Then comes college. 

Suddenly, the number of friends you have becomes a symbol of how “mass” you are.

Late-night canteen tea, group selfies, mass bunk plans, heartbreak advice...

But college friendships, though beautiful not lifelong. 

Adulthood : When You Realize Quality > Quantity

There comes a phase, usually in the mid-20s or early 30s, when life quietly teaches you something:

You don’t need a crowd.

You just need one or two people who actually understand you.

You begin cutting off noise.

You choose depth over numbers.

Your circle becomes smaller, softer, and safer.

You are content with just,

One friend you can cry to.

One friend you can call at 12 a.m. without thinking twice.

One friend who knows your scars and still stands next to you.

Those become your real people.

And Then… the Shock of “Community Friendships”

People who are in your life simply because you live in the same building.

Same elevator.

Same WhatsApp group.

Same festival committee.

They are friendly, yes.

Helpful, yes.

A part of your daily environment, yes.

But… they are not the ones who know your soul.

And that becomes painfully clear when someone you loved deeply starts replacing you with them.

The Hurt of Being Thrown Away for “Community Friends”

What hurts the most is not that she found new people…

It’s that she threw you away for them.

Your best friend:

the girl who shared your bed,

your midnight calls,

your coffee moments,

your heartbreak stories 

suddenly found a new circle.

And instead of holding both relationships with maturity,

she pushed you aside because she now has “community friends.”

Friends who are around her simply because they stay in the same apartment.

People who entered her life out of convenience, not connection.

Hearing her repeat

“community friends, community friends, community friends”

felt like being stabbed with the same knife over and over.

It wasn’t just a word.

It was a dismissal.

A downgrade.

A painful reminder that someone you loved deeply didn’t fight for you the way you fought for them.

Sorry, my dear… I wasn’t able to handle ‘mature’ enough to ignore the way you showed your true colours. 

It wasn’t that I failed. it’s just that you moved on because you wanted community friends. And yet… thank you. 

This lesson, as painful as it was, is making me stronger than ever.

#FriendshipJourney #RealFriendship #SchoolFriends #CollegeFriends #QualityOverQuantity #Adulthood #MakingMyCircleSmaller #FriendshipBreakup #Betrayal #CommunityFriends #FindingMyPeople #EmotionalHealing #FriendshipGoals #ToxicFriendship #MovingOn #PainfulLessons

💔 A Letter From a Tired Heart - A Loveless Marriage - Day 3

This morning, I woke up clutching my stomach, those sharp, twisting cramps that make you forget how to breathe. I looked at my calendar, confused. Ten days early. Damn it.

If you are a woman, you know that feeling, The frustration and the pain. As I swung my legs out of bed and placed my feet on the floor, it felt like stepping on thorns. My feet hurt, my back ached, and my mood? Let’s just say it was a storm waiting to break.

Still, I pulled myself up. Because that’s what we do, we push through. But as I shuffled to the kitchen, exhausted, the man I married gave me that look. You know that ONE look that silently says, “You are just being lazy.”

To avoid an argument, I muttered softly, “I got my periods. I am unwell.”

And then came the sentence that broke me. “My sister never behaved like this. Behaving as if she is the only woman in the world”

That one line cut deeper than the cramps. Because what he was comparing me to was his sister, ten years ago, before she was married, before the daily grind, before life’s invisible weights started stacking up.

How can you compare two women from two completely different worlds?

His sister didn’t have to travel through traffic for hours every day. She didn’t sit at a desk for 8 hours fighting back pain and deadlines. She didn’t come home to cook, clean, manage, nurture, while silently fighting a body that’s screaming inside.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t going through what I might be, hormonal imbalance, stress-induced cycles, pre-menopausal changes, chronic fatigue, or anxiety that no blood test can measure.

Women’s bodies are not machines. We are cycles of change, physical, emotional, spiritual. And no two cycles are the same.

So, to every woman reading this:  Please, don’t let anyone make you feel weak for your pain. You are not overreacting. You are surviving battles no one else can see. Cry if it helps. And know this: your worth is not measured by how well you hide your pain.

And to the men who are reading:

When she says she’s in pain, believe her. Don’t compare. Just show empathy. Sometimes love doesn’t need words,  just understanding.

Because every cruel comment might fade, but its stays - long after the cramps do.

💔 A Letter From a Tired Heart - A Loveless Marriage - Day 2

Dear Diary,

Oh my God… what an immature person I was married to. Today he came to me and said sorry. But it didn’t feel real,  not even for a second. I have lived through too many years, too many cycles of his fake guilt, and his sudden softness that always vanishes the moment I stop agreeing with him.

If I stay quiet, he gets triggered, like silence itself offends him. 

He throws words like knives, each one meant to wound, to control. 

But today… today was different. I looked straight into his eyes and said “No.” Hiding all my pain.

Just one word  and everything changed. His tone shifted instantly. The man who pretended to be remorseful only moments ago turned harsh again, like the mask had slipped and his true face finally showed.

That’s when it hit me this was never love. It was an act. A carefully rehearsed play for the world to see. Maybe he has some family function coming up, maybe he needs to parade the illusion of a “happy marriage.” I don’t know. But I do know this his apology wasn’t for me. It was for the audience he wants to impress.

And for the first time, I didn’t fall for it. I didn’t melt. I didn’t hope.

I just felt… tired.

Maybe that’s what real clarity feels like.

💔 A Letter From a Tired Heart - A Loveless Marriage

Even a delivery boy or a complete stranger standing at the door is greeted with a smile, offered water, or at least told, “Come in.”

Today, as I sit quietly with my thoughts, I realize how people truly are. 

It has been nine long years since my marriage, and not even once my in-laws said that simple word — “Come In” — when I entered their home. 

Every time I entered that house, it felt like I was walking into a place where I didn’t belong — a place that reminded me I was unwanted.

I always carried guilt in my heart, as if I had done something wrong by being born a woman or by marrying into their family. The only thing they seemed to truly want from me was my share of my son and my husband, who, unfortunately, chose silence over support.

My so-called husband never cared to notice my pain. For him, the marriage was just a social status — a way to show the world he has a wife, a home, and stability. But behind those closed doors, it was nothing but emptiness. He got what he wanted - money, comfort, and a name in society. I, on the other hand, was left with loneliness and emotional scars.

There’s one incident I still can’t forgive myself for. I once took my in-laws on a beautiful family trip — something very few daughters-in-law ever do. I planned everything, thinking maybe this time they would see my love, maybe this time they would accept me. But the result? It broke me further.

Even after that painful experience, I repeated my mistake the following year — another trip, a bigger group, more hopes. And then came the cruelest part — the family photo. They clicked it without me and made it their display picture — a perfect, smiling family that didn’t include me.

That moment shattered something inside me. The world sees their smiles, but I see the truth behind it — my exclusion

I don’t even know why I still keep trying, why I still hope. Maybe because every woman who loves deeply has this one dream — to be seen, valued, and loved for who she is. But some marriages are just beautiful cages, where the heart screams silently, and no one listens.

Final Thoughts: If you ever felt unseen in your marriage, ignored by your husband, or unwanted by your in-laws, know that you are not alone. So many women are silently fighting this same emotional battle behind closed doors.

When You are Tired but the Kids Don’t Care 😅

You know that feeling when you walk into your home after a 10-hour workday+3 hours of commute, dreaming of REST. 

Yeah… that was me today.

I stepped into my home after standing all day at a conference booth stall, my mind screaming, “Hit the bed!.” And before I could even drop my bag, my son spotted me — and like an siren, he yelled, “Mummyyyyy’s home!”

Within seconds, five tiny tornadoes (aka kids from the neighborhood) rushed inside my house laughing, screaming, bouncing on bean bags. One was playing cricket near the TV (and there was our couple photo frame — I was silently praying he wouldn’t turn out to be a Dhoni and hit it), another climbed onto the small circle slab in the corner, and before I knew it… the living room looked like a kids’ carnival.

Then came the next “assignment” for me: the little ones wanted me to hold them so they could count from 1 to 100 on the monkey bar. 

And just when I thought it couldn’t get messier, my son grabbed his water spray gun and went “pew-pew-splooosh-splash!” 💦 Water everywhere on the floor.

But here’s the twist — I didn’t scold them. Normally, if it were just my son, my “mom reflex” would have activated: instant scolding mode ON! But today, surrounded by five kids, I controlled my anger, frustration, or whatever you want to call it, and went with the flow. My brain kept whispering… calm down, just a few more minutes. I knew they were only here for a short while. Why spoil that joy?

And then it hit me. If I can control my anger for other kids… why can’t I do it for my own son?

Maybe our kids deserve that same calm version of us — the one that doesn’t shout, that just smiles through the mess, knowing they are learning, exploring, being kids.

So yeah, today I didn’t just survive a chaotic evening — I learned something too.

Parenting isn’t about perfection; it’s about perspective.

And next time you are a tired mom with five monkeys jumping on your couch — just breathe, grab a coffee or chocolate 🍫 or Meghna's Special Chicken Biryani or Death by Chocolate and remind yourself, "You are not losing control… you are gaining patience"

💬 What about you? Ever had one of those “I should have yelled, but didn’t” parenting moments? Drop it in the comments — let’s learn and survive motherhood together! 😅

35+ and Feeling Like a Midlife Upgrade... or a Software Crash

At 19, you want to try everything — be a pilot, an air hostess, an athlete, or a fashion designer. You believe it can happen. There’s no fear then. The world, your energy, it's all exciting. You believe you're built to chase dreams that don’t always make sense but feel right. 

By 25, something changes. The world starts programming you. You're told to “settle down,” “be practical,” “grow up.” And somehow, you’re pushed into that life. Maybe not all at once, but slowly, piece by piece, your dreams are traded and broken.  You get a job, marry, have kids, and then you can think you can follow your passion — eventually. 

At 30, you turn back and realize half of your life is gone. Oh, wait… by now, you've faced a hell of a lot of struggles, and you feel relaxed and grateful to have a bed to sleep in peacefully because life has taught you the hard way. 

Then 35 hits.It’s a breaking point. You look in the mirror, and you feel nothing. You don’t feel like the person you once were — the dreamer, the adventurer. Now, you feel tired, detached, and honestly, a little lost. 

You wake up some days, and you can’t find the energy to face the world. The thought of starting another day, going through the motions, is exhausting. You don’t feel motivated, and the thought of taking on another task seems overwhelming. The world feels like it’s moving without you, and you’re just stuck in place. 

Maturity taught you to keep everything inside because your friends are busy with their own lives, leaving you feeling isolated with your thoughts. You’ve tried so many things, but nothing sparks interest anymore, and now you’re left wondering, 

Help me, universe, show me a way out of this fog.

Romance with Robots? Sorry, I Prefer Human Touch 🤖💔👫

I was standing at the bus stop, fully glued to my phone, waiting for my sleeper bus to arrive—no stress, no fear of missing it, thanks to live bus tracking right on my mobile screen — bus number, driver’s number, live location, even the poor guy’s blood group (okay, maybe not, but we are not yet there). The live tracking app showed it was 0 meters away — I looked up, and boom, bus was there. 

But I couldn’t help smiling at a memory from a decade ago—back when travel meant playing "Bus Varuma? Varadha? 🙉" (When’s the bus going to arrive?) at dusty roadside stops. No app, no GPS, just pure faith, sweaty anxiety, and endless staring down the road in hope.

While waiting, you would glance at another traveler. Few minutes later, a smile gets exchanged. Then comes the classic icebreaker: “Enga Porigna? Where are you going?” If they happened to say the same destination—BANG, instant connection. We would swap numbers, talk non-stop like old friends, and ride along as if we would know each other for years.

As I settled into my window seat on the bus, I couldn’t help but wonder—why did the internet take over everything? 

Yes, Internet is amazing. It makes life smooth, efficient, and a little too convenient. But honestly, Dont we miss connection?

The past few months, all I have been hearing is “AI, AI, AI...Aeeeeeeeee!” At first, I was curious, but as I learned more about it and the things it could change, I couldn’t help but feel less excited and more...WORRIED. 

I miss power cuts. Yes, you read that right. Those unexpected blackouts were childhood festivals. My sister and I would have an Olympic-level fight over who got to light the candle and then we would sit outside under the stars, pretending we were deep philosophers while actually dong nothing. Now? Even if the power dares to blink, Wi-Fi backup kicks in faster than our old inverter and everyone stays glued to their screens like AI-powered zombies.

A decade ago, I went to a waterfall and camped next to a railway line—no network, no Instagram tags, no influencer reels shouting “Hidden Gem!” We fell asleep to the soothing sounds of the train passing by and woke up to the calming roar of the waterfall. And guess what? It was pure bliss. Maybe because I hadn’t seen it a thousand times already on my screen.

Fast forward ten years, and I returned to the same place, this time with my husband. But his excitement? Barely there. Why? Because his Instagram reels had a better view, and we were more focused on taking selfies and Googling "best spots nearby" than actually soaking in the moment. The world has changed what once felt magical now seems like just another photo

That’s when it hit me, will my son ever feel that kind of joy? The kind that comes from discovering something with wide eyes instead of Screens? Or will he just pull up a 4D version of a forest and call it a day outing?

My dad used to say that he never actually saw my mother before marriage. My sister, back in the days when a one-minute phone call cost 3.50 rupees, just to talk to her fiancé. And those calls? They were short, but full of excitement. They had that raw energy, that anticipation.

When my husband and I were in a relationship, we didn’t have WhatsApp video calls or constant chats. There was a real thrill in seeing each other after weeks of waiting, a kind of pure excitement that’s hard to explain.

But now, with AI and all the technology we have, I sometimes wonder—will my son and the next generation ever experience that raw, unfiltered excitement? Or will it all just be a blur of notifications and screens?

I’m not anti-AI. I’m grateful for it. But in our rush to optimize every second, are we forgetting how fun it was to waste time? To get lost? To be surprised?

Maybe the real AI challenge isn’t about jobs or robots taking over. Maybe it’s about making sure we don’t forget how to be human.

So light a candle, lose the map, take a detour. And if you don’t have a power cut, just switch off the router. 

The Instant Delivery : Convenience or Addiction?

I was cooking. Yes, Really I was. Then I realized—no ginger!

Back in the day, my mom had a method to tackle this kitchen crisis situation. She would hand me 1 rupee 25 paise—1 rupee for ginger and 25 paise as a bribe for some chocolate. I would go to the local “Annachi shop” (a small neighborhood store), highly motivated by the sweet reward. 

Of course, the journey involved more than just buying ginger. I washed my face, combed my hair—after all, I must look presentable while stepping out. Along the way, I exchanged greetings with at least two aunties. 

Fast forward to today. I don’t have the privilege of requesting my kid to run, he would just roll his eyes and say, “Boomer mother.” Well, I would have stepped out myself? But instead of grabbing my keys, I reached for my smartphone.

Four different instant delivery apps stared back at me—Instamart, Blinkit, Zepto, bigbasket you name it. Some promised delivery in 10 minutes, others in 5. Before I could even place my order, the doorbell rang. My ginger was already here.  

Wow! I felt like I had discovered a life savior. One tap, and everything was at my doorstep. And just like that, ordering became an addiction.

Morning coffee? Order milk.

Feeling sugary? Order biscuits.

Delivery fees? No problem—just add three more useless things to avoid it!

And now going to the store became just like a Goa trip—always planned, never executed. 

Years later, I released the impact of instant delivery – You open the app for something, and next thing you know, your cart has chips, ice cream, and a buy-one-get-one-free packet of something you didn’t even know existed. Oops.

Today,  I looked at my phone, then at my own laziness, and made a bold decision—NO MORE INSTANT DELIVERY.

Why? Because it doesn’t just bring convenience. It brings addiction. It makes you lazy. It makes you spend on things you don’t really need.

So, Step out, walk to the store, hold that purchase in your hands, and come back home with a sense of accomplishment. Trust me, it feels better than tapping a screen.

The One Thing Women Shouldn’t Ignore

In my mom’s time, just saying the word period was taboo. We had to hide those whisper packets like they were our browsing history—stuffed into bags, slipped under books. 

Fast forward to 2025, and now I order them online. The delivery person hands them over without even bothering to wrap them in a black plastic bag. Progress, right?

!*Red Alert**! – Now, I can openly tell my friends, "I'm on a romantic date with my MENses today—so no swimming, no running, no white pants, and definitely no patience—just me and my ever-so-toxic red-flag partner, P.E.R.I.O.D.S!"

No shame, no secrecy. Wow, we have broken those barriers and talk about cramps, mood swings, and cravings like they are just another Friday. But just when I thought we had won the battle against period taboos, life threw me a curveball: P.M.D.D.

What’s PMDD? Honestly, I thought it was some new government scheme—Prime Minister’s Mortgage Discount Day?—and I even hoped my housing loan would be waived!

Turns out, no. It’s Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. And when the doctor explained it to me, I was more shocked.

For months, I was going through extreme emotional highs and lows and my partner response? "Why did I even marry you?" Instead of thinking, "Wait, is something wrong with her? Should I check on her?" Oh well, he’s a product manager, not a doctor. Can’t blame him for treating emotions like feature updates.

Then came the real horror: hopelessness and worthlessness. People said, "You earn, you are independent—why the hell do you feel hopeless?" But PMDD doesn’t care how strong or successful you are. It makes you question everything.

Severe bloating, sudden weight gain—okay, fine, I can deal with that. But then came the suicidal thoughts. Yes, you read that right. PMDD isn’t just bad PMS. It’s a storm that wrecks your mental and emotional stability. And guess what? Most people don’t even know it exists.

So here I am, breaking the silence. PMDD is real. It’s not just hormones. It’s a serious medical condition that needs awareness, support, and—most importantly—understanding. Women in their 30s and beyond go through many changes during their menstrual cycle, especially a week before their period, as their hormones start shifting toward perimenopause. Well, I had to Googled it when the doctor told me—because, honestly, it sounded like a new peri-peri chicken item on the restaurant menu 😐

If you feel like you are on an emotional rollercoaster every month, don’t just brush it off. Talk to a doctor. Educate your partner. Demand support. And every man should be aware of these changes and support the women in their lives during this time. Because no one should suffer in silence.

And to my fellow warriors battling PMDD—you are not alone. It’s okay to seek medical support because your health, both mental and physical, matters. You deserve care, understanding, and a life not ruled by your hormones!

The Weight of Emptiness

I know people say life is complete  

When you have family—  

Parents, a sibling, a husband, a child.  

But what they don’t say  

Is how empty it feels  

When they are just... there, yet mean N.O.T.H.I.N.G  

My son, I protected you so fiercely  

When you were inside me,  

Filled with hope and purpose.  

But now, I am not that person.  

I am S.O.R.R.Y

Maybe in my next life,  

I wish to be an orphan—  

Not because I don’t want love,  

But because I don’t want to look up,  

Expecting hands to lift me,  

Only to find N.O.T.H.I.N.G  

At least then,  

I will march forward without hesitation,  

Without the weight of disappointment.

Teaching Independence to Kids

As a mother, I always believed in fostering independence in my child. It's not easy, and it was not understood by others. But in the end, I believe it's one of the important things I can do for them.

When my son was learning to walk, he fell countless times. Each time, I would clap, smile, and encourage him: "Come on, get up, nothing happened. Keep going!" 

I never rushed to pick him up or make a big deal out of it. I didn’t feel the need overreact. I simply wanted him to know that falling is a part of life—and it’s okay. 

But while I saw it as teaching resilience, others around me didn’t always agree. I remember the whispers from neighbors—some even called me a "****" for not rushing to my child’s side when he fell. They thought I was heartless, uncaring. 

As a mom, I know the difference between a simple fall and a serious injury. And I believe in giving my child the space to learn how to handle himself. It's not that I didn't care—it's that I trusted him to be okay, to learn that he could get up on his own, and that he didn’t need me to always fix things. 

Ah, the food phase—when I decided it was time for my son to learn to feed himself, despite the mess and the post-30-minute clean-ups, my close ones labeled me ruthless for not spoon-feeding, carrying him in my arms, or telling stories while he ate. 

"He will finish 3 idlis if you just distract him and feed him for an hour," my relative said and added, "Didn’t you carry him for 9 months? How can a mom NOT think about feeding him that one extra idli?"

Three idlis for a kid?!? Well, Dr. Pal, looks like I need your help 👶

But, I always treated my son like an adult and I ask for his opinions. He chooses his own clothes from his wadrobe. Even at a young age, I wanted him to feel in control of his own choices. I encouraged him to make his own decisions, trusting that each choice, big or small, would help him grow into a confident and an independent person. 

Yes, I received backlash for my parenting style. From strangers to family, it seemed like everyone had an opinion on how I should be raising my child. But today, as I watch my son make decisions on his own, I see the fruits of those decisions. He is independent, and though stubborn at times (like any child!), he knows what he wants and isn't afraid to stand up for himself. Since I always encouraged his independence, he grew confident in exploring the world around him, even striking up conversations with strangers without fear.

And let me tell you something: there’s no greater feeling than seeing your child learn to be self-reliant. In those moments, I know deep down that I am doing something right.

I won’t lie—it hasn’t always been easy. The criticisms, the doubts, the questions. I heard it all. There are nights when I go to bed feeling exhausted. But then, something happens that reminds me why I do this. 

One night, I had a headache and was completely drained. My 5-year-old son, seeing that I was not well, quietly came up to me with a glass of water and a cool cloth. He gently applied the balm, placed the cool cloth on my forehead with care, turned off the lights, and went off to play without making a fuss. He didn't need to be told to do that. He knew what I needed and cared enough to offer it.

In that moment, all the criticisms I faced, all the tiredness, and the doubts—they all melted away. My son had learned to be considerate, independent, and self-sufficient. He knew how to take care of someone else because I had trusted him to take care of himself first.

So yes, my parenting was right. Not because I am perfect, but I always believed in his ability to grow, learn, and take responsibility. It hasn’t always been the easy, but it has been the one that shaped him into the thoughtful, independent person he is becoming.