When Time Hunts, Let It Find You Young

I dreamt again.

We were all in our mid-forties — caught between what we’ve become and what we still wish to be. There was some kind of drive; everyone seemed to be role-playing. Our parents were now the last living generation — their parents were gone. We were next.

Someone asked how much time we thought remained with us. Many casually said, “Maybe twenty years.” Our parents and teachers agreed: “Come on, you’ve got no more than twenty years left.”

That’s when it struck me — my father is seventy-one.
His mail ID still carries his birth year, 1954. Time had quietly passed, and I had barely noticed.

You know — age hunts us when we lose faith, when competition replaces companionship.
When we live feverishly, working only to prove, learning only to achieve, speaking only to be right — that’s when time beats us.
That’s when we grow old.
Because once our purpose is either met or failed, we feel done.

But there are homes that stay forever young — houses of intellect.
Where conversations are about greatness, not gossip.
Where learning is shared joy, not obligation.
Where everyone is creating something meaningful, not to be recognized but because it’s natural to create.

Such a home is a house of youth — where age is just the number of seasons, not a measure of decline.
The talk there should be about our own learning, not our children’s. Their growth should be the fragrance of that environment, not a forced garden we try to cultivate.
In an atmosphere rich with intellect, wisdom grows effortlessly.

But when desires become feverish and unfulfilled, we retreat into the cocoon of age.
We seek doctors, not direction. We make our children feverish too, handing them our unfinished dreams to carry.
And then I saw people — our parents’ age and older — advising their children to marry doctors, as if a profession could heal a restless life.

No — we must stop.
Not to give up, but to settle into ourselves.
To rest, to breathe, to do what we truly love — even if it’s simply sleeping or walking or gazing at the sky.
Because doing what we love keeps us young. It gives life a quiet, natural purpose.

Yet even the feverishness to stay young is dangerous.
When we force ourselves to be young, we become artificial — hiding under makeup, clinging to diets, pretending to bloom.
It’s okay to let the hair turn grey — just tuck a rose behind the ear because you love it, not to prove you still can.
That’s true youth: the grace of not resisting change.

Guruji once said, “A place cannot make you happy.”
Even in the most romantic corner of Italy, if your mind clings to sorrow, you’ll carry sadness like luggage.
When the mind is restless, time feels short; joy feels conditional.
But when happiness is natural, time expands — it no longer hunts you.

Good things must become our natural choice, not forced habits.
If healthy food is only eaten to stay young, it loses its purity.
We must become the kind of person who enjoys what is good, not endures it.
Then, even in a feast full of tempting foods, we’ll naturally be drawn to what nourishes us — because our foundation is strong.

Today, I realized I am not leaving non-vegetarian food — I am withdrawing naturally.
It feels like the last day for it; not by decision, but by ease.
Vegetarian food feels like my natural choice — not because of age, but because of alignment.

And yet, in Japan, in Europe, some of the best minds eat non-veg. So it isn’t non-food.
If we call eating farm-raised fish or poultry violence, someone could argue that plucking a fruit before it falls is violence too. That is kutarka — twisted reasoning.

The truth is simple: what is naturally chosen is right.
Whether it’s boiled chicken for health or fruits from the tree — both are food, when chosen with awareness.

When time hunts, let it find you natural, peaceful, and quietly young.
Let your youth be not in your body, but in your freedom.

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🩷 When Fathers Stay Relevant for Their Daughters…

Fathers have always been deeply involved in their daughters’ growth — from supporting their education to cheering for their sports, to planning their vacations.

They have been the problem-solvers of so many needs.

They take pride in being providers and protectors, but shy away from being educators of empathy when it comes to their daughters’ bodies, emotions, and womanhood.

When it comes to conversations about the reproductive system or menstruation, most fathers go silent. They think — “this is a mother’s job.”

Yet, any solution a loving and caring father creates for his daughter will always carry more understanding, more safety, and more strength than any solution given by someone else.

Men have always tried to solve women’s problems — even those related to menstruation or reproduction — and that’s commendable. But imagine the power of a father who truly understands his daughter’s pain, discomfort, and needs during these phases. What better solution could exist on earth than one born from such compassion?

Sadly, by the time a daughter reaches adulthood and faces challenges like childbirth or parenting, her father is often retired — his “role” seen as over. He quietly withdraws, thinking these matters belong to his daughter’s husband now.

But that shouldn’t be the case. A father’s relevance should not fade with time.
Like Amitabh Bachchan, who remains a voice for daughters even today, fathers must remain relevant, involved, and vocal for their daughters’ rights — not just when they are young, but throughout their lives.

Because a father’s love and wisdom are never obsolete. 💖

Normalising Respect Begins at Home

I am a mother — I do everything for my child.
I cook, clean, guide, love, protect.
But sometimes, I pause and wonder —
Who will teach her to care for me?

Not out of sympathy.
Not because she feels I am weak or tired.
But because care and respect should be normal — not optional.

I don’t want to be that poor mother in a sad story,
so that my child learns to be kind out of pity.
No. I want her to see strength in me, and still feel responsible for me.

So I teach her small things —
to ask, “Did you have your breakfast, Mama?”
to remind me of my medicines,
to touch my feet — not out of ritual, but out of respect.

Because carelessness begins at home — when children see their mothers never cared for.
And responsibility begins at home — when children learn that love is not one-way.

I want my daughter to grow up knowing that respect, concern, and responsibility
are not acts of kindness — they are part of being human.

“Don’t teach your daughter to pity you.
Teach her to respect you,
to care for you — not out of sympathy,
but out of responsibility."

That’s how we raise women who value love,
not service. 💫

🌿 Putting a Stop to What Shouldn’t Be Carried Forward

I had never truly understood how to stop something inappropriate — something I didn’t want passed on to my child or to the generations that come after her.

It’s so easy for people to point fingers at the lady of the house — the one who shoulders everything with quiet determination. The woman who builds her career, keeps her family together, raises her child with care and intellect, and still shows up fully devoted to her work.

Such women become easy targets. They neither have the time nor the inclination to play politics. They are soft targets — often criticized, compared, and misunderstood. Compassion for them is rare because very few can truly stand in their shoes.

But my concern today wasn’t about being misunderstood. I’ve learned to identify that pain. My real worry was seeing my own child learning to mirror that same attitude — the same unfair judgment — towards me.

She told me that I don’t respect my family, that I don’t care for them. It pierced me deeply.

I have always followed one rule: never to speak ill of anyone, especially family, in front of her. I wanted her to grow in an environment free of bitterness and blame.

But today, when I saw her reflecting the very words and tones I’ve silently endured, I knew it was time to act.
So, I showed her the truth — how her Mama works tirelessly, studies, cooks, handles every household chore, takes care of her, and keeps learning every day. I told her, “If even you start blaming me like others do, then there will be no one left who truly understands your Mama.”

And in that moment, I decided — this ends here.
The cycle of blame, of judgment, of inherited misunderstanding — stops with me.

I began with my child. 🌱

A Small Victory as a Mother

My little one, soon to be six, couldn’t control nature’s call and pooped in the movie hall.
As I knew what had happened, I calmly took her to the washroom and cleaned her up. Unfortunately, I had to remove her underpant, and she felt uneasy without it.

But today, as a mother, I won.

I comforted her. I made her feel it was okay. I held her close so she would feel safe.
In her innocence and honesty, she shouted, “Mom, I’m not wearing my underpants! Do you know how awkward it feels?”

“Oh, I know, baby,” I whispered, and hugged her tighter.
Gradually, she began to feel comfortable again — safe in the hall, safe with me.

I comforted her.
I retained her dignity.
I let her be — a girl full of shyness, tantrums, and innocence.
I respected her awkwardness. I respected her discomfort.

No one ever comments when she poops or pees in her pants. Her mama always handles it — with patience, with care, with love. She is never shamed for being a child.

Yes, sometimes I scold her privately, asking why she doesn’t tell me sooner. She learns, she grows, she still misses sometimes — and that’s okay.

Someday, when she reads this, she’ll know that she was respected then, and she will always be respected.
Her private moments are hers — not for anyone else to comment on. Mama never gives that liberty to others.

Our girls need assurance, comfort, patience, and respect while growing up.
Shaming them or mocking their natural discomforts affects their confidence and sense of self.

So yes — today, I won as a mother.
And even if I don’t win every day, I will never lose as one.

Breaking the Generational Curse of Anger

Anger is not in anyone’s nature. Nobody is born angry. Nobody wants to be angry. Anger doesn’t make us superhuman.

It is a self-defence mechanism — a coping reflex the body throws up in the form of aggression and negative emotions. Anger is rarely about the present situation. The situation is just a trigger. It awakens fear, insecurity, and old wounds we’ve carried for years. Bad experiences pile up, building a fragile, oversensitive, unprotected shell inside us — a place we never want to revisit.

So when anything touches that shell, the brain sounds the alarm: Danger. The same unwanted conditions might return. We defend ourselves with the animal instinct of violence, loudness, or withdrawal.

This anger is tricky.

It travels across generations.

A person who’s endured unevenness or hardship often grows anger as a shield. But its deepest victims are not outsiders — they’re the family, especially the child.

The tender mind and soft body of a child tremble at violent noise or aggression. Fear shapes their little organs. Their emotions twist into awkward shapes. And the cycle begins again, passing anger to the next generation.

But one generation must stop it.

One person must see the harm.

One parent must decide: It ends with me.

I have decided.

I will STOP 🛑 the disease that generations have passed on.

I have promised my child: I will not be angry anymore. She believes me. I always keep my promises. I will not break her trust. I will not let my child die under the weight of a burden she never chose.

This promise is etched into every cell of my body. My body is mutating. My instincts are changing for her. Because I have seen the fear in her eyes. I have seen her organs shut down, her hands tremble. I cannot let it continue.

It is good that I am the girl of my family. I believe any generational curse can only truly be broken by the girl of the family — because she becomes the mother. She carries the curse, she carries the power, and at some point her maternal instinct alarms her so deeply that she chooses to change.

I have chosen.

I have promised.

And with me, the curse of anger breaks.

All Is Well – My Life’s Greatest Armor

My husband stays away.
Family support is weak.
Alone, with my child, in a metro city like Delhi, balancing work, life, and parenting.
And on top of that, life doesn’t let me stay in one place.
Work and responsibilities pull me across different cities within NCR.

This is not easy.
Not at all.

Today, even my child’s doctor asked,
"How does your family run like this?"
I simply smiled and said,
"Sir, it runs."

Yes, it runs.
Because situations are just situations.
If we have purpose, even the most unusual arrangements keep moving forward.

Our family runs.
Yes, it’s hard.
But it runs.
Because situations are never perfect.

The difficulties I’ve faced for ages now may seem unjust, overwhelming, and imperfect.
But the truth is – no one's life is perfect.

Yet, this relentless dose of difficulty has shaped a different human in me.
Stronger.
Wiser.
More resilient.

Today, I can honestly say –
All is well.
I feel it deep in my soul.
Everything is okay.
Everything is alright.

The most beautiful part?
I’ve learned to find happiness in nothing.
In simplicity.
In small moments.
In just being.

As a girl, while many of my friends adored Shahrukh Khan,
I always admired Aamir Khan.
Not for the flawless movies – many had critiques and pointed flaws –
But for his relentless pursuit of perfection.

Even amidst criticism, his movies held moments that felt just perfect.

Just like the iconic phrase from Three Idiots –
“All is well.”

I heard it years ago when the movie released,
But now, I truly understand –
"All is well" is the greatest armor for life.
Not a lie.
Not blind hope.
But a choice.
A mindset.
A shield.

So yes, my life runs.
Despite the chaos, the uncertainty, and the heaviness,
It runs…
With grace.
With purpose.
With an unshakeable belief that all is well.