When the Mountains Ask You to Pause: Reflections from Nathu La

There are some journeys that stay with you long after you return. Not because of photographs or sightseeing checklists, but because they quietly shift something inside you.

Yesterday’s visit to Tsongmo Lale and Nathu La felt like one of those journeys. The drive was breathtaking in the truest sense of the word. Snow-capped peaks stood silently against the sky while clouds played hide and seek around them. Every few minutes, another waterfall would appear unexpectedly around a bend, as though the mountains wanted to keep surprising us.

There was a certain rawness to everything around us. Nature untouched, unfiltered, existing in its purest form. And then we reached Nathu La. Almost on cue, snowflakes began to fall softly around us. It felt magical, almost cinematic. The universe seemed unusually generous in that moment.

But mountains, I realised once again, have their own language. And sometimes that language is restraint. The roads were heavily jammed. The climb upwards was slippery and difficult. Some people around us kept moving ahead, many falling back, some giving up half way. As many gathered around the shop selling oxygen cans to pick up one, I refused to feel defeated. Every few steps, my breathlessness increased. The higher I tried to go, the more the slope seemed to push back gently but firmly, reminding me who truly holds control there.

Everything was visible. The border was right there. Yet it somehow felt distant. And so I stopped climbing. Oddly enough, that decision did not feel like defeat. It felt like acceptance. A quiet acknowledgment that nature does not always need to be conquered, completed, or consumed fully to be appreciated. Sometimes, its greatest lesson lies in knowing when to pause.

As I stood there catching my breath, another image stayed with me - patches of fresh white snow stained black by diesel fumes from the endless line of vehicles below. That disturbed me.

We travel to the mountains searching for purity, silence, and escape. Yet in our attempt to experience these fragile places, we often become contributors to the very damage threatening them.

I have always loved the mountains deeply. But every time I visit them now, I carry a small sense of guilt alongside the wonder. The guilt of the carbon footprint I leave behind while chasing untouched beauty.

Perhaps sustainable travel is not just about carrying reusable bottles or avoiding plastic. Perhaps it also begins with humility...recognising that nature is not a backdrop created for our consumption. It is an ecosystem trying to survive despite us.

The mountains ask for very little from us. Just softness. Silence. Respect. And maybe loving the mountains is not always about reaching the top. Maybe it is also about learning when to stop climbing, when to step lightly, and when to simply stand still long enough to listen.

Somewhere Between the Mountains and Ourselves: Reflections from Sikkim

In Sikkim since the last two days. Gangtok.

Busy with tourists, traffic jams and chaos. But that’s India for us. Our India.

And yet, as we moved higher into the mountains, past endless trees and quiet new constructions, something kept making me feel this was another India altogether. People smile here. No one litters. Even the smallest roadside eateries feel clean.

Nobody honks endlessly. Nobody aggressively overtakes.If a vehicle breaks down, people stop to help. So I see that there is a certain dignity in how public spaces are treated here.

And then, in the middle of all this beauty and serenity, you hear loud screaming across hotel corridors, speakerphone calls in cafes, children running unchecked through museums touching everything, entitled behaviour disguised as tourists, unforgivable, identifiable as those from the Hindi speaking belt. 

You wonder why so many of us still carry this strange mix of arrogance, lack of civic sense and public indiscipline into every beautiful place we visit. In India and abroad, we are being labelled as uncouth and annoying, but we do not care. 

Rabindranath Tagore once wrote, and I read it today incidentally - “The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world.”

Perhaps that awareness is what places like Sikkim quietly teach you...that nature is not just scenery to be consumed, but a space to move through with humility, softness and respect.

Children are NOT our Fixed Deposits

In the past week alone, we’ve lost too many young lives. Children who should have been laughing, learning, arguing, dreaming - all gone. It forces us to stop in our tracks and ask ourselves where are we going wrong? How are we still failing to see the storms our children are carrying quietly inside their minds and hearts? How are we ignoring the signs that they feel alone and need to be heard?

We need to look at the world we are creating around our children. The pressure does not just come from parents, but from everywhere around - the condo moms comparing marks like they compare recipes, from cousins competing as if childhood is a race, from social circles where a child’s score becomes casual gossip over chai. Why have we normalised turning children into talking points? Why must their achievements validate our pride? We need to stop this cycle asap as this silent, socially accepted pressure crushes young spirits long before they get a chance to grow. Our children deserve freedom from our expectations, not the burden of them.

Children are not our fixed deposits for the future. We cannot put the weight of our dreams on our children. Parenting cannot be transactional. "We did so much for you, now you have to do your best"/ Their worth cannot be measured in marks, medals, or milestones. Our expectations should never outweigh their emotional safety.

As parents, we must tell our children again and again that perfection is not the goal. That success is not the only path. That what matters is the courage to try, the resilience to stand up, and the freedom to move at a pace that they are comfortable with. 

It is okay to be imperfect.
It is okay to score badly.
It is okay to fail.
It is okay to
It is never okay for a child to feel unloved, unheard, or unseen.

We need to build homes where children can breathe. Where they can speak without fear, break down without shame, and grow without the crushing weight of expectations. Homes where they know deeply and unquestionably that their life is worth more than any dream we hold for them.

No rank, no report card, no ambition is worth a life.

Let us choose empathy over expectations.
Humanity over pressure.
Presence over perfection.

Every single time. Please. 

(Image generated using Gemini)

Pain, Perseverance, and Pumpkin Latte

A night etched in my memory; one I will never forget.

Their arms steadied me, lifting me from the bed. I instinctively locked mine around their shoulders for balance. Together, they carried me to the car. As its tires screeched through the stillness of the night, my thoughts raced. Was this the end of everything I’d come here for?

The darkness wrapped around us. A&E (Accident & Emergency services) in Brighton stirred memories of Civil Hospital, Sonipat, where papa—who left us 14 years ago—once served as a doctor. The polished floors and white faces were the only differences. As Mohit handled my registration, I silently cursed my choice to skip travel insurance. Who even does that on an international trip?

Between deep breaths and sharp pangs, I explained to the staff how I’d tripped over the raised bathroom doorframe in my hotel. My left foot throbbed incessantly.

The hours in A&E unravelled a floodgate of emotions. I missed papa. I missed my son, Maulik - the only one in India who knew I was hurt. Guilt gnawed at me for waking Mohit in the dead of night. And then there was Abid, their employee, who was the first respondent to my cry for help. His calmness steadied my tears, his jokes – usually annoying – were a lifeboat.

In the hotel room, after the accident, while applying ice to my injured foot, Abid suddenly froze, his eyes wide as he stared at the wall behind my bed. “Oh my God,” he exclaimed. I followed his gaze to a painting of a woman with her foot perched on a pillow, eerily mimicking my position. “Did someone paint you before I arrived?” he joked. “Yes, Leo (Leonardo Di Caprio) was here to paint his Kate (Winslet),” I quipped back. We burst into laughter, and for a moment, the pain and absurdity faded.

(that painting on the wall)

Back in the A&E the night dragged on. Worry churned - about treatment costs, deadlines, and the impractical new heels I’d bought. My foot swelled with every passing hour, and my heart mirrored its urgency.

Picture this: I had flown to the UK to manage a company’s event, only to be in an accident, just three days before the big day. Mohit, the company’s founder, sat beside me, patiently waiting for X-ray results, and enduring seven hours on a rickety chair before wheeling me in himself.

After two hours, finally, relief came. “It’s not a fracture,” the doctor announced. The pain? I could manage. Uncertainty had been the real weight.

Back at the hotel, I spent the next day confined to my room, oscillating between prayers, quiet meals, and event planning. By evening, I decided it was time to reclaim control. Summoning courage, I willed myself to stand. Tears fell uncontrollably as I silenced both pain and emotion with a piece of chocolate - an absurd but effective balm.

The challenge was set. A Danish from M&S at Brighton Station. Just a few steps away, yet it felt like a marathon. I dragged myself, dodging sympathetic glances and polite offers of help. A bite of delight was more than a treat. It was a win. To celebrate, I perched at the hotel café with a pumpkin latte in hand. The warmth of the coffee, the hum of the café, the faint ache in my foot - it all amalgamated into the realisation that resilience isn’t loud. It’s the quiet choice to keep going.

When the big day arrived, I was tapping in my heels, moving as if the pain were endurable. The joy of overcoming, of succeeding despite the odds - had overpowered it all.

Resilience often begins as a whisper in the dark, growing louder with every small victory. That night in Brighton taught me this: joy, determination, and a damn good cup of coffee can get you through anything.

Lessons from the series 'House M.D.'

 I usually scoff at ‘lessons to learn from’ posts and articles, but here I am with my own. After binge-watching House M.D., I found valuable takeaways from those hundreds of episodes.

1. Mastery Over Mediocrity: Trying to be a ‘Jack of all trades’ can be detrimental. Focusing on mastering one skill can help you rise above the mediocrity which plagues workplaces.

2. Question Everything: We often take people and commitments at face value. However, it’s crucial to ask questions, evaluate authenticity, and not accept everything that is presented. Dr. House’s mantra, ‘everybody lies,’ has stuck with me.

3. The Power of Delegation: Delegation is a powerful tool. It reduces unnecessary distractions, helps you focus on what’s important, and allows for better planning and outcomes. I’m learning to embrace this.

4. Stress Management: I’ve started using a stress ball, and it has been incredibly helpful in disengaging from intrusive thoughts and improving my focus.

5. Self-Worth Over Approval: Dr. House’s unapologetic approach to his work is a big lesson that true self-worth comes from within and is not dependent on the validation of others. People will recognize and value your expertise because it is grounded in genuine skill and unwavering commitment, not in a desire to please.
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Let them fly and see them soar

  

In your vacant room, the lights are always on   

But there is no one calling for food

And as the door is always ajar

I miss screaming, ‘open’ after knocking a couple of times  

The kitchen is boring

Food just fills the tummy

And as the refrigerator door waits forever to be opened

Everything inside is frozen, just like this lonely heart

Days are so dull without those pick and drop duties

Nights were always long, but this silence is unbearably eerie

And while the nest, as they say, is empty now

The heart is full of gratitude and fulfilment

I read somewhere that empty nest syndrome has three stages, grief, relief, and joy. A phase of grief is understandable, with the feeling of sadness or loneliness. I guess relief hits when we move on to develop a new pattern in life or start doing new things. And once the roller-coaster of gloom is over, there is joy.

I guess I am lucky to have moved into the third phase in no time, or so I feel. And that came from a strong realization that every relationship need not be a grip or a possession. Letting go and still feeling that magnetic pull is a surreal emotion to experience. Sitting miles apart and yet knowing when he smiles or when he is low, is an incredible skill I am growing.

Now I am no stone. There are moments when even I feel I may go down, but then a lazy weekend smiles and says, ‘sleep as much, for no one needs you to be up’, and I cannot deny. Plus, if I use this newfound time for self-care well, I may just become the next Miss Universe. But I guess the most satisfying part is just sitting still and letting memories scroll in slow motion and you pause and smile when the best of your moments together are playing.

Let them fly and see them soar.

And just like that, he is 18

A week after Maulik was born, I realised postpartum depression was a reality. 'No one prepared me for this', I remember telling the doctor once. In the middle of those sleepless nights, I would look at him and ask myself, ‘Was this the right decision? Was I even ready for a baby?’. The next morning, I would feel guilty of my thoughts. ‘How can a mom not be excited about her baby? Is it normal? Am I normal?’ These thoughts would constantly trouble me as I was going through the motion – homecoming, rituals, guests, ceremonies – with itching stiches and an exhausted body.

I still remember that stormy night. It was his 40^th day in our world, and we were tired and sleepy after a long day of rituals and chaos. But poor Maulik could not sleep. Every time there would be a roar in the sky, his tiny body would shiver, and he would wake up crying. I stuffed cotton buds in his ears, kept my hands on him, and held him close so that he does not feel scared. Suddenly, one more loud rumbling and he held my finger in his little hand. I didnt realise this tiny little thing had such strong grip. He kept clutching my finger, and my other hand was covering him, trying to keep him comfortable. The touch of his hand, that grip, the faint sound of his breath...suddenly I experienced such intense love oozing in me. My heart churned inside, and for the first time, I felt ecstatic. 'Oh wow, what a beautiful thing have I created', I proudly exclaimed. And from that moment on, I knew that this tiny creature is mine, and I must keep him safe, and give him everything I can.

As he turns 18 today, I wish that he makes his life a beautiful journey, touches amazing milestones and creates loving memories.

M, mom loves you.

 

Status Change: Single Parent

We all want to live a healthy, long life. Hence, the discomfort around death is normal. However, somewhere I always feel that single parents are more worried about their death, with concerns related to their kid's well-being and future if they were to pass away. This surely leads to anxiety about the subject of death.

I feel that for most parents, when a partner dies or separates, the foremost thought is about bringing up the child alone. After I lost my partner 10 years ago on this date to an accident, I struggled with lack of confidence to parent a child alone. Also, the thought of making Maulik realise that our world was just me and him was so earth shattering.

Through the years, as I battled some health challenges, my obvious thought was, ‘can I afford to die’. I mean I want to watch him graduate, get married, and have babies. I want to be around to answer his questions about love, life, relationships, society and if he were to ask me, even boring things like banking, investments, taxes.

I stumbled, for a while, but eventually regained my footing. Part of the solo parenting journey was to learn to dismiss what everyone says, get out of self pity, and friendzone the kid. Along the way, I laid down my guard and learned to ask for help. And when I did that, I realised that the world was a much bigger place. My immediate family, for example, has been a finger distance away, always ready to guide, support and offer love and care. My brother, who has always been a father figure to M, my sis in law who has been M’s bestest buddy. Not to mention my mom who is always there like an umbrella. There are many friends who've been there to make me feel stronger and taller. Can't thank them enough. 

With this realisation that I am not alone, it became okay to believe that I can be hit by a shooting meteor and die any moment. Death will not announce. And while everything around started looking safe, and I was secure in my knowledge that I was doing everything in my power not to die, I realised it was time to get my affairs in order...just in case. Create financial cushion, do well with savings and investments, choose a legal guardian, have all the important documents well sorted, prepare a will, are things that can bring a measure of comfort. I am on top of this list already.

I also realised that once you've established a guardian, it is important to inform him or her of your expectations for your kids, including the hopes you have for them and the values you hold dear. I remember mumbling on the hospital bed once, ‘If I die, don’t send M to a hostel, he has always hated that idea.’ I have also made plans for his wedding and spoken about them. (okay that is silly, I admit).

So my advice to all single parents would be to take the time to document your wishes along with a fool proof will. And hey, did I forget mentioning life insurance policies so that when you die, you make the child rich at least. But on a serious note, what is most important is to keep faith. The universe has a way of leading us to do the right things for our kids. The path of faith may seem steep, but it always leads us to something good and secure.

How soon can we forget?

 We recently marked the anniversary of thaali banging, aka Covid in full swing. 

For most people around me, the pandemic is a long-forgotten phase. They are back in swing, in full revenge mode. Revenge shopping, travel, marriages and what not. But somewhere, I feel that in so many ways, my life can never be normal after corona. There is not a day, a memory from those days does not hit me. I stumble upon random numbers of oxygen suppliers, hospitals etc. Those nights we had spent arranging hospital beds and medical supplies for patients can never be forgotten. And the memories of those calls saying it was too late to help will always hurt. 

Most of these incidents felt very personal, but two of them I cannot forget, ever. 

V's father was breathing from an Oxygen cylinder. That evening, his supply was running out. V went to nearby hospitals,but could not find help. V's father was gasping for breath, he could not even find oxygen cylinder anywhere. He called my co-volunteer, Pranjal, who swung into action and convinced a Sardarji to open his store and provide Oxygen cans.

We were all under severe stress, V was in panic. When I asked Sardarji about money, he said, 'take the oxygen cans right now, save the man first'. I quickly booked an Uber, and requested the driver to rush to V's house with the cans. Pranjal was on call with V, trying to calm down V...his dad's breath was getting heavier.

V's dad stopped breathing. He was dead. Pranjal alerted the local cops so that someone could be there to take care of the body and be there for young V. He has seen his dad dying infront of him, wanting to breathe...terrible shock for a young boy.

That night, I froze, almost went into shock. The pain that V must have gone through & my guilt for not being able to help him on time comes back every night.

And there's another story of a 16 year old Misbah.

Masbah's parents were in the hospital and he was struggling for oxygen cylinders and funds to manage the hospital expenses. The little boy was going through the worst struggle. Every time he would call me, he would be anxious, almost crying, and begging me for help. The fact that he could not move out of the hospital to pick up supplies was also a problem. Finding someone to arrange and deliver oxygen cylinder was a luxury in that time. But the universe around us helped. Somone from north Delhi agreed to book an uber and deliver oxygen which we arranged from the other side of the city. But help reched his parents on time. In the following days, many people came forward to help him. Both his parents recovered, and he was very happy the last time we spoke.

There are many untold stories of grief and of human beings standing for each other. Of politicians being politicians, but people becoming angels. If not anything, I hope the memories of the period keep us kinder, more empathetic and less greedy. If the pandemic did not teach us that, nothing would.

That Girl by The Cafe

She was sitting under a big orange umbrella, matching the colour of her pullover. I could see her face clearly through the lights.

There was something special about her. I think it was her smile. The moment she took off her mask, there was a spark no one could miss. 

She had a strange calm on her face...something you hardly see in the middle of the hustle bustle of this city. She chose a seat right next to the entrance of the cafe, on the outside. Perfect choice for a day which is not very hot, and not so cold either. She was quick to order. She knew exactly what she wanted.

I was bored with the gentleman I was meeting and her presence instantly engaged me. Thankfully, we were at a table right next to her.

I had barely finished half my cup, when the waiter arrived with her order. A bowl of Maggie and a plate of French Fries with a unusually big serving of ketchup. I smiled. It was my kind of order. It was the perfect place and the perfect time to enjoy Maggie. I was sure someone would soon join her.

I was wrong.  

She started eating. The pattern very cyclical. A spoon of Maggie, followed by French Fries dipped in ketchup. Repeat. In no time, tea arrived. 

Her mobile phone was placed on the table, clipped on a stand, erect enough for her to look into it while she was eating. I could see her smiling occasionally. 'What is she watching', I was thinking.

I saw her giggle a couple of times. I had never seen someone enjoying a meal so much. Alone, yet so entertained. She continued to look at the mobile screen as she munched a couple of more fries, while the Maggie was over. I was so badly wanting for my meeting to get over. 

In a couple of minutes, the waiter arrived. 'Will she walk away after paying the bill?' I was wrong. I was hoping for her to stay around. 

I saw her checking the menu  and I assumed that she might get something packed to carry home. Maybe she lives alone. Or maybe she's carrying food for someone else who stays with her. My mind was wrapped around her.

I  started looking inside the cafe, trying to second-guess what the waiter would arrive with. And there came a fancy brownie, loaded with a big scoop of ice cream, placed carefully between a hot plate. Little drops of ice cream were falling on the hot plate, and I could hear them sizzle. 

Her face lit up. She switched off her phone, dipped her spoon in the heart of the oozing chocolate, and was enjoying her treat while looking around.

For a moment, I started wondering how long I have been thinking about celebrating myself alone.
Going out alone. Doing crazy things alone. Watch a movie alone. Traveling alone. But I'm not sure how much I would enjoy my own company. 

In that hour, she taught me how to be with oneself, stay calm and composed, and have fun. I decided to  start from here, and do exactly the same. Order a weird combo in this cozy cafe someday, and entertain myself. 

I just hope to keep smiling like she did. That girl by the cafe. 

The School Bus

I thought I heard the school bus
Accompanied by cheering from parents, ‘run fast, you can still catch it’
Did I also hear some cars honk, getting impatient as the bus waits?

I was making my morning tea.
I did not hear anything; my imagination just played.
Two years, no screeching brake sounds from school buses
None have gone to school
They have been waiting. Just like the kids.

Little Neph is waiting to play with friends,
Son keeps dribbling his football looking over the turf from our balcony
None can leave the house, let alone be in the playground.

‘God, please cure the world of Corona so that I can go out and play with friends’, prays the little one. I look up in hope.
Hope someone up there listens. Hope the kids get to play soon. Hope the buses start plying.
Hold on to what we have. Hope.

My boys and some random feels!

Holding my finger, he sleeps in comfort
A warm hug, a cuddle, and his fragrance is real
The day was busy, the clutter in my room could tell 
His excitement is unmatchable, almost a ride to the moon. 

I check on his elder one in the next room
Tired after enjoying a zestful day with his little bro
He was smiling in his sleep, I stood there and noticed 
The boys took away the grey from this long gloomy day!

I watch them both in their beds, and say my prayers
Gratitude overwhelms me, joy fills my heart
Blessed are we, the beds are warm
The kids are dreaming, and there is hope.

My Moon

I wait for him by my window,

Sometimes he doesn't come, plays elusive

And when I am not looking, he smiles

In the silence of those long, lonely nights,

I tell him all my stories

He listens, casting amorous glances

He likes to pose for me,

Stands tall right in my balcony,

Insists on a ‘close up’

He moves when he sees me crying

Draws closer, peeps in through the window too

I feel his warmth, sleep in solace 

Is it love, or mere fascination

I never ask myself
He shines for me, I smile, we exist!

Stories of Death

Few days ago, a friend mentioned that she was upset with my over involvement (!!!) in Covid19 relief and complained that those days, I would go on and on about how cases are growing, how are people coming together to help, how are we trying to arrange resources for patients who reach out to us for help etc. etc. "You were so absorbed, because you make it about yourself", she said. She seemed upset, her tone was accusatory and she even hinted that I may be someone who tries to associate myself with death. I'm not sure what that meant, thought I've spend nights thinking about it. I don't know yet.

Stories of death have a strange way of reaching me. Many times, it is the death of people who I do not know personally, or may have briefly interacted with. But the news stays with me. The pain stays with me. I keep going back to think about their family.

Last evening, my insurance agent came visiting and his assistant was on call with someone. The name was very unique, so it took me no time to figure out that she was talking to the wife of someone I know.

She disconnected the call, looked at the agent and said, "Let's go meet <name withheld> madam after this and close the paper work. I feel so bad for her". "Bad", I exclaimed? "What...has something happened in the family", I asked. "Yes, she lost her husband to Corona in May", the girl replied. I could feel the rush of blood in my heart and I excused myself, took a minute to breathe and then returned back to my discussion with the agent. The man who died was my husband's friend. Ever since my husband passed away, I'd not seen him, but I knew his family and hence kept thinking about them.

Today, while returning my car after the regular service, the Harpreet Ford executive told me about how they were all busy because of the death of their General Manager. "Do you mean Mr. <name withheld>", I asked. He said yes, his eyes turned wet, and here's what he told me: After shopping with his family near Sohna Road in Gurgaon, the young GM was walking towards his car. A vehicle tossed him up in the air, and sped away, leaving him injured on the road. His wife and little kids kept shouting for help. People slowed down to look at them, but no one stopped to help. Finally, just as they managed to convince an auto driver to take them to the nearest hospital, local family members arrived to help. By the time they got him to the hospital, it was late. My interaction with the GM was related to some issues in my new Ford car (back in 2018), and I think he was very professional and polite. I feel sorry about his family, especially his kids. They saw their dad dying on the road, surrounded by a pathetic, insensitive, hollow society.

So this weekend brought me two sad news in the most unexpected ways. I will get over them, but not before thinking about the two families a couple of times. Blame me, call me a sadist...I just know I get moved by instances of death because I have lost too many people too soon. I am not ashamed that I have a heart that can grow to accommodate other's sorrows.

I am with SRK, dil se

On my first visit to the Red Chillies Entertainment's office, I was overwhelmed. For once, I was happy about myself and I was so so proud. It was a dream come true for me. My team couldn't get enough of those unending shelves with SRK's trophies. One of us almost broke down & kissed SRK's picture. It was a pilgrimage, which I am sure none of us will ever forget.

SRK taught generations of Indians what it feels like to love and to be loved. But today, as he is being targeted for not siding with the establishment, there is fear in Bollywood. If they can target SRK, and trap his son, the others would definitely be scared. Makes you wonder what is BJP punishing SRK for? Refusing to post from a playbook? Or be a brand ambassador?

In all of this, it is painful how Aryan is being victimised, and I hope and pray he is able to emerge stronger from this crisis. I stand with Shah Rukh Khan, dl se.

“Bandhan Hai Rishton Mein

Kaaton Ki Taarein Hain

Patthar Ke Darwaaze Deewaarein

Belein Phir Bhi Ugti Hain

Aur Guchchhe Bhi Khilte Hain

Aur Chalte Hain Afsaane

Kirdaar Bhi Milte Hain

Vo Rishtey Dil Dil Dil Thay”

Change the dialogue, have a clean conscience

Today, MoS Home Ajay Kumar Mishra is the chief guest at a conference organised by Bureau of Police Research and Development. His son, Ashish Kumar, mowed down four farmers under his car on October 3, and since then, state govt under Yogi has deployed the entire UP Police force to restrict & detain opposition leaders unlawfully, even as Ashish remains a free man and his father is enjoying his privileges. The video of Ashish is available on many sources online, and I find it too painful to watch and share.

I heard a lot of 'farmers are causing inconvenience' stories recently during a visit to my hometown. While I empathise with all those who face traffic snarls, I am not sure why not even one person has blamed the govt for not intervening. Have we become too self absorbed? More than 500 farmers have died and we must expect the govt to hold a dialogue and mitigate the situation.

The least we can do is modify the whatsapp-inspired message of 'farmers ne dukhi kiya hai' to a truth seeking 'sarkaar kuch karti kyon nahi'?

Grow your heart

 The corona crisis will leave behind a lot of learnings for us. Here's my list:

1. 
   Life is short. Do not carry the baggage of negative thoughts, feelings and people. Drop the bag.
2. Fill your heart with gratitude. If you have food in the fridge, roof on your head and oxygen in your lungs, thank the universe for it everyday.
3. Forgive and forget. I am struggling with this, but I will get there someday.

Michachhāmi Dukkaḍaṃ (meaning, let the evil that has been done, be forgiven) is observed today to seek forgiveness from all, for mistakes committed knowingly or unknowingly. A good day to initiate a course correction in life, stay humble and stay in peace.

Strength to my sisters in Afghanistan

Can't take this out of my mind. What is happening in Afghanistan right now is so gut wrenching. The locals almost mobbed the city’s airport trying to flee...some managed to escape, many could not, and these three men met their death in the most horrific way.

During their earlier rule, Taliban forbade the right to education and right to work for women and refused them to step outside their homes without a male relative.

Since they've gained control, the burqa shops in Kabul are seeing increase in sales and there is looming fear. But the younger women in universities and women journalists are determined to not give in and stand up for their rights. Many reports emerging from Afghanistan show fearless women standing firm against the Taliban, some actually standing in front of a gun pointing at them, to uphold their personal rights and liberties. They are giving tough resistance to the Taliban in several cities. 

My heart goes out to all the women in Afghanistan. I fear for them, I pray, and I wish them well. Godspeed!

The dark days

V's father was breathing from an Oxygen cylinder. That night, his supply was running out. V went to nearby hospitals, but could not find a bed to admit his dad. His father was not looking good, and V was doing everything in his capacity to find oxygen cylinders. With limited means and no family in proximity, he kept struggling till 1am. At last, he called my co-volunteer, Pranjal, who swung into action and convinced a Sardarji to open his store and provide Oxygen cans.

We were all under severe stress, V was in panic. When I asked Sardarji about money, he said, 'take the oxygen cans right now, save the man first'. I quickly booked an Uber, and requested the driver to rush to V's house with the cans. Pranjal was on call with V, trying to calm him down ...his dad's breath was getting heavier. 'Papa ke nails blue ho rahe hain', V said.

V's dad stopped breathing. He was dead. Pranjal alerted the local cops so that someone could be there to take care of the body and be there for young V. He had seen his dad dying infront of him, wanting to breathe...terrible shock for a young boy.

That night, I froze, almost went into shock. The pain that V must have gone through & my guilt for not being able to help him on time comes back every night. Between me, Pranjal & all volunteers who were associated with us, we have many such stories. Stories of pain, misery, helplessness and loss.

It's okay to be strong, it's okay to be weak

We knew it was a pandemic. Yet, we didn't want our lives to be affected. Some took vacations, many could not stop partying and get togethers, many married and some even planned babies (!!!). The govt did nothing to save us, but let's not forget that most of us ignored all warnings. We were in some false belief that it cannot hit us, or may just touch and go like a normal seasonal virus. 'Sab ko hona hai' was the narrative. 'We can't just sit at home'. A dear friend recently told me not to be a paranoid, else I may land up in an asylum.

If only people had shown some restrain, many homes may not have lost their near and dear ones. If only we'd not used our contacts to call 1000 people at our parties/ weddings, or gotten passes to travel through the lockdown, or used our connections to illegally run our businesses. The entitlement didn't save anyone. Nor the eagerness to 'look at the positive side'.

Having said that, I feel for all those who were at work because they had no choice, and got infected. Also, all those who were at home, but still got it...all the frontline workers...who put their lives in danger to save many through diminishing oxygen, medicine supplies and common sense.

In these difficult times, let us also pay attention when you feel someone is in trouble but avoids conversation. STOP saying, 'start again', 'sab theek hoga', 'you have everything', 'don't be depressed'. Make yourself available to listen and neither judge, nor shoot advice. I am here to listen, not judge. I am here to help, not advice. It is okay to appear weak, break down, admit failures. Reach out to your friends. Seek help. Don't give up you lovely people. And please, call me if anything is bothering you.