On Thanksgiving this year, here in Balaghat my home town and Raipur, I’m feeling grateful for everything I have in my life — even the imperfections.
The last two days have been a journey: an overnight trip to my hometown, over 550 km, more time on the road than cherishing the home. Cleaning, sorting some of my parents’ possessions, going to the government offices for paperwork, court, and the bank, and an evening with my and Mr. husband’s college friends.
Watching my sister and her husband deal with bureaucracy and general inertia — and still get things done.
The time at home was tough in many ways. I was there for the first time after Amma’s passing, and it was hard.
Walking through the dusty rooms, touching familiar things, reliving the memories and glimpses of the lives once lived.
Few things remain the same, and at the same time life asks so much of us — and we carry so much within us.
Grateful for all the love and care in my life.
Especially the Pandey men, who are enjoying the quiet and peaceful time at home without me, and who I know will welcome me back in a week with the chaos, warmth, and love I always return to.
The home once - I grew up here but that house no longer exists , only shops and shops
A khan saree for the evening — a reminder to walk toward the light from the dark.
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