How Do You Show Up for Your Friends?

As we grow, life brings us more and more events, accidents, and people. It’s no longer just about learning lessons — it’s about first figuring out who you are, and then staying true to that. We all have different motivating factors. I believe that by the time we reach our 50s, we should aim to live without regrets about our choices. Ideally, we become content with them. Each of us has a different virtue, and it shapes who we are.

This past year has been eventful, to say the least. The loss I experienced is changing me in ways I didn’t expect — it’s a shock even to me. Amma’s departure left a big void. I thought I would be OK because I knew it was coming, but it has still shifted how I see the world.

One of the things that’s changed is how I view people. I’ve never been one for formalities. Gratitude has always been my virtue, and I’ve always cared deeply for my friends. I didn’t need to say it or show it with cards or gifts — but they knew. They knew I was there for them.

This past year revealed who my people truly are. The ones who came just to sit with me, cooked for me, checked in every now and then — they showed up.

And somehow, I’m finding it very difficult to connect with those who didn’t.

We all experience loss — but what we gain in that space can be just as defining.

Maybe our true virtue is revealed not in how we shine, but in how we hold others in the dark.

Pics from from State House in Boston. Autism Awareness Advocacy day.  These are the people I may not meet often or talk often but they hold a place in my heart. They are working tirelessly to improve lives of so many. - everyday..

An Ajrakh Maheshwari for a musical meets.

From Metro Rides to Life Lessons-Conversations Between Generations

 My recent trip to India was different in so many ways. First without Amma. I had to rethink and reorganize my days in India  differently. My niece took some of Amma’s role in some ways. 

One rainy day We took the metro to the city without a real plan and decided not to let the rain stop us. That mindset helped a lot. We rode all the way to Indira Nagar, one of Bangalore’s lively spots, hoping for Italian food.  We finally found a place on 100 Feet Road. It was still drizzling, so we didn’t explore the street much, but the train ride was fun—we talked a lot.

I was amazed at her clarity of thought. At her age, I didn’t have that kind of awareness. Growing up with limited media—just newspapers, radio, and black-and-white TV—was very different. Today’s kids grow up with the internet, social media, and 24/7 exposure, and that’s made them more informed and aware in ways we never were.

At dinner, I told the manager why this meal was special - a dinner date with my niece. We had no expectations, so we asked the chef for recommendations and followed them—and the food was amazing. We sat in the outdoor area alone, since it was early for Bangalore’s dinner crowd. I even told the server he could leave—we’d serve ourselves.

With the quiet space, we had deep conversations about politics, education, friendships, family, relationships, and more. Later, we peeked into a pub just for a quick fun and then we took the metro home. It was a great evening, and I learned a lot from seeing the world through a 19-year-old’s eyes.

It reminded me how much we can learn from younger minds when we truly listen. 

That evening wasn’t just fun—it was meaningful in a quiet, unexpected way,

A Kosa silk for a dinner out with Boston friends.

The Missing Piece: Are You Whole On Your Own

One of the talk mentioned, The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein, to explain how we feel as a person. Do we need somebody to complete us? Why do we always have a void or missing piece in us, and why do we look for somebody else to complete it?

It got me thinking—not only on a philosophical level, but in day-to-day life too. We, as people, are raised or brainwashed to believe that there is one perfect person for us who will make us or our lives complete. We keep looking for that one person or ideal relationship, not knowing what we are missing inside. And if we don’t know that, How can somebody else complete that? Is that the reason for disappointment in our life?

We’ve all heard phrases like “motherhood makes you whole,” or “your spouse is the other half of you.. I also thought that way—that everybody needs a person to fulfill the missing piece. I always thought that Mr. Husband is so not like me, and that’s exactly why he completes me. Together, we are a combination of two different habits, two different philosophies, and two different ways of life.

But lately, I’ve started questioning that belief. What if we are already whole, just as we are? What if love isn’t about completing each other, but sharing two already whole lives?. It’s a very conflicting theory. I really need to read that book to make sense of it.

What makes you complete—who you are as a person? What do you truly need in life?

A silk for a dinner out, Mr Husband would stay home and eat simple home cooked meal, his better half could eat out any day. 

India trip saga, A year without Amma - a different photo shoot

 One of the most memorable parts of my India trip was the family photo shoot we did. We hired a photographer and told them not to ask anyone to pose—just to capture moments as they happened.

The excitement started with picking a type of handloom, buying the sarees, and getting everything ready. My mother never agreed to wear the same saree as the rest of us, but she always looked forward to being part of it.

When I booked my ticket to India this time, I had mixed feelings about doing the shoot. Would we even want to? Everything felt different

We all are dealing with our grief in our own way, the loss changed us in a big way. 

None of us were particularly enthusiastic, but we decided to go through with it quietly, got a mangalgiri cotton this time.

It was a quiet, somber afternoon. We didn’t make a big deal of it No photographer, no makeup no noise or planning.

The kids from the building and my brother-in-law took the pictures.

Papa became the center for all of us. He was there for us holding us together and hid his sadness very well. I know he was missing amma every second. 

And yet, those pictures mean so much. They make me happy, but they also make me miss my mom even more. Sometimes they hurt to look at. But they also remind me that love stays, even when the people don’t.

And maybe that’s why we still do the saree shoot—because in some quiet way, it brings her back to us.

A Mangalgiri cotton with Ikat blouse.

Festivals Changing Their Meaning for You

I was in India this March for my mom’s one-year anniversary. It’s been ages since I’ve been to India for the Holi festival. In North India, Holi is a very, very popular celebration marking the beginning of spring. I was excited to be there for it and wanted to see if it still felt the same.

I realized that education and competition have really changed childhood—kids today are under so much pressure. February and March are exam months in India, and I think that makes a big difference too.

I was staying at my sister’s house in Raipur. All the families in that big apartment complex gathered the night before Holi to light the firewood. We all put some dry color on each other, had some sweets, drank Thandai, and went home. 

The next morning, a few people played downstairs with colors mixed in water, but by noon, everything had settled down. Later, we went to meet my uncles and cousins, and the roads were completely deserted. I didn’t see many people out.

Traditionally, people play with colors, eat, drink, take an afternoon nap, and go out again in the evening—but even in the evening, when we drove back, I didn’t see much happening. I’m not sure if it’s just changing times or the pressure of studies, but something has definitely shifted. Earlier, people used to visit each other’s homes to wish Happy Holi, but I didn’t see that happening either.

With the rise of apartment culture, people now come downstairs, bring something from their own home, or chip in money to have food ordered. Everyone eats together and then heads back to their homes. Basically, no one really goes to anyone’s house anymore.

Things are changing in India, and all these years I felt like my kids were missing out. But this time, I realized—it’s not just them. Things are changing everywhere in the world.

Do you miss things from your childhood?

A simple cotton for the day

My brother-in-law and I share the same birthday, and one of my cousins celebrates his the very next day. Because of the time difference between the US and India, every year we end up wishing each other 'Happy Birthday' and replying with 'Same to you! I was there for my bday after years and so were these two guys. It was such a fun time.

Holi pics 

Grief and rituals - A year without Amma

 Rituals are supposed to bring peace—a reminder that the soul is on its way to continuing its journey. I am not sure if we do it for the soul, or for closure and our grief.

We call Pandit ji (priest), do all the rituals, and invite people to be part of the celebration and feast. I am not sure if any of these things make sense to me, but it brings peace to many.

All of us carry a mountain and find solutions in various things. Sometimes they make sense. Sometimes they don’t.

For Amma's first death anniversary, we provided food in an old age home and in one school. I was not sure if any of those good wishes were making any sense for Amma or her existence. None of those people had any idea who my mother was, but we wanted to do something. In that way, the whole meetup brought another perspective in life.

In that old age home, I went twice—once for breakfast and once for dinner. One of my sisters went for lunch. During both of my visits, I realized how lonely old age could be. I served the meal and spent time with some of them, hearing their stories.

One of the women had four sons and her own house, but she said, “I’m happier and more at peace here than with any of my kids.” Another had stayed single all her life, lived on her own terms, but when she was diagnosed with heart disease, she could not stay on her own and decided to come here.

It was saddening to see the living conditions—so many cots in one room, just a cupboard for the belongings of a whole life. I have no idea what they do during the day, but it does not look like they have any classes or entertainment going on—the way they plan these things in the United States.

I went there to serve food, but I came back home rattled and thinking about old age. Their stories still linger in my mind. I wish I had some more time to listen some more and may be make it little better or may be they don’t need my American ideas?
Have they ever thought that they might end up in that place?
Do you think about your sunset years?

Amma's kosa for the day