Is There an Age for Grief - Diwali Celebration with a Void

A month ago, while chatting, I told a friend, "See you for Diwali." She paused for a few seconds and then asked, "I was wondering if you would do Diwali this year." I was a bit taken aback, but she had a point. In many Indian families, when someone passes away, people often don’t celebrate festivals for a year.

It hadn’t even occurred to me to stop living my usual life. My perspective is that grief doesn’t have a set time limit, and a void isn’t going to disappear in one year. My mother wouldn’t have approved of everyone pausing their lives or not celebrating. She was one of the most enthusiastic people you’d ever meet. I think she would want her daughters to live fully, just as she did—full of life.

What’s your take on this? I know many people don’t celebrate anything for a year to mourn and avoid festivities without the deceased person. But how is it that things can just return to normal in a year? Who decided there should be a timeline for grief?

I miss my mother, and not just this Diwali. Nothing is the same without her, and I feel like a different person entirely. But my friends, who’ve been coming to my house for years, will still come. We’ll enjoy the food and each other's company, talk about our families and kids, share the changes we’re going through, complain about getting older, and remember the old days. My mother will be missed in more ways than I can count.

A kanjivaram for a friend’s mom’s 75th Bday party. We didn't do anything special for mom's 75th. She was celebrated every year. 

Power of giving back to community -

For several years now, I have been donating my Indian cooking lessons to various fundraisers for different organizations. This gives me a chance to introduce my heritage and cuisine to new families, which brings me so much joy. I’ve met some amazing people through food. At last year’s Gala for the Federation for Children with Special Needs, a dear friend contributed a generous amount to secure my cooking lesson raffle.

It’s been a difficult year with my mom’s passing, and I wasn’t in a position to do any of the fun things I usually enjoy. But finally, after months, we found a date to hold the cooking lesson.

We met to go over the menu and grocery list, and soon the day arrived. My friend decided to cook in advance and invited six more couples to enjoy the meal. This was such a brilliant idea! These wonderful people rarely get the chance to spend time together in a relaxed setting. They usually meet for work, with agendas, meetings and events, but this gave them an opportunity to enjoy a meal and get to know each other better.

The food turned out well, everyone enjoyed the meal, I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with everyone, chatting about food, saris, culture, and so many things about India.

The best part was that Anand agreed to go and hang out there with me. He was there for more than six hours, went for a walk, changed, ate with everyone, and spent some time chatting and he enjoyed the food as well . Even if he wasn’t the most active participant, I was just happy that he was there.

A Banarasi sari for an afternoon with a saree friend. 

She got a copy of Pink Chair magazine for all the guests—a truly awesome gesture

A Shopping Day win - Small Wins, Big shoes :)

 Anand and I don’t usually see eye-to-eye on most things. He likes everything planned, while I’m more impulsive. He needs clarity, and I thrive on spontaneity. I tend to push him to do more because I expect a lot, but he doesn’t like being pushed. In other words, I’m the “bad cop” in the Pandey household.

Working at BJ’s keeps Anand on his feet all day, so he needed new shoes. Somehow, his dad couldn’t take him shopping, so on a sunny Saturday, he agreed to go with me. He booked a ride with GATRA in the morning and left me with clear instructions: “Meet me outside the Reebok store in 90 minutes.” He had a precise plan—90 minutes of walking, then shopping.

True to form, I got a reminder 60 minutes later to get ready and leave in 15. I needed that nudge! We met at the store, and for a change, Anand agreed to have his feet sized. He even tried on three pairs of shoes, and we found the right size—he’d actually been wearing a size too big. It was an incredible day: shopping done without a single argument! A big win for me.

I joked to Mr. Husband later that I could get used to this. There are days when getting anything done is really tough, and then there are days like this that make all the hard ones worthwhile. The next item in my push list is - have him take the train to Boston.

This festive season, I decided to bring a little extra cheer to work by wearing a saree. I draped a beautiful kosa silk saree at 5:30 in the morning for a Monday in the office.

In Sickness and Togetherness: finding Strength in Unplanned Moments

On a perfect Saturday night, while celebrating a friend’s birthday, we received a call from our firstborn. He had gone to a punk concert, fell while dancing and was now in the ER awaiting X-ray results, anticipating a fracture. Soon enough, the doctor confirmed it.

The only issue was that he was five hours away, having just moved to a new city three months ago. He needed to stay in the hospital overnight, so we decided to try to get some rest since we weren’t in shape to drive five hours in the night and manage what was sure to be a long, unpredictable day ahead.

Sleep didn’t come easily, so I packed for my husband and prepared for our “we’ll figure it out when we get there” scenario. The next morning, we drove out, got him discharged, headed to his apartment to pack some stuff, clean out his fridge, and bring him home, along with his pile of laundry. All these year this kid never brought dirty laundry home.

Very next day, we took him to the hospital, and a surgery date was scheduled. Ten days later, on an early Tuesday morning, the surgery was done by one of Boston’s best doctors, and by lunchtime, we were back home. He endured pain and medication for a few days, but by the following Monday, he was already back to work. The past three weeks have been quite an adventure for us all.

These challenging days have brought my village into focus once again. Friends have supported us in their own ways—checking in, cooking, spending time with Ajey, and sometimes just keeping him company so Ashish and I could take a break. His brother Anand gave up his bed and now sleeps in the same room to help Ajey through the night, lending a hand when needed and keeping a close watch.

We’d gotten used to doing things our own way, but now we’re back to ensuring someone is home with Ajey at all times. Coordinating schedules has been interesting, and we’re improving at taking turns when we go out.

But what I’m enjoying most is having Ajey at home and getting him to watch TV with me. We’ve finished Gullak, a Hindi series and are wrapping up The Lincoln Lawyer. He’ll be home for another 6-7 weeks, and I already have a list of things for us to watch together. I’ll keep sharing our experience.

We’re doing well and looking forward to Diwali and Thanksgiving, with our hearts and home full. Please feel free to visit—we know Ajey would love some company besides his parents!  😊 A Mangalgiri for celebration and festivities.

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Ajey’s beautiful hair became an unintended casualty—we just couldn’t manage it with his limited mobility. Even the barber was sad to cut his soft, silky curls

On surgery day, Anand was up early, helping his brother out of the house and getting him settled in the car. 

and we were home soon enough.

The complexity of Void, relief and reality - Finding Comfort in Celebrating a Life

A couple of weeks ago, a friend lost her mother. She was in her late 70s and had been suffering for a couple of years. In a way, her passing was a relief for her and those around her.

Even though we all knew it was for the best, goodbyes are still hard. Sometimes, logic just doesn’t make sense. The only thing you feel is the void, not the relief. I feel sad for my friend, but at the same time, I know how tough it has been for her father and her siblings. Caring for loved ones in that condition is difficult for caregivers too. The grief, loss, sadness, comfort, and relief—there’s a very fine line between them sometimes The emotional complexity of loss, where logic and relief intertwine with profound sadness. It’s hard to decipher those emotions or pinpoint exactly what you're feeling in that moment. 

Being there for the "celebration of life" was tough. The daughters spoke about their mother so fondly. She hadn’t been herself for the past few years, but it was the woman she used to be that they remembered. The morning was a reminder that grief, while inevitable, can also be an opportunity to reflect on the full, meaningful life they lived.

I found myself back in time once again. My mother lived a great life and left with grace and dignity. I know that's what she always wanted, but I still feel all sorts of emotions. I tell myself that she’s in a much better place, spending time with her mom, brothers, and friends. That thought comforts me and encourages me to focus on the brighter side.

I loved the idea of celebrating a life rather than mourning a loss. I think we all need that to move on. I wish everyone who is suffering the balance between the void of loss, the relief of a loved one no longer suffering, and the reality of moving forward.

I took out a beautiful Kosa silk saree for a beautiful fall morning.

My mom loved Fall color and I would face time with her everyday while walking.

Do You Have a Lighthouse to Sail Through a Stormy Night?

We always have something going on or bothering us—whether it’s family, work, money, relationships, or even the simple everyday tasks like laundry or a dirty sink. As humans, we tend to find something to keep us on our toes. Some days, it can feel overwhelming, and we need something to hold on to.

I was at Cape Cod last weekend, and a visit to the beach reminded me how much we all need a lighthouse—something to remind us what life really means. Lighthouses are often located in extreme places, bearing  harsh weather, fierce winds, and wild waters. Yet, in stormy conditions, they guide us with their steady, shining light.

As moms, we always have an endless list of things to do. From preparing for IEP meetings to finding a new therapist, reading about the latest treatment options, a new approach or adding yet another book on IEPs or disabilities to the mix—these are in addition to the everyday concerns of family, work, and managing the household.

With all that going on, who has time to think about themselves? But that’s the gravest mistake we moms make—forgetting ourselves. Someday, something backfires, and it’s overwhelming. The idea is to prevent that from happening. That’s why Desi Moms Network was built: to create a circle of friends who remind you that “you” matter.

Before you dream for your child, find your lighthouse (or even several, for different storms)—someone who will guide you with their shining light, help you weather the storm, and navigate you safely to the shore.

Hope you find your light house and be the one for many.

The Federation for Children with Special Needs hosted their annual gala. The theme was “Imagine” in celebration of their 50th anniversary—50 years of supporting families. I couldn’t be prouder to be associated with this organization as a board member.

For the evening, I wore an Uppada silk saree. While most people wore grey, black, or dark blue for this black-tie event, I enjoyed my bright orange and green, embracing the perfect colors for fall. 

With some of my lighthouses 

Every year I donate Indian cooking lesson for the fundraiser. Such a joy - every year a new family gets a taste of Indian cuisine. 

Sunset on CapeCod Beach 

and said lighthouse

Thank you for being my champion.

I have always had amazing people in my life. They empower, uplift, encourage, and inspire me. And when I am lost, they become my guiding star. These people come from various age groups.

I always talk about my village, which includes people from all over the world, and my local saree group is one of them.

My Sareepact year was my first encounter with the saree community, and it changed my life.

When I started the Desi Moms Network, I was creating something I didn’t have. It grew bigger than I could have imagined.

Last month, a magazine published my story, and I got to wear two beautiful sarees for the photoshoot—one for the cover photo and one for the story inside the magazine. My local saree group made a big deal out of it and wanted to celebrate.

We have all been friends for a few years now. This community is something different. I would have not met many of them if not for saree love. And now over the years we have become integral part of each other’s lives. 

A saree sakhi from India, who is here for a while, got to be part of it.

So, we reintroduced ourselves to her, sharing different aspects of our lives in the form of questions.

We all learned something new about each other. I am grateful for all the love, care, and gratitude I get to learn from each of them every day.

A Tussar for the evening.

We are often too quick to judge people based on their social status, qualifications, and caste.

 Thinking a change would do me good, I traveled to Sacramento to visit one of my Amma’s colleagues, who was visiting her son. Although the purpose of the trip was different, after spending a few days with this simple household, I returned with new insights.

My mother’s colleague is a simple woman in her 60s. While talking to her on various topics, I came to realize how grounded and sorted she is. Her stories and life philosophy were not what I had expected.

At 17, just after finishing high school, she got married. She wasn’t considered attractive by her caste and community’s standards, but because she had studied science in high school ( very rare at that time), her forward-thinking husband chose her for her qualifications. He supported her through her undergraduate and master’s degrees. She taught middle school, raised four children, and kept advancing her education. I can only imagine the backlash her progressive husband must have faced, as he was very hands-on in helping around the house so that his wife could achieve her dreams. She taught math and Sanskrit in middle school, worked as a PE teacher, and eventually became the NCC (National Cadet Corps) in charge for our girl’s school. 

With hard work and a simple lifestyle, they managed to save money and educate all four of their children, who are now all well-educated, employed, and married.

Her husband passed away unexpectedly 12 years ago, and her world collapsed. She didn’t know how to function without him, as he had been an equal partner in every aspect of their lives. But despite the challenges, she remains progressive in her thinking and is proud of her daughters-in-law. She respects the boundaries of their household, following its rules, and does whatever she can to support her son, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren. She told me they chose their daughters-in-law based on their qualifications and education, not on their looks. There was no dowry or financial exchange in the marriages, and her love for her daughters-in-law is evident.

Even after all the hardship in her life—widowed at the age of 54—she continues to live fully. She goes for walks, practices music (she’s learning to play the piano in her 60s), reads, watches Pakistani dramas, and helps with cooking and cleaning. Another thing that struck me was her attitude towards money. She supports families in her village who are in need, donates to charity, and says, “All my kids have plenty. I’m just supporting those who aren’t as fortunate.”

Despite her savings, she has no desire to buy expensive saris or jewelry. She is content with the land she has in her village and the house she owns in town. She lives simply, maintains an optimistic outlook, helps others in need, and moves forward. If I hadn’t spent this much time with her, I wouldn’t have discovered the secret behind her hearty laughs. She truly is content, and I believe that’s what makes life easier for her.

She always looked up to my parents, feeling grateful for their advice and support, and she deeply misses my mom. My mother was her guide and mentor. When she lost her husband and later when she was retiring, Papa helped her with a lot of paperwork and provided advice when she needed it most. 

A silk saree from her closet, which I agreed to wear just to create a memory, marked my first step toward being content and resisting the urge to add yet another saree to my collection.