The Story of Human Resilience

 Over the years, my social circle has shrunk a lot. I never had a very large one to begin with, but I was—and still am—a part of various groups. Going to social gatherings is just not my thing anymore. My husband was never a keen participant to begin with, and that reduced our chances of going out together to the usual Indian social gatherings where you meet people, have a drink, eat, chat for a while, and come back home.

I also became more selective about how I spend my time. Ladies' nights out or drinking parties slowly became out of the question.

For the last ten years, meeting mothers raising children with disabilities and building our village has taken the front seat. I still keep my music group, saree group, and literature group alive within me, but meeting those friends socially has reduced drastically. Yet every time I do meet them, it is a treat for my soul. There isn't as much time, and priorities are shifting. But every time I come home from one of those gatherings, there is a warmth in my heart that stays with me.

Sometimes saree meets can feel a little monotonous. You meet, admire each other's sarees, take pictures, eat, laugh, and head home. But once in a while, a host changes the direction of the evening, and the gathering becomes something out of the ordinary.

Last meet was one of those, it started with introductions. What do we do? Who are we as a person? Where did we grow up? Slowly, the conversation became deeper. People started sharing what brings them joy, what keeps them going, and what helps them sustain themselves through life's ups and downs.

And somewhere in those conversations, something magical happens.

Stories of resilience emerge. Stories of hope. Stories of people overcoming unimaginable obstacles. Stories of loss, courage, reinvention, and quiet strength. They stir something inside you. They remind you that every person carries a story you know nothing about.

I wore one of my mom's simple cotton sarees, a maheshwari . It is well loved and well worn. As I sat there listening to everyone, I couldn't help but think how much she would have loved being part of that group—listening to these women, smiling at their stories, and perhaps sharing a few of her own.