Finding My Voice: A Reflection Inspired by Sarzameen

I recently watched the film Sarzameen, a story layered with themes of patriotism, militancy, and parenthood. While all three were powerful, it was the portrayal of parenthood that stayed with me the longest. It stirred memories I had tucked away—memories of my own childhood, of a time when my voice was trapped behind hesitation, fear, and silence.

As a child who stammered, I didn’t struggle only with speech—I struggled with shame. What hurt more than the inability to speak fluently was the reaction it drew from those closest to me. In many families, unfortunately, a child's speech difficulty is met not with patience, but with ridicule. When parents mock—whether playfully or out of frustration—it sends a clear message: you are not enough. And siblings, unknowingly or otherwise, often join in.

This constant sense of being “different” and “less than” is deeply traumatic. Home, which should be a safe haven, becomes a place of judgment. Slowly, the child retreats inward, silenced not by the stammer itself, but by the fear of being laughed at or dismissed.

But life has a strange way of placing the right people in our path.

People who listen without rushing.

People who see the person, not the problem.

People who simply say, “Take your time, I’m here.”

It was through such kindness that I began to heal.

I found my voice not through therapy alone, but through acceptance.

Through love.

Through belief.

I hope the people who stood by me during those fragile years find their way to this post. Your support may have seemed simple or ordinary at the time, but for me, it was life-changing. A special thank you to that one person—you know who you are. I will remain forever indebted to you.

From being the child who couldn’t utter a single word in class…

To someone who now speaks confidently, without hesitation, in any room—

That journey has been long, painful, beautiful.

And I write this today not just to reflect, but to remind every parent, every sibling, every teacher, every friend—

Your words can wound. But they can also heal.

Choose the latter.

Welcome Home... To Yourself. 🏡💫

Some films don’t just tell a story — they open old drawers inside you, quietly bringing back the memories you thought were folded away forever. The Marathi film Welcome Home did just that to me.

As I watched, I wasn’t just seeing a story — I was reliving mine.

The day I decided to separate and walk out from a long relationship…
I didn’t expect celebration, but I didn’t expect such isolation either.

“Stay in a hostel — you have no place to go". They said. 

“Leave the children.”

“Start working. Move on.” And the harshest of all — “Why do you need the children?”

And amid all these instructions, opinions, and judgments, not once did someone say,
“Come to me.”
“Come home.”
“We’re here.”

No one opened their doors.
No one opened their arms.
Everyone was ready to tell me what to leave… but no one told me what I could hold on to.

But I did hold on.
To love.
To truth.

I couldn’t leave my children. To the only thing that ever felt like home — my children.
They were not a burden — they were my breath.
I wasn’t willing to walk alone, not because I was weak — but because I was still a mother.

They didn’t ask me for strength.
They became my strength.
In their acceptance, their quiet resilience, and their unshaken presence —
I found the home no one offered me.

And over time, a few others appeared —
Not loudly, but gently.
They didn’t say “I understand,” but they stayed.
They listened without fixing, stood without judging.

When we are finally surrounded by people who accept us as we are —
who don’t ask us to explain our brokenness,
but simply sit beside it —
our eyes don’t tear up out of agony… they soften out of peace.

Welcome Home isn’t just a film title.
It’s the moment when the ache of abandonment is slowly replaced with the quiet warmth of belonging.
When you realize — home isn’t always a place, or a person.
Sometimes, home is the version of you who refused to give up.
And the few hearts who stayed close while you rebuilt yourself.

To my children — thank you for being my home.
And to those few who stood by when I had nothing to offer but honesty —
you are my welcome back to life.

Welcome home. Truly. 💛

When the House Grows Quiet

 A reflection on solitude, longing, and the quiet search for companionship

There comes a time in life when the laughter of children becomes a memory,
echoing faintly through the quiet halls of a home once brimming with life.

The days—once marked by packed tiffin boxes, school runs, and soft lullabies—
begin to stretch long and slow. The phone rings less often. The doorbell barely chimes.
And the silence, once a luxury, starts to press in—soft, yet heavy.

At this age, when the heart has given its best years to nurturing others,
and the body begins to crave rest more than adventure, something else quietly emerges—a yearning.

Not for excitement. Not for novelty. But for presence.

A warm cup of tea shared in the morning light.
A gentle disagreement over the TV remote.
A hand resting softly on another during long silences.
Not words, but nearness.

For years, the belief stood strong:

It is better to be alone than in a toxic relationship.
And that truth still stands—unshaken.

But even peace can feel hollow, when it comes with too much quiet.
Loneliness doesn’t shout. It whispers.
It creeps in slowly, like twilight, wrapping itself around everything.

How many things can be knitted? How many dishes cooked? How many stories watched on screens, when life itself feels paused?

Advice arrives like clockwork—
Join a class. Take a trip. Reconnect with friends. Find a hobby. Hit the gym.

But what if none of it fits anymore?

What if the soul no longer craves activity, but authenticity?
Not crowds, but connection. Not noise, but meaning. And not pity. Never pity.

Just understanding.

There’s a kind of companionship that doesn’t ask for grandeur. It asks for truth.
A meeting of two quiet lives, seeking warmth—not thrill.
Honesty—not promises.

Two people who understand that sacred moments are the simplest ones—
sharing silence, watching the sky change colours, growing with grace,
and holding space for each other’s dreams and griefs.

Does such companionship exist? Rooted in kindness, not convenience?

Somewhere, perhaps, others feel the same.
Not broken. Not desperate. Just quietly yearning.

Waiting. Hoping.
Wondering how to walk the rest of life’s path— not alone,
but beside someone
who also knows
what it means
to be strong
and still feel the emptiness when the day ends.

Maybe it is not about filling the silence—
maybe it is about finding someone
who doesn’t mind sitting in it.

The Quiet Echo of Motherhood

My precious miracles, my heart’s deepest dream—you, my children, my entire world. Being your mom isn’t just my role; it is my soul’s greatest purpose. I poured every ounce of myself into you, a love so boundless it consumed me, wrapped me in its warmth, and gave me life. I was the one who kissed your fevers away, cheered the loudest at every tiny triumph, and mended your broken toys with the same fierce tenderness I used to heal your tender hearts. “Mummy ko sab pata hai… Mummy sab theek kar degi,” you’d whisper, and oh, how I tried—giving you roots to stand firm, wings to touch the sky, every piece of my being to make you soar. You were my beautiful chaos, my loud, messy joy, and I’d have given my last breath for you then, just as I would now.

I was your hero once, your safe harbor, the answer to every question. But time has shifted us. My arms, once your cure for every hurt, now wait empty; my words, once your gospel, now met with a gentle “Haan pata hai Mumma.” The calls grow quieter, the hugs rarer, and I’ve become a whisper in your bustling lives—a sender of wishes, a payer of bills, a steady shadow on the sidelines. I see you shine—friends, dreams, career, love filling your days as they should—and my heart swells with pride. But I miss the scribbled “I love you, Mumma” notes, the surprise embraces that lit up my world. Now, a “Happy Birthday, Mom” feels like a fleeting mark on your calendar, and I smile through the ache, because that’s what mothers do—we let you go, piece by piece, with love that never falters.

Yet this isn’t the end of motherhood—it’s a tender transformation. Even when you’re near, earbuds in, screens glowing, I feel a thousand miles away. Did I cling too tight? Speak too much? My heart twists—do you still see me, or am I fading into the background? But I know this shift is life’s quiet gift. I gave you roots to stand tall and wings to fly free, forgetting I had wings of my own, tucked away beneath the years of giving.

Now, I’m learning to soar again. These hands, once soothing your fevers, now knit and crochet dreams, capture light in photographs, and cradle passions I’d set aside. My heart, tethered to your every scraped knee and bedtime tale, is rediscovering its own rhythm. I’m more than your mom— I am also a woman with stories yet to write, laughter yet to share, and adventures waiting. The silence isn’t empty; it’s where I find myself. And still, my prayers rise like a heartbeat: May you be healthy, kind, fearless. May you chase dreams that set your souls ablaze, find love that steadies you through storms, and hold each other close—tighter than my roots ever could. May you always know you’re my forever, carved into my very bones.

Even when we stumble—when you forget to call, when I hover too near—my love stands unshaken. You’re adults, my miracles, building lives I cheer for from afar, and I swallow the jagged quiet of missed moments with a smile. “Sorry, Mummy,” you say, and it’s enough—because love bends, it bruises, it endures. I’m no longer your center, but I’m still here, arms open, heart full, your biggest fan, your safe shore. 

This unraveling is brutal and beautiful. Those Facebook memories—chubby cheeks, tight hugs, belly laughs—wreck me, tears falling as the past slips through my fingers. Enjoy this, I whisper, because it flees so fast. You’re my always, my life’s greatest masterpiece, my largest project, and now it’s my turn to soar—broken, alive, and wildly free. I will stand here, arms open, heart full. Still your biggest cheerleader. Still your safe space. Whether you call once a day or once a week, I will be here, loving you with the same fierce, unwavering devotion that brought you into this world. Because you are my forever. 

When alone...

 

I am in kitchen, cooking, listening to some music,                                                 which is hitting me on my heart.

While cooking, I am thinking about work, about home, about children, about life,

About relationships - some dead, some faded, some lost, and the one that exists.

And suddenly I feel I am not at home, not in my skin, this is not where I want to be

I want to be at home, I want to feel home, I want that feeling of home

Within this five minute period, I was nostalgic. Was I ok?

Is this ok for me to feel this? I realize I have aged, I will never be young again.

But then second thought flashes – So what?

Can’t I have my piece of love life? What if my last phase is the most beautiful phase?

I get flashes - Ignore. Live as you like. Be happy feeling wanted and loved.

In fact, this has been the best romance, I smile. Flying and humming the last lines.

The song is over. Cooking done. In five minutes I had been a long journey.

I was fine.

I will sure be at home, soon.

Inshallah.

Gurez - An Offbeat Paradise

For so many years living in Delhi, handling the tough life, travel has been that soothing balm on my sores of life. Travel to Kashmir has always been healing. But travel to #Gurez has been a next level experience, enchanting……

                                                 

First stop, Srinagar, the largest city and the summer capital of the Indian territory of Jammu and Kashmir, where I soon found a sumo -- a local taxi that can fit up to seven people -- that took me to Bandipora in northern Kashmir. After an hour at the Bandipora bus stand, my eyes peeled for the sumo to fill so that the driver would take me onward, I heaved a huge sigh of relief when a sumo rolled up that was headed for #Gurez. It is only 81 km away, so I expected to be there in just a few hours. Little did I know the state of the roads that lay ahead of me.

                              

After cruising smoothly out of Bandipora, sumo soon moved onto the curvy roads leading up high. As things below got smaller, the road ahead got bumpier. So bumpy that I had to hold my head to stop it banging against the roof. Razdan Pass, I lost myself in the clouds that, with the sun shining down from above, looked as if they were dancing on the peaks of the mountains. The journey into the Greater Himalayas speaks for itself — enchanting and fulfilling. The preface has been gratifying —as you look down from the roadside, and tilt the head upwards, the #HarMukh gleams back. It is up till #Tragbal that a few dabhaas, offering snacks with nun chai. The snow-capped Himalayan mountains make their appearance as we cut across the Razdan Pass at 11,672 ft. For people fond of remote locales and who want to enjoy a peaceful holiday without phones, crowds, and the hustle and bustle of the big city, few places on Earth can match #Gurez. Cool breeze flutter rows of green flags at the shrine of Peer Baba, which is under Army’s patronage.

                                            

Passing by a dozen iron gates and army bunkers, where at one point I was made to show my identity and register, after seven hours I finally crossed the Kishan Ganga River and entered the town of Dawar. The best thing was no network, no one to disturb that solitude. The Kishanganga power project here has changed the landscape. Touching Dawar, the headquarters of #Gurez, is stepping into another world: mountains rising high on all sides, water compellingly flowing, creating its own melody, wooden log houses amid meadows.

                              

And the sumo stopped and soon enough my eyes adjusted and I was able to make out some known figure in the crowd. It gave me a tingle of excitement. The freshness in air, the gushing water sound and Habba Khatoon peak, pyramid-shaped peak named after Kashmiri poet #HabbaKhatoon right infront of me. The Kishanganga power project here has changed the landscape.

                                                           

I was guided to a hotel, a wooden structure with basic amenities. After settling down and having a cup of noon chai, the dusk setting in. Soon we went for a walk, beside the river, serene, calm and soothing, next to the waters of Kishanganga with Habba Khatoon, a pyramid-shaped limestone rock, rising tall and magnificent, overlooking Dawar, behind us. It is not just a colossal stone, but with it the memory of Habba Khatoon, wife of last Kashmiri Muslim king Yusuf Shah Chak, is permanently engraved in the minds of the people of #Gurez. A woman, poetess, queen and a beloved, who is believed to have been wandering in the valley, in search of her lover, Habba Khatoon is the essence of Kashmiri thought process.

                                               

Next day we set out in the morning for #Tulail and #Badoaab, the beautiful villages that mark the last check before #Chakwali, the line that divides India and Pakistan. Stopped few times for registration and identification checks, I felt lucky to have my #Dardi companion, who knew the routes, language, and shortcuts so well. And he knew how to handle all the men in uniform, so many children playing cricket in the streets. Another sign of how this remains a place without many of life's modern conveniences. There is no internet connection of any kind and only a few hours of electricity a day, which is supplied by generators belonging to the Border Security Force. Jio and BSNL are the only network providers — that too, till Dawar

                                 

The #Gurez Valley is home to the Dard tribe, the aboriginals of this land. The Dard people are an ethnic group found predominantly in Gurez and the adjoining regions, and also in northern Pakistan, North West India and eastern Afghanistan.

 Though a part of Kashmir yet so different from Kashmir and #Kashmiriyat!!!

                                                     

Kashmir's Gurez Valley remains a slice of the old world even in our dark times. Its physical isolation has preserved its environmental and cultural treasures. While its modern history has been plagued by war tensions, it may come as a surprise to many that this picturesque valley was once the gateway to the famous silk route across Asia. Gurez Valley is today one of the far-flung regions of Jammu and Kashmir, cut off for nearly seven months every year. It has also kept it largely unchanged.

                              
The language of the Dard tribe is Shin, also known by the names Sheena, Sina. The region where the Dardic language Shin was spoken extended from Gilgit, Yasin, Satpara, Baltistan and other areas in this Himalayan belt. This wide belt spread over thousands of kilometers. With such a glorious history, it was not surprising that this region should be home to wondrous archaeological treasures.

                                                   
Even today, Gurez does not have regular supply of electricity. Generator power is available only for a few hours every day. Wi-Fi and internet are alien words for most people of the Dardic tribe who have never been out of the valley.

                                                   
Today, rolls of concertina wires – barbed, razor wires – cut across the undulating slopes of Gurez, hurting cattle and smaller animals. The barbed wires confuse the gentle villagers of Gurez. They cannot figure out why their valley, where crime is rare, should be slashed haphazardly by these menacing wires.

                                 
Gurez has a unique richness in terms of fauna and flora. The valley is home to beautiful, exotic flowers and plants. Gurez has now become an area of international interest. In these hectic, modern times, the quiet and slow life of Gurez seems like a slice of history from an ancient time. As Gurez comes more prominently on the world map, it will change. Perhaps in a few decades from now, it will be different. Insha Allah!

The main attractions of Gurez are its historical status, archaeological sites, and the local population that still live by their ancient traditions and culture. Gurez is blessed with lush green alpine forests, gushing fresh water of the Kishanganga, lush meadows and snow-capped beautiful mountains. A tourist wishes to see true natural beauty, not artificial parks and gardens, and this is what Gurez is bestowed with.

                                                        
Life is difficult in this beautiful but harsh region, where temperatures plummet to minus 10 degrees in the winter. Here farming remains an activity for the entire family and is still virtually the only source of income. People grow potatoes, kidney beans, apples and corn. Everything is organic. For six months, from November to May, Gurez is completely cut off from the world, buried under 6 meters of snow. This is what makes the valley such a tranquil and striking place to visit, but a perilous place to live. I spent my days soaking up the high mountain air, the valley's snow filled, its gushing river and numerous streams.

                                                    
Many from Gurez, particularly the ones who could afford to, have moved here in Bandipore due to extremely harsh life conditions there, but they remain distinct. The Partition divided this ancient Dard-Shina civilization geographically, and even their hearts with families and kin pushed to either side of the LoC.

Water sports, trekking and cycling can become main attraction of the place. Gurez is still in the infant stage of development. Gurez is a virgin place and I invite people to explore it because other places like Sonmarg, Gulmarg and many more are overrated now. If the captivating beauty of Kashmir can refresh your tired mind then it would not be a gaffe to say that the pastoral Gurez can gift you with some of the most rejuvenating moments of your life.

Born and brought up in the lap of nature, I connect very well to the sounds of nature and find music in every sound from chirping of birds to sounds made by wind and the breeze and the buzzing wild bees. The people of Gurez are hopeful the such events will also happen in the future and connect them to the outer world. Quiet and peaceful destinations are often linked to introverts, but I discovered another truth: that there are actually people who truly understand the value of solitude as well as how to properly savor it. That is what Gurez taught me -- and I am definitely one of life's extroverts.

                             
Leaving Gurez as the sun began to set, I wondered what would change there over the next decade.

 #HabbaKadal is in downtown, Srinagar, where houses are like conjoined twins.

If wishes were horses........

Relationships are both complicated and simple. Complicated, because we don’t live in a vacuum. There are a million things that affect us. So things do get messy. And it’s perfectly normal in a relationship to have fights and feel sad and angry. Because nothing is perfect. But still, most of us reach a stage where it’s not just a small fight or misunderstanding. It’s big, and it’s consistent. You have tried to sort it out, but it’s still eating away your peace and joy. Make it loud and clear. Don’t burn inside all alone, all hurt, and all helpless. You must tell what exactly is bothering you, every single, minute thing, even embarrassing, even the stupidest thing. Just pinpoint everything. Write the things down if you can’t say them on face. This will set you free.

Average human lifespan is 75 years. that's 900 months. And even in those 900 months, we spend so much time doing things we don't want to do. We spend so much time pleasing people we don't even like. We spend our time filling rows of excel sheets or writing thousands of lines of code.

So when you turn 75, and your knees feel weak, and your mind feels slow - all you will have is regrets. the regrets of the things that you could've done in those 900 months. Trips you could've gone on in those 900 months. 900 wishes that you could've fulfilled that are still on your wishlist.

We keep chasing happiness in things that aren't even real. We get so lost in chasing these things that we forgot about the real happiness. The happiness of falling in love, the happiness of making someone smile, or the happiness of just sitting with your love in the balcony and talking the entire night.

We get so caught in the life between Monday to Friday or 9 am to 5 pm, that we forget to love ourselves on those Saturday mornings. We get so tired of the schedule and the deadlines that we forget about the biggest deadline there is - the deadline of your life.

Learn to forgive. Learn to live. Learn to laugh alone, and with your loved ones because when you are weak and alone at 75 these memories will be the only thing that will give you the strength to stay alive.

I have felt many things about love. From wanting love to hating love, I have lived through many phases. I have smiled in love. I have cried in love. And somewhere along, I grew up. I grew up in my soul. Maybe, I understand love better now. I understand myself better now. So I do know how I want to love next, maybe for the final time. We try to play cool and cold. “I don’t want to be in love,” we declare. But secretly, somewhere in that little corner of your heart, you do want to find a special person and fall in love. I am brave enough here to openly say that I do think about finding the love of my life and how that love story will be.

I absolutely don’t want a normal love story. No. I don’t want to evaluate a person before I fall in love. I don’t want to tick the usual checklist of this tall, this educated, this rich, or from that family. No. I want to fall in love without all this practical and societal nonsense. I want to fall in love with his eyes. Like one look, and sold. Boom! I know it sounds stupid. But love is stupid. Real love is stupid. Real love is for crazy. I want to fall in love for one reason alone. And that reason will be love.

And then, I don’t want to live like friends. No. I have friends. I don’t want another friend. I want passion. I want heightened emotions. I want the fire. I want us to stay in love, mad, passionate love. There should be romance. There should be impulsiveness. There should be that longing. There should be that tickling feeling of the first kiss, daily. I know you will say the excitement fades away. But no, your love fades away. And that’s ordinary love that fades away. That’s why I said I want special love.

Beyond that, I have thought of a million things. But that’s not important. Just love is important, mad, passionate, real love. Everything else will work out, I know. People say adjustment and forgiveness keep a relationship alive. Bullshit. Only love keeps a relationship alive, real, passionate, pure love. I want that.

The stupidest thing people do in love is to believe that it will last forever. We should expect breakups. I am just saying that don’t be God. You don’t know what will happen. You don’t know what’s written in destiny. The only thing you know is that you have this moment. And in this moment, you are with the person you love. And that should be your goal. To live every moment. To live in the present. And to love as if there is no tomorrow. Sounds too filmy, not practical? It’s filmy. It’s not that practical. And it’s very rare. But that’s exactly why so few people are happy. Happiness is rare, my friend. Pick anyone around you, and that person will have a sorry love story to tell you. One thing will be common in all those heart-aching tales: “How can that person leave me, how?”

That’s how things roll here. People change. Things change. Feelings change. True love never changes. But how many get true love? One out of hundred, at very best. So, sweetheart, chances are that the love you are in right now will most probably not last forever. just go with the flow. Just love freely. Don’t put the baggage of forever on your love life. You two might be good people at heart. You two might even want to be together forever. The chances are that you two will drift apart. How? Life happens. Love is rare. Need is common. We need another hand to hold. We need someone to call our own. We need a name after that “I love you.” We need a body to hug. We need lips to kiss. We need flesh to make love. That need is the naked truth that we push under the carpet. We talk about heart instead. We talk about souls.

The harsh truth is people can fall out of love. And it's okay. Love is not a prison of forever. They think that they can't unlove. But eventually, they all do. Some, listen to their own heart. Some listen to others' sorry.

People with soft hearts suffer from their mistakes and from the mistakes of others. Since they feel too much, there is always that extra pain in the heart and that extra time to heal. And the worst thing is that they adjust too much. First, they will adjust and give more time and care to others. And then, they will adjust and ignore their career because they feel so heartbroken when that person leaves. So it’s like suffering twice with every person they allow close. It’s such a simple, naked fact. But nice people don’t realize it until they suffer too much and too many times. They keep collecting scars and keep smiling. They trust again after getting betrayed once again. They do it because they still want to be a good person. They don’t want to give up on hope and goodness. But there comes a truth slap with time that breaks them to a point of no return. The soul finally screams “enough is enough.” And in that moment of truth, they decide to change. 

Most people give up again after a while, going back to what they always were. But some people change. They become more practical. They learn to say no. They learn to keep their emotional distance. They learn to love themselves more. They learn to make their career and dreams the priority. And most importantly, they learn to smile when others call them selfish and rude. They grow up. They might not be the most liked person now. But they are much happier. And there is peace.

 So I want to become those few people who end up changing after those night tears and muted screams. We, humans, are complicated. And relationships are even more complicated. We end up hurting even the people we love and care for. You can’t change this. You can't have it perfect. But you can change yourself and become stronger in your mind. You don’t have to feel guilty for not making everyone happy. Stop trying that. Just live for happiness and peace. Let people stay if they are adding to that. And let people go if they are stealing that from you. Keep life simple.