Mother’s Day 💓

It’s mother’s day today. I’m sharing a poem I wrote in my teens and today I, myself, am a mother but I still hold onto these words and there is no single day when I don’t need my mum. This is for her.

THE ONLY TRUE LOVE
(to my dear mother)

You carried me in the safest cocoon
For nine long months in your womb

And when I was born you hugged me tight
Despite the intense pain, you smiled

Forfeited your time and wealth and health
In order to bring me up so well

With so much love you nurtured me
And made me something I needed to be

You teach me about the vicissitudes of life
And show me how to confront the strife

Your eyes sparkle with my accomplishments
You are there to celebrate my achievements

And when I lose even with my best
You keep my head on your chest

And I keep on hearing while I cry
That your heart beats as fast as mine

You take note of my every tragedy
Every misfortune, heartbreak or calamity

And when I’m done giving vent to my ire
You secretly pray sitting beside the fire

You plead to god for my welfare
To bless me with happiness everywhere

I hated you for sending me in a faraway land
Where I found no one to give me a hand

I know you did so for my benefit
I took a long time to realize it

And since here I’m all alone
Some somber truths I’ve known

That you are the rain in my thirsty life
The radiance in the darkest of nights

The salve to my wounded heart
My escort when I’m broken apart

You ease my existence
My affection for you is immense

And I want to tell you with all solemnity
That I love you and I love you most ardently.

The Quiet Compass Within

What gives you direction in life? There was a time when I thought direction in life came from big decisions—career choices, milestones, achievements that could be measured and displayed. I believed it would arrive like a loud announcement, clear and undeniable. But life, as it turns out, is much softer than that and everything you think of achieving doesn’t come in the form you expect. Life has it’s own way of surprising us.

Direction doesn’t always come as a grand plan. Sometimes, it’s a whisper.
It’s in the small moments—the way your heart feels lighter when you’re doing something you love, even if no one is watching. It’s in the quiet satisfaction of caring for someone, the warmth of a shared smile, the peace that settles in when you’re sitting with a cup of tea and nothing urgent to chase.

For me, direction has slowly stopped being about “where I should go” and started becoming about “what feels right to hold on to.”

It is shaped by values more than goals.
Love, for instance, has been a powerful guide. Not the perfect, storybook kind—but the real kind. The kind that teaches patience, resilience, and sometimes, acceptance. Even when relationships are not ideal, they still point you toward growth, towards holding on. They ask you difficult questions: What are you willing to give? What are you willing to let go of? And most importantly, how do you continue to stay kind without losing yourself?

Then there is purpose—not always in the grand gestures, but in everyday acts. Healing a patient, writing a few honest lines, tending to a plant, showing up for your child even on exhausting days. These are not small things. They are the threads that quietly weave meaning into life and they are the rwards we tend to overlook. We don’t count them often.

Direction also comes from discomfort. The restlessness, the feeling that something is missing—it isn’t there to trouble you, it’s there to guide you. It nudges you to look deeper, to change something, to grow beyond what feels easy and comfortable and step into something better though uncomfortable initially, because change is hard to adapt to.

And sometimes, direction comes from remembering who you used to be. The version of you that found joy in simple things. The version that didn’t overthink every step. Going back to that softness, even a little, can be surprisingly grounding.

I don’t think we are meant to have everything figured out. Life isn’t a straight road with clear signboards—it’s more like walking through a mist on a mountainous terrain, where you can only see a few steps ahead. But those steps are enough.
Because direction isn’t always about knowing the destination.
It’s about choosing, again and again, what feels meaningful, what feels honest, and what feels like you.
And maybe that quiet, consistent choosing… is the most reliable compass we’ll ever have.

Small Joys That Quietly Hold Me Together

What are 5 everyday things that bring you happiness?

Happiness doesn’t always arrive in big packages of life-changing moments. For me and most of us like me, it hides in the ordinary, waiting to be noticed between responsibilities and routines. These are the glimmers of life. These are five everyday things that gently bring me back to myself.


The first is my baby’s smile. It’s unpredictable and pure, like a tiny burst of sunlight that melts away whatever heaviness I’m carrying. In that moment, nothing else feels as important.


A warm cup of tea comes next. Not rushed, not forgotten on a table—but held slowly, sipped quietly. It feels like a pause button on a chaotic day, giving me a few minutes to just exist.


I also find comfort in soft lights, especially in the evening. The gentle glow of twinkle lights or a dim lamp creates a calm little world where everything feels softer, safer.


Then there’s the sunset view every evening. No matter how the day has been, the sky never repeats itself. Some days it’s painted in soft pinks, other days in deep oranges and fading gold. It reminds me that endings can be beautiful too, and that change doesn’t always have to hurt.


And lastly, there’s silence. Not emptiness, but a peaceful kind of quiet where I can hear my own thoughts without pressure.


These small things don’t fix everything—but they make everything a little more bearable, and sometimes, that’s enough.

Returning to Quiet: How I Unwind After a Long Day

How do you unwind after a demanding day?

After a demanding day, I don’t chase grand plans or complicated routines—I return to small, familiar comforts. The kind that don’t ask much from me.


Sometimes it begins with a quiet cup of tea and some healthy snacks or a biwl of soup. Not rushed, not distracted—just held warmly between my hands while the day slowly settles. There’s something deeply calming about that pause.


I often find myself drawn to simple surroundings—the soft glow of lights in the evening, a quiet corner of the house, or a few moments in the garden. Watching plants, adjusting a leaf, or just sitting there watching the sunset, spreading it’s last sparkle in the sky imparting a glow of myriad of colours helps me feel calm and content.


On heavier days, I let myself do less. No pressure to be productive, no need to “fix” everything. Maybe I read a few pages of a book, or just lie down and scroll mindlessly without guilt. Rest doesn’t always have to look perfect.


And then there are the little moments—my baby’s smile, a familiar song playing in the background, the comfort of silence after noise. They don’t erase the tiredness, but they soften it.


Unwinding, for me, isn’t about escaping the day. It’s about gently returning to myself, one quiet moment at a time.

What about you? Share your ways of unwinding yourself after a heavy day in the comments.

I Think of You…

When the sun shines bright
And when behind the dark it hides
I think of you


When the leaves rustle on the strings
Of the blowing wind
I think of you


When the raindrops fall into the river
Making a million ripples
I think of you


When the sea waves splash by the shore,
When the mountains gleam, cloaked in mist and snow,
I think of you


When the sun becomes red to see
And dives into the blushing sea,
I think of you


When the twinkling stars adorn the night,
And the glinting moon enchants the whole sky,
I think of you


In the endless days
And through the quiet, lonely ways,
I think of you


In every breath that goes unnoted
And every moment that goes unheeded
I think of you

And every time I hold my pen to put together
The scattered pieces of the unsaid words,
The untold stories that are still remembered,
I think of you
I think of you

…….

A piece of my heart from my poetry book Almost Forever.

Link to the book-

https://amzn.in/d/0fFp0Y3c

Share your thoughts about my poem. I’d be glad to know.

If I Could Be Anyone, I’d Be Hermione Granger

If you could be a character from a book or film, who would you be? Why?

If I could step into the pages of a book or the scenes of a film, I would choose to be Hermione Granger—not for the magic she wields, but for the person she is.
Hermione isn’t just intelligent; she is hungry to learn. There’s a quiet fire in her curiosity, a constant desire to know more, to understand deeper, to do better. She reminds me that knowledge isn’t a destination—it’s a lifelong journey.


What I admire most is her balance of mind and heart. Her wit is sharp, her logic precise, yet she never loses her compassion. She stands up for what is right, even when it’s difficult, even when she stands alone. That kind of courage isn’t loud—it’s steady, grounded, and deeply inspiring.
Her energy and enthusiasm feel real, almost contagious. She doesn’t wait for things to happen; she prepares, she works, she shows up—again and again. In a world that often celebrates effortless talent, Hermione celebrates effort itself.
And maybe that’s why I would choose her.
Because she teaches us that being prepared is powerful, that kindness is strength, and that courage often begins with simply doing what is right.
Not all magic comes from a wand—some of it comes from who you choose to be.

“When Creativity Didn’t Come in a Cart”

Yesterday, my 10-year-old niece was sitting beside me, ordering journaling supplies online—stickers, quotes, aesthetic cuttings, all just a click away which costed her a thousand. Looking at her, I was transported back to my own childhood… to a time when creativity didn’t come in packages.
We didn’t “order” art. We collected it.
Old magazines were our treasure chests. Newspapers had hidden gems in their children’s sections. We carefully cut out cartoons, poems, cricketers, celebrities, or a peacock feather that we found in our school ground, we used to note down quotations from newspapers and magazines, anything that caught our little hearts. Even dried flowers and leaves, pressed between heavy books, became delicate pieces of beauty we proudly pasted into our diaries. They were something we kept with so much care and love, not letting it have even a small crack.
Those diaries—often brought from our father’s office—weren’t just notebooks. They were our worlds. Every page held patience, effort, creativity, and a quiet kind of joy. Summer vacations meant hours of sitting in one place, completely absorbed, lost in colors, glue, and imagination. We poured our heart in our diaries.
There was no rush. No “add to cart.” No instant delivery.
We learned to wait. To reuse. To see beauty in scraps.
And maybe that’s what made it magical.
Today, everything is available at just a click, but something feels missing. That slow, mindful creation. That deep focus. That innocent satisfaction of making something out of nothing.
I still have one of those diaries.
And between its pages, they’re not just dried flowers—but pieces of nostalgia, fragments of wonderful memories, moments of my childhood, relics of a time that will never return. 🌼

I think all the millenials who read thia can easily correlate.

What is your favorite childhood memory? Tell me in comments.

From Heavy Textbooks, Pen, Paper, Chalkboards to Screens, Apps and Chatbots: How Technology Reshaped our Journey in Education and Healthcare

How has technology changed your job?

There was a time—not too long ago—when learning meant turning fragile pages, underlining paragraphs, and carrying the quiet weight of heavy textbooks. In the early 2010s, during my PMT preparation and MBBS days, education was rooted almost entirely in books. We didn’t have apps, ready-made notes, or quick video explanations. Knowledge demanded patience. We built our understanding from scratch—reading, re-reading, and creating our own notes and revision material from vast medical texts. Clinical exposure and ward learning were our only real companions.
Coaching institutes for postgraduate entrance preparation did exist, but they came with a hefty price tag, making them inaccessible to many. Awareness about free online resources like YouTube lectures was minimal. Learning was slower, perhaps harder—but deeply personal.


By the time I entered my internship, a shift had begun. Coaching centers started offering compiled notes, and soon after, apps like Marrow and PrepLadder transformed the preparation landscape of Post-graduation entrance exam. Suddenly, concepts were simplified, revision became quicker, and learning was available at the tap of a screen. Even now, I find myself caught between both worlds. Despite the convenience of technology, I still hold on to my habit of making notes—perhaps because it feels like thinking, not just consuming and with years of making notes, it feels like I can’t learn without writing it.


Healthcare, too, has undergone a remarkable transformation. I remember writing patient details manually in hundreds of bulky registers. Today, digital records have replaced them. A simple registration number can unlock a patient’s entire medical history within seconds. This shift has not only saved time but also improved continuity of care and doctors can actually learn skills sparing them of the scut work which kills a lot of time, energy and efficiency.


Advancements in diagnostics and imaging have made early detection and accurate diagnosis far more accessible. And now, with the advent of artificial intelligence, healthcare is experiencing a paradigm shift. AI assists doctors in analyzing imaging, predicting disease outcomes, organizing patient data, and even guiding clinical decisions. In apex hospitals, it enhances efficiency and precision. In low-resource settings, it bridges gaps—helping clinicians make informed decisions where specialists or advanced tools may not be readily available.


There is often a concern that AI might replace doctors. I don’t believe that to be entirely true. Medicine is not just data—it is empathy, intuition, clinical judgment, and hands-on care. These are deeply human elements that technology cannot replicate. However, AI is undeniably a powerful ally. It makes our work more organized, reduces errors, and allows us to focus more on the patient than paperwork.


Technology has not just changed how we work—it has reshaped how we learn, think, and care. And perhaps the real challenge is not choosing between old and new, but learning how to carry the depth of the past into the speed of the present.

Forged in Storms: How Adversity Reveals Our True Uniqueness

Which aspects do you think makes a person unique?

What makes a person truly unique? It isn’t just talent, success, or even personality. In my eyes, uniqueness quietly reveals itself in moments of adversity—those uninvited storms that test the very core of who we are.
Anyone can smile when life is kind. But when faced with loss, illness, anger, or quiet despair, something deeper unfolds. It’s not about avoiding pain or pretending strength. It’s about feeling everything—and still choosing to rise.


When the sky falls heavy and dark,
And hope feels distant, faint, and stark,
A quiet strength begins to grow,
In hearts that refuse to bow low.


Adversity strips away the superficial. It shows how a person thinks, reacts, and rebuilds. Some may break, some may bend—but those who pause, reflect, and fight their way through negativity carve a version of themselves that didn’t exist before.
There is no shame in grieving, in feeling lost, or even in falling apart for a while. The real magic lies in gathering those scattered pieces, holding them gently, and choosing to rebuild—with more wisdom, more compassion, and a deeper understanding of life.


Not untouched, but transformed within,
Not free from scars, but proud of skin,
They walk ahead, though paths are rough,
Because becoming… is more than enough.


And that, perhaps, is what makes someone truly unique.

Share your opinion of uniqueness in comments. I’d be happy to know… 😊

Days too full to write…

It has been three months since I last wrote here.

Three quiet months on this page—on the contrary, anything but quiet in life.

Somewhere between hospital corridors echoing with hurried footsteps and a tiny pair of feet discovering the world for the first time, I seem to have misplaced my words. Or maybe, I’ve simply been living them too intensely to pause and write them down.

Life lately has felt like a beautiful kind of chaos.

At home, my little one has entered that magical, exhausting phase—walking. Not just walking, but running with curiosity, wobbling with determination, and exploring every corner as if the world has been waiting just for her. And there I am, always a step behind—sometimes to catch her, sometimes to steady her, and sometimes just to let her go a little further, whispering silently, “Mama is right here if you fall.”

Feeding her has turned into its own marathon. Meals are no longer quiet moments but moving targets—me with a spoon or a handful of food, her with a mission to go everywhere except where the food is. Persistence has become my new personality trait.

And then, there is the hospital.

This season has been relentless. Asthma flares, COPD exacerbations—cases piling up faster than the hours in a day. Long rounds stretching endlessly, OPDs overflowing beyond a hundred patients, paperwork that never seems to end, and research responsibilities quietly waiting their turn. The kind of days that begin before you’re ready and end long after you’ve given everything you had.

It’s strange how seasons affect everyone—patients struggling to breathe, and doctors trying to keep up with the rhythm of it all.

There have been highs that remind me why I chose this life, and lows that sit heavy in the quiet moments. Days that feel fulfilling, and days that feel like survival.

Somewhere in all this, blogging paused.

Not because I had nothing to say—but because life demanded I be present in every possible way. As a doctor. As a mother. As someone just trying to hold everything together without dropping too much.

But today, I return.

Not with perfection, not with structure—but with honesty.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my way back here more often—not despite the chaos, but because of it.

This is not a comeback post. It’s a pause between breaths. A reminder to myself that even in the middle of chaos, my voice still exists.