Rekha's Ramblings

  Why I Write: Ramblings of a Mother’s Heart Yesterday, I read a post about writing, and it took me back to a question someone had asked me not too long ago:  What do you write about? Why do you love to write? My answer was simple then, and it remains the same today—I write whatever comes to my mind. I call them my ramblings. They are pieces of my journey, mostly as a mom, as a parent, as a woman still learning and unlearning along the way. When my husband and I became parents, we were old enough, perhaps more prepared in some ways—but we had no external support. Our families were thousands of miles away. There were days I felt deeply overwhelmed, days when I wished I had someone to talk to… another mom who truly understood the rollercoaster of emotions—the good, the bad, and yes, the ugly. Back then, these feelings weren’t spoken about openly. There was a quiet stigma attached to struggling through motherhood. Advice came from a distance, often well-meaning but disconnected. ...

  Today is International Day of Happiness. What makes you happy ? What do you do to feel happy ? Happiness comes in many shapes and forms. For years, my loved ones told me I could never truly be happy —that I expected too much from myself and from them. They reminded me to be grateful, to be content, to remember that someone, somewhere, always had it worse. What they didn’t realize was how little it would have taken to make me happy. But then again… I was expecting it from them. So I changed that expectation. Easier said than done. Ironically, it was the lockdown that shifted something in me. It slowed everything down just enough for me to notice what had always been there. I realized that happiness was never in the big, distant things. It lived quietly in the small, everyday moments. A simple walk around the neighborhood. Pausing to admire whatever was blooming that season. Breathing it all in. And above all—time with my family. While I was busy chasing happiness i...

  A long post alert !!! When someone asks me, what are you doing these days, I am doing this, writing and I am proud of how far I have come.  This morning, during a conversation with a family member, the question came up: “ Why did you turn out so different from the rest of us ?” Different. It wasn’t said as an insult. It wasn’t said as praise either. Just… different . And I’ve been sitting with that word all day. I don’t know when it started. I really don’t. Maybe it began in India, sometime in the 70s or 80s, sitting on the floor with my sisters watching Rajani  , a TV show which aired on every Sunday morning. Rajani was just a homemaker, a regular woman, a mother. Ordinary on the outside but— she was extraordinary in spirit. If something was wrong, she didn’t shrug and move on. She confronted it. She spoke up. She pursued accountability. She was fearless.  The 10–12-year-old me wanted to be her. Back then, if you missed an episode, that was it. No ...

 Gratitude. What are you grateful for today? Last year, a dear friend gifted me a tiny baby fiddle leaf fig . It was small, fragile, almost unsure of itself. My firstborn helped me plant it last June. We pressed the soil down gently, watered it carefully, and placed it near the light — hopeful . Just when I thought it had settled in and taken root, it was attacked by mealy bugs. I did what most of us do these days — I asked Google. The responses were mixed. Some said, “Just toss it. Not worth the trouble.” Others said, “If you treat it carefully, it can survive.” Isn’t that true about so many things in life? My firstborn came to the rescue again. He brought neem oil. We treated the leaves patiently, one by one. It took time. It took consistency. It took care. But slowly, the plant revived. I could have thrown it away. It would have been easier. But it only needed TLC — tender loving care. Today, when I look at that fiddle leaf fig, taller and stronger, it brings me immense ...

Was My Childhood Really Better? Over Christmas break, I was talking to my daughter about my childhood. Like many parents, I found myself saying what we often say: “ Our childhood was better. We didn’t have much, but we were content.” She listened. Then she gently asked, “ Maybe for you, Mom. But what about others in your society? Did they have the freedom to express themselves?” Her question stayed with me. I grew up in a tiny village outside Mumbai in the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s. We didn’t have much by today’s standards. No television. No refrigerator. Not even 24/7 electricity. We ate mostly what we grew—rice, vegetables, fruit. I breathed clean air. I walked freely through fields and dusty roads without fear. I was surrounded by an abundance of greenery, nature. And I don't have any pictures from my childhood.  But the truth is— I was privileged. Not in the way one would think, no , not money or wealth. My first privilege was my parents. They were loving, present, and dete...

Yesterday, I ran into someone at the gym. They asked how I’ve been and mentioned they don’t see me around much anymore. I smiled, because the truth is simple: I’ve started enjoying my own company. I do my own things now. I walk by myself when I want to. I move at my own pace. But I didn’t get here overnight. After years of trying to fit in—and being deeply hurt by a friendship that once meant the world to me—I have become more cautious about who I let into my life. My peace matters to me deeply, and I’m sure it matters just as much to others. Now I understand something clearly: I was never meant to fit in. With age, I’ve also come to realize that friendships evolve. What once formed easily now asks for something deeper. Time feels more precious. There is no longer room for drama or fake energy. I understand now that not every friendship is meant to last forever, and that doesn’t mean it failed. Sometimes, it simply means we grew in different directions. I will always cherish the good t...

And just like that , my chapter as a “ Band Mom ” has come to an end. 🎶 They may continue to play in other ways (and I truly hope they do), but our marching band journey is now officially over. And oh, what a journey it has been. I am a self-proclaimed Band Mom, inside and out. All three of my children were in band, and two continued on to perform with their college marching bands. Yes… very proud mom moment! After-school activities were all new to me. I didn’t have access to extracurriculars when or where I grew up. But when my firstborn was in 8th grade, I watched his future high school band perform at a community event—and it was love at first sight.     So when he joined marching band as a freshman, I jumped in wholeheartedly, even with two little ones still in elementary school. I volunteered every chance I got—and the younger two came with me everywhere. It was no surprise that, when their turn came, they joined band too. One of them even served as Drum Major for...