Rekha's Ramblings

  When Silence Becomes the Final Conversation...... Yesterday, I came across a post in one of my online groups that has stayed with me ever since. Someone was asking for advice. They had just learnt through a common friend about someone they used to know,  someone who had ghosted them for almost  two decades ; this person was now dying. They wondered if they should go visit. My immediate reaction was simple. "Yes. Go." Life is short.  Regret is heavy.  If there is even the smallest chance for closure, why not take it? But as I began reading the comments, I was surprised. The overwhelming majority advised against visiting. Their reasoning was one I hadn't considered. "If this person ghosted you for years, they probably had their reasons. You may be the very last person they would want to see." I kept scrolling. Some suggested sending a postcard or a simple note instead. But most people felt the same way: don't go. Let the ghosts of...

Whenever I meet someone I know, one of the first questions I get these days is: “ So, what are you doing these days? how are you keeping busy ?” And somehow, that question is almost always followed by advice. “You should volunteer.” “Join a class.” “Find a hobby.” “Keep yourself busy.” I know they mean well. I really do. Some have actually told me to get a dog. Why, because I need a companion. But sometimes I want to say: Why? Why does everyone assume I need to be busy ? Why is sitting still suddenly something we need to fix? Why is doing something automatically considered better than simply… being?   For most of my adult life, I was busy. Raising three children. Working. Running a household. Driving kids everywhere. Showing up. Taking care of everyone. I  feel like I have done enough running around to last me  a lifetime . What if I don't want to rush any more ,  from one activity to another just so I can say I am “keeping busy”? What if I like waking up and decidi...

  Apparently, Yoga Is Not as Easy as It Looks!  Like I told you guys, I am going to start focusing a little more on my physical well-being. I had promised my daughter that I would attend a yoga class, so today, I finally kept my promise. I come from the land of yoga, but when and where I grew up, yoga was mostly something I had heard about. Other people did it. I didn’t. After moving here, I was always too busy to focus on myself—or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. So, today, I walked into my very first  yoga class with absolutely no idea what to expect. Heck, I didn't have a yoga mat. Anyways, it turns out, I was the only newbie in the room. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what they were doing.  And there is a whole lot more to yoga than what  meets the eye. The instructions came at me too quickly and there were just way too many things to remember at once . My brain simply couldn’t process half of them. And then there was the breathing. Appar...

  I have been busy, busy, busy this entire month, moving three kids back to their respective “happy places.” One kid at a time. One state at a time. One loaded car at a time. On the way back home, I couldn't help but wonder: If men are from Mars and women are from Venus, whose “clever” idea was it to put us together on planet Earth? Just some food for thought from ME . My firstborn is a male child. 😄 And over the past couple of months, I have spent quite a bit of time in the car with him. Sometimes he asked me to tag along while he was interviewing for jobs because I was free, and sometimes we were out there trying to figure out apartments, logistics, and all the other little things that come with moving to a new place. And somewhere between all those drives, I came to one important realization: Men will be men. Especially when it comes to certain things. They say, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” But… There is always a BUT. Take driving, for example. One time, my son asked me to ...

 Some people leave behind songs. Some leave behind stories. And some leave behind a legacy that quietly changes lives. Besides being an incredible singer and storyteller, Dolly Parton created the Imagination Library , giving children the gift of a book every month. My children were proud recipients of those books for several years. Each child received their very own book, and they would look forward to that book arriving every month—even before they could read. Those books became part of one of my favorite rituals of motherhood: reading to my children every night. Looking back, I realize how much those quiet moments meant to me. Reading to my children was my solace, my little escape from the chaos of motherhood, and one of the things I miss the most now that those days are behind me. I didn't save them all but I did save a few books. Thank you, Dolly , for giving so many children the gift of imagination, and for giving parents like me countless precious bedtime memories. May your ...

  When Do We Stop as Parents? Last week, I was traveling. As we were boarding the plane, I overheard a mother asking her teenage son to give her his backpack so she could put it in the overhead bin. Her reasoning was simple: if the backpack went overhead, he would have more legroom under the seat in front of him. He refused. She asked him again. And again. And maybe a third or fourth time, her voice getting increasingly frustrated. But he continued to refuse. I couldn't help but think about something that happened in our own family a few months ago. We were in almost the exact same situation. My husband was having the same conversation with our grown son. At first, our son politely declined. But when my husband kept asking, my son finally said, “These are my legs, and I'm fine having my backpack under the seat.” And there it was. A boundary. My son wasn't being disrespectful. He wasn't arguing. He simply made a decision about his own comfort and stood by it. My husband,...

I wrote this a few years ago, but a recent conversation with a friend brought it all rushing back. She had just driven her mother to New York City. It was hours on I-95, heavy traffic, construction, impatient drivers...the kind of drive that would make most people anxious. Her mother doesn't drive, so she was the only driver. She did it. As I listened to her story, I found myself admiring her confidence. Then I laughed and admitted something about myself. " I still don't think I could do that. " There was a time when driving long distances didn't bother me at all. Yet somehow, even after all these years, that confidence never fully returned. It reminded me of something I had written years ago. There was a time when I thought I was a strong person. Or at least, that's what I told myself. I believed I made decisions with my head, not my heart. I was practical, logical, independent. Emotions didn't dictate my choices. Or so I thought. Now, when I look back, a...

  The Odyssey movie is now in theaters, and my daughter sent me a funny reel about how my Honda Odyssey deserves its own movie. Honestly? She may be right. I started driving a minivan after the twins were born. This particular Honda Odyssey has been with us for 16 years and has close to 190,000 miles on it. It has been with us  through thick and thin. And we gave it as much  love as it did give us by doing it's required maintenance.  It carried three growing children to countless school events, concerts, competitions, piano lessons, marching band practices, college visits, and more. It has helped us move children into and out of dorm rooms, and even across state lines. It has crawled through I-95 traffic, survived the George Washington Bridge into New York, and taken us as far north as Acadia National Park, as far south as New Orleans, and on many road trips to Detroit and New York City. It has even crossed the border into Canada. When I think about it, I feel lik...

  Thank you all for your kind words, congratulations, and thoughtful comments on my last post. I truly appreciated reading every one of them. In case you missed the last post ,  https://www.rekhasrambling.com/2026/07/cultural-conflict.html  I realized that my post sparked an interesting conversation, and I wanted to clarify something. I'm not against celebrating accomplishments. Quite the opposite! In our family, we absolutely celebrate milestones when they happen. We celebrate graduations, birthdays, new jobs, and all the moments that make life special. What I was talking about was something a little different—sharing those celebrations publicly. I grew up with the belief that announcing your own good fortune too openly could invite bad karma or bad luck. Whether or not that's objectively true isn't really the point. It's simply one of those beliefs that quietly becomes part of who you are. The culture often reminded us about the phrase " Nazar lag jayeg...

  Sometimes life has a way of reminding us that we are never as alone as we think we are. Last weekend, after helping our daughter settle into her new home in another state, my husband and I began the long drive back. Like many parents, we were carrying mixed emotions. We were proud of her and excited for this new chapter, but saying goodbye never gets easier. A few hours into our drive home, our car suddenly started acting up. Within minutes, we found ourselves in one of those situations every traveler dreads. The car was losing power in the middle of the road. Somehow, my husband managed to guide it to the nearest exit and into a gas station before it completely died. There we were. In a different state. It was Sunday evening. Home was still four or five hours away. And we had no idea what had gone wrong. Panic began to set in. I walked around the gas station asking if anyone might be willing to help jump-start our car. Without hesitation, two complete strangers came over to help...