heart break Lil Ms B

I don't really feel like talking

I lost someone close to me

There are just some things

Excuse me if I am quiet

I don't have much to say

I haven't been the same

Not since that  day

The world  too loud 

My heart... cannot cope

It's broken, I'm afraid

And there is no antidote. I know.

So for now,

Home is where I'll stay

Attending to my heart

Safe, tucked away.

I see you. Today. 

Yesterday.

 I'm sure ill see you again tomorrow.

Ever since I saw you still with me. 

Till they take you away again.

And my heart will break again.

In so many relationships, one partner leaves because their needs were never taken seriously. They didn’t stop loving the other person. They just got tired of explaining the same thing over and over and still feeling unseen.

I see this pattern all the time in therapy. Someone asks for comfort, reassurance, consistency, or effort. The other person says they understand, maybe makes a few changes, but nothing sticks. The effort feels disconnected from any real understanding. The same conversations keep happening, and nothing actually moves forward.

When that happens enough times, people start to disconnect. They don’t feel safe bringing things up anymore. They lose trust in the idea that their needs will ever matter. Eventually, they stop trying to fix it. By the time they walk away, it’s usually because they’ve been holding the relationship together for too long on their own.

This dynamic isn’t always about selfishness or bad intentions. It’s often about a gap in communication. One person struggles to express their needs clearly. The other person thinks hearing the words is enough. But for any relationship to grow, both people have to do more than listen. They have to understand and take action.

Communicating your needs is uncomfortable, but necessary. Your partner can’t respond to something you never said out loud. At the same time, hearing your partner’s needs isn’t enough unless you’re willing to show them that what they said mattered to you. That’s how trust is built. That’s how safety is created.

Relationships don’t fall apart because someone asked for too much. They fall apart because no one took the time to ask what was really needed in the first place.

I reach for you still,

in the quiet hours of night,

where memory softens into presence

and love crosses the distance

death could never claim.

Your absence is sharp,

yet your nearness is sharper

the way my heart stirs

when I swear I feel you

brush a strand of hair from my face,

the way the air changes

as though it remembers us.

I keep loving you the way we always did

not bound by time, not broken by loss,

but eternal, unshaken.

Every breath I take

is threaded with the echo of yours,

every dream I dream

is a doorway where we meet again.

If grief is the price of love,

then let me pay it forever

for even in sorrow,

I am yours,

and you are still mine.

Oh how I miss you....

Lil Miss B

6months

Exactly 6 months ago my love, to the minute. 

I miss you my Lil one. 

My patoos forever. 

a scare with what ending?

A relative older lady got her blood screened as a routine thing they caught a whiff and like a hound looking for its prey kept looking with all tests and landed on a tiny little speck which was sitting and blinking with those innocent big eyes behind the body of the beautiful pancreas.... the poor little pancreas being labelled as the bomb.... 

Two days later it was time for my yearly check and lo behold not by my anxiety or my manifestation in black and white the reports came same as the relatives. Like a little mirror, my blood work mimicked a person's who I had the least respect for... so I have started the hunt... maybe if my little hunter boy and my soul searcher girl were there I would have found whatever it is sooner. 

My protectors aren't there and now I have got to look out for myself... 

Let's hope it's just a scare and a reminder that I better keep in shape all year round and not be a shape... 

Updates will follow. 

“I think perhaps I will always hold a candle for you – even until it burns my hand. And when the light has long since gone …. I will be there in the darkness holding what remains, quite simply because I cannot let go.”

― Ranata Suzuki

go get it

If you want your life to change. Go get it. 

You need to change it. 

Life doesn't change for you. 

You need to do what it takes. 

Not just start and leave it unfinished. 

You need to be consistent. Not just say yes, I have worked for one whole week at this and I can take one week off. Maybe not consciously. Maybe consciously you say oh I need to keep at it. But, your subconscious switches off. 

It doesn't work. 

Changing doesn't work that way. 

Consistency pays. 

You need to pick up. Whether you like it or not. 

You decided you wanted change. 

You decided the path. 

You have got to keep deciding to stay on the path. Every.single.day. 

It has to be a choice. It has to be a decision. 

If you want change as much as you think. You have got to keep going at it. And you have to make the change. 

Mindset needs to shift. 

Wish me luck and safe travels. 

One thing you should probably know about me: I treat dogs better than most people, and honestly, I say that without hesitation or apology. 

My dogs have been with me through every version of myself. They’ve seen the nights I couldn’t sleep, when I had no words left and no energy to pretend I was okay. And they stayed. Quiet. Present. Steady. 

They rested their heads on my chest like they knew my heart needed something solid to hold onto. They nudged my hand when I didn’t even know I needed comfort. Curled up beside me without asking for anything. No one taught them how to do that. They just knew.

I’ve canceled plans because I didn’t want to leave them alone. Skipped vacations. Rearranged entire days around their routines. I’ve turned down invites because the thought of leaving their side didn’t feel right. 

I would rather sit beside them watching them breathe peacefully than be stuck in a room full of forced conversations.

If my dog doesn’t warm up to someone, I take that seriously. Dogs pick up on energy in a way people don’t. No pretending, no second-guessing. If they keep their distance, there’s usually a reason—and I trust that more than any polite smile or charming words.

I remember the first toy they carried around like it was gold. The little sounds they make in their sleep. The way they sit closer when I’m anxious like they feel it too. 

I’ve shared meals with them, let them sprawl across the bed, handed over my favorite blanket, and talked to them like they understand every word I say—because deep down, I know they do.

They’ve been with me when people disappeared. When I got heartbroken without warning. When I lost people I never thought I’d lose. When I couldn’t explain the grief sitting in my chest. They didn’t run. They didn’t ask me to be okay. They just stayed. Fully. Gently. Without conditions.

That kind of love deserves the softest corners of my life. The last bite of food. The coziest spot on the sofa. Every bit of tenderness I’ve got left to give. 

Because when I felt hard to be around, they curled up beside me like I was the safest place. When I had nothing to give, they didn’t ask for more. And when I didn’t feel like myself, they still looked at me like I was theirs—no questions, just constant love in the middle of everything.

So yes, I treat dogs better. Because their love has been there in the silence, in the mess, in the moments when I didn’t even know what I needed. They never asked me to explain or be anyone other than exactly who I was in that moment. They just stayed close.

That kind of loyalty, that kind of presence, is rare—and it deserves to be honored. So I give them the best of me, because that’s exactly what they’ve always given to me.

absent fathers

I read this and somehow it made sense?

Women with absent fathers often become beggars for love, safety, and security.

It’s heartbreaking how deeply they invest themselves in others, hoping that their love will be returned, hoping to finally feel chosen, protected, and seen.

They carry a silent ache—an invisible wound that whispers....Maybe if I give more, they’ll stay. Maybe if I’m good enough, they’ll love me.

This voice doesn’t come from who they are today, but from the little girl inside them who kept looking out the window, waiting for someone who never came.

Their love becomes a currency—they trade affection, loyalty, and even their own boundaries just to feel held.

They over-give, over-function, and over-apologize, hoping that one day, someone will finally choose to stay without conditions.

The absence of a father doesn’t just leave a physical void—it creates emotional gaps that women often try to fill with partners, friends, or even strangers.

But what’s missing isn’t just a person—it’s the early belief that they are inherently worthy of love without having to earn it.

She often becomes hyper-independent, saying she doesn’t need anyone.

But behind that strength is exhaustion—from carrying her own pain, from pretending she’s okay, from surviving in a world that never taught her how to receive.

When she finally does meet love, she may not know how to trust it.

Her nervous system doesn’t recognize consistency. It feels foreign. Unsafe even. She might push it away before it has a chance to hold her.

This woman is not broken.

She is someone who has been asked to mother herself before she was ever truly mothered. She’s someone who has built a heart out of scars and silence.

Healing for her doesn’t come from finding the perfect partner. It comes from finding herself. From meeting the little girl within and telling her, “You don’t have to beg anymore. You are already enough.”

When a woman with an absent father begins to reclaim her worth, she stops performing for love and starts attracting it from a place of truth.

Her healing isn’t just hers—it becomes a ripple that touches every generation after her.

And maybe for the first time, she finally breathes deeply… not because someone stayed, but because she stopped abandoning herself.

If you belong to this story, know that healing is possible. I’m here to help you on this journey—just reach out to me.

- Abhikesh

grief and it's effect

Grief changed me.

Not all at once…

Not in a way you could see from the outside.

It was a quiet shift—

a slow, aching rearrangement of my heart,

unfolding in the quiet moments when I realized they weren’t there anymore.

I don’t laugh as easily as I used to.

I hesitate when making plans, because I’ve learned that life doesn’t always go the way we hope.

And sometimes—without even thinking—I still reach for the leash,

expecting to hear the jingle of a collar, the familiar thump of a wagging tail.

But the leash stays quiet now.

And that silence?

It feels different. Heavier. A quiet that hums with love, but also with absence.

Yet, somehow… they’re still with me.

I see them in the way I love—deeper, more fiercely.

In the way I pause to notice the little things:

the warmth of the sun on my face,

the softness of the grass beneath my feet,

the way the wind feels when it brushes against my skin—

because they taught me to slow down, to feel, to appreciate.

They’re there in my favorite songs,

in the worn-out blanket they loved to curl up in,

in the way I sometimes catch myself tilting my head—

just like they used to.

Grief didn’t just break my heart.

It changed it.

It made me see how fragile life is,

and how sacred every heartbeat, every moment, truly is.

This isn’t the life I planned.

It’s not the one I imagined—full of walks in the park, sunny afternoons chasing tennis balls, and quiet evenings with a head resting in my lap.

But it’s the life I’m learning to live.

With one hand still reaching for what I lost—

the memories, the love, the moments we’ll never get back…

And the other hand holding tight to what remains:

the love they gave me, the lessons they taught me,

the silent promise that I will carry them with me, always.

This is what healing looks like.

Not forgetting… but remembering with love.

Not moving on… but moving forward, holding them close in my heart, forever a part of me.

💔 

dream home? a dream? or just a home?

A bunch of friends..  talking to each other... a few talking at the others, the other end not bothered if spoken to or spoken at just because it was all the gang together breaking bread. Quite literally! We got ten refills of that darn dry crap highly salty bread and Noone was inclined as yet to get food! 

I was watching the lot... as usual. I watch. It exhausts me to be a part of any conversation, but it recharges me when I watch people, their tics their tells and all theself conscious adjusting their collars repositioning their watches, opening out their shirts to show just a glint of whatever metal there or the small unconscious touching of the face to check.. .the tiny wince when someone brushes past their shoulder... their well concealed, bruised shoulder... 

The conversation shifted to their homes... 

Rather their house(s)... 

All the fanciness, the minimalism and clean lines and all the jazz... 

The men so typically talking about the investment value as against stock 

And getting into it... surprisingly the women of this well educated actually over educated crowd had no inkling of it all. They just weren't bothered to contribute with any shape or form of an opinion. 

I don't say I know it all. But you do learn bits and bobs here and there. 

I know what an uds is. I know what a j.v is I know what an outright handover is. But why were they so lost?! 

Their husband's took care of the details... 

Anyway... 

All designs that were shown the pictures shown all pristine. All clean lines. All just so clean. So sterile. In the way I feel corporate hospitals looked. I'm not sure I'd like to go back to the house in the pictures take my shoes off and just sit with my feet on the couch. 

All I wanted was earthy tones. A thinning. I would love to have a mittham. A small thulsi plant in the center. It on grill over the mittham giving the linear patterns through the day with the sun's travel. The beautiful red Spartak or red cement floor. The nice corner aathankudi tiles. These beautiful dark brown well grained well aged teak yaali and pillars when we enter the family room. A beautiful Narthana natarajar in the same teak frame. A swing with brass holds. Maybe this swing will make me sit on a swing after 20 years of being the forebringer of bitterness.

The nice kitchen, an island to eat. A recliner near the backyard with jasmine karpooravali bamblimas plants and oh how I would love the green sampangi to be there as well...

Well... that's just me... wafting smell of coffeeand jasmine with nice music and earthy tones and wooden fringes... but if it's just me what's the point I don't really need that beauty anyway right... 

That would be a home... 

But just being in a house works just about fine for me as well. A roof a couple of rooms. My little ones who aren't so little anymore. A place to rest my head. 

the perfect painting for me

"I have been thinking about the meaning of life, about the purpose of it all. I have been thinking that we dogs are not only here to serve, but to love. We are here to give our hearts without condition, to offer solace when it’s needed, and to stand by, no matter the cost. For the truth is, the most important thing we can give is our loyalty. I have always loved with everything I am. And I will continue to love until the very end, because that is what a dog does."

Garth Stein - The Art of Racing in the Rain

Me, odiejo, bhairavijo,gymnujo, eetteejo and azhagijo.the perfect picture for me.

🎨 Alisa Smith Williams

my little Ms B with me. at home.

I brought my little girl home last night. The only thing I have of her steady eyes and calm wise unwavering presence. Brought her home. My anchor. I need her the most now. But all I got is her keepsake. The time of great turmoil have shown me who it was that was with me. Unquestioning. Unjudging. Just pure love. Understanding and acceptance. She preferred an air-conditioned room and a soft bed. But I gave her the floor and sweltering heat. She took it without batting an eye. There. The presence. Soft. Comforting. Her neck the one I cried into when I felt all was lost. Her eyes I looked into when all other eyes betrayed. Her heart beating full of love when I had none to give. 

I need her now. More than all else. And I have her not. 

I try. I will. For her sake. And for mine. And for the other two that remain. My love. My light. My guiding star. I see your eyes where ever I turn. 

Let's fly together. Where ever it takes us. 

Oh patoos. I cry as I write. May my tears not sadden you. I miss you. May my hearts ache not worry you. I miss you. 

I will walk. I will get up. Without you I may not run. But with you in my heart. I know I will soar. Rise up like a phoenix from your ashes I may. Your fire will make me stronger. Someday. Not today my love. My tears are putting out the candle flame. One day my dear lil one. But some day. One day soon. I promise you this. 

Oh My Love.  Oh my Lil one. 

My Lil Miss B 

❤️ 

kitty and jinnu memories...

I heard on the radio an old md rafi song...

Abhi na jao chod kar... It transported me back to when i was 7 years old... listening to this song sitting on an old mosaic floor tracing the patterns of black and brown flecks on the floor pattern while listening to it with my Grey haired old man occasionally singing and mostly humming the tune while the old radio crackled the song... in a big airy hall,  two divine instruments on the left in front of a glass case with the divine in the narthana pose... looking up and seeing the box television set sitting in the corner waiting and reserved to play the Pete Sampras game at 7 in the evening, while it was toasty and warm in the huge hall... 

The old lady with her saree crumpled half falling off her large bossom walking around with red lips from betel nut and leaf, her teeth stained, occasionally scowling at the old man but humming herself comforted by the familiar routine with the old man... 

I grew up in a house so full of music... 

Always playing these songs or the old lady practicing her instrument, watching with heart eyes picking up on her finger movements across the string, wanting to learn  buT never taught,  sneaking when Noone was home a hand at the strings while being entrusted to clean the kitchen and its counter, just trying to sound and look as effortless as the old lady while she played the Veena... 

Looking at the clock, scampering back to being the cleaning mouse before she came back from meeting her friends to make sure she never knew I touched her precious instrument, fearing the words that will surely follow if the counter was not clean enough... 

The day I got caught entering the forbidden store room, I was made to sit outside the house with a tape player, on the stairs, told to rewind and play rewind and play rewind and play, a achild, noting the words of a song about the lovely rose that was missing, which I never understood, 30 years later I still know the words to the song... only, now I know what the words mean... 

I remember the times I sneaked to the back room near the small worker balcony, to listen to English music at 7pm on the radio. Waiting for my mom to get home... listening to ABBA and Denver knowing my mom liked their music, hoping I become like her. And being as unlucky as I always was getting caught and asked to leave the house if I listened to this English music. Sneaking upstairs to the terrace where there wasn't any light to do my homework. Almost everyday, my escape at 5 when emotions peaked, watching the sunset, breathing in the fragrance of the jasmine flowers, I found an unusual friendship, a girl a year older than me. We met in the terrace. Me in my grandmother's, her in her parents. She stayed in the house behind our. She said she noted me coming upstairs and talking to the crows alone and thought it looked fun and asked if she could talk to me instead, her name? Prabha... she threw across chocolates she got from her nri aunts and uncles who came over to visit, I could never give her anything.. she never complained, that's just young children. 

Eventually her family moved, my mother realised what I was being made to do.. or did she... by some design I stopped organizing their hundred odd sarees and cleaning their kitchen, scrubbing their toilets. I hardly went there anymore. 

But when I do hear the old songs, I still remember the old man smiling quietly to himself while humming, when I hear someone play the veenai I remember the flourish and happiness with which jinnu played it. 

It was bad. But there are always beautiful moments that we remember. 

 I am starting to play the Veena soon. I have one of my own. I only hope to do it with the ease the old lady had in her. 

hello amma! my tummy hurts what do I do???

a turn off

So, a few weeks back... I had met my friend for lunch. A friend who has been there like a rock through the thick and thin. The crazy and the more crazy with me. A roller coster ride. Drove 8 hours to take my Lil Ms B for a drive for half anur and left after the drive to head back to work 8 hrs away. 

We met for dinner. 

He asked for a lime juice. With a Chilli split in the middle to be dropped into the juice. We were told the restraunt had no chillies. Ludicrous. What I would do? Say that's odd and move on. What he did. Call in an I owe you and weirdly it was so off. 

I'm not sure when I became so jaded. So worn out. That I just said delete. 

Is it just me? Or is age catching up with me? 

Just wondering. 

good to see you again . darkness my sweet friend.

How does the sun go on rising

when I live in a world without light?

How do the clouds keep on moving

when I'm still stuck in that night. 

How is my heart still beating

when it stopped the same time as yours?

How do I keep moving forward

when I no longer have a cause? 

How am I supposed to go on breathing

when you have taken your last?

How can I process the present

whilst I'm still wanting the past?

How can I survive without you

when you were the reason I survived?

How can I ever be happy again

knowing you have been deprived?

How is my heart so full of love

when that love fills me with pain?

How are my memories the only place

that I get to see you again? 

"I watched him treat someone else better than he ever treated me… and in that moment, I lost all interest. Not out of jealousy, but because I finally saw the truth—he was always capable of effort, love, and respect. He just never chose to give it to me. And that realization? "

....

Did not help me :p

my teacher. the reason I am.

Last morning I lost the person I was most influenced by in my entire life. 

The person who made me who I am. 

And I don't say this lightly. 

I a wee little girl. Round rolly polly healthy squeaky voice told my mother. I love Bruce Lee. I want to be like him. 

My mother heard me. But being a single parent struggling to keep up with the day that just didn't have enough hours said oh good let's see if you do. 

At school my teachers said "your daughter is too quiet. She needs to interact with people. Maybe she has pent up emotions inside. She needs you to put her in an activity that will help her vent" the teacher Ms jayasree madhukar. I won't forget her because she's the reason I got the best thing that happened to me. 

We were passing by this red and black poster. I said oooh amma look Bruce Lee. It was the Signature black and red "Learn Karate with  Shihan Hussaini! " poster. So my mom and I went in a week to meet him. His tiny room. With a nice big front room that I later was told is called the dojo. My mom and shihan sat near the gate in wicker chairs, sharing a cup of tea. Shihan with his charming disarming smile and head full of thick dark hair a well kept Mush and the most striking deep voice. The added was the amazing perfume that got me all heady and looking at him with heart eyes. 

Just watching this man wearing his blue shirt big watch a great eyes. 

I joined the same day. Got a tour. "This- my room. You come to me anytime you need anything. My door is always open. Anything. This -dojo. "

That was it. 

A tailor came took measurements, a week later. I wore my dress, uniform. My gi.

A white bealt. Deep voice says surya, come here! From inside. He was watching. Of the whole lot of must be 25 30 students. He called out. 

I went in. 

Said come. 

He tied my white belt while I stood in front of him. 

I missed my classes for a week. I was in yellow belt. He called my home land line, asked why is your daughter not here. 

My mother said sorry I didnt have the cash to pay the class fees. I will send my daughter with a cheque. I went the next day. Submitted the cheque to the sensei incharge 2 days later I get a paper with a yellow tag on it. 

I took it home. 

A line across the cheque saying cancelled. The yellow paste it saying I will not take any fees from you. Just make sure your daughter comes to class. 

Signed Shihan Hussaini. 

I have the cheque and the post it. 

Preserved to remind me. There are good people. 

A man so busy. Took note. Reached out.

3 tournaments lot of broken slabs swollen legs medals.

12 years later. My black belt grading. Went to pay fees he's like "what's all this new habit" and turned away. Didn't tell me no. Didn't tell me leave. Just turned his face away smiling. Eyes crinkling.  

Never made me feel like he was doing me a favor. Never at any point made me feel small. Ever.

On grading day. He came for the 20km jog with us. His bad knees not stopping him. Following us in his jeep when he couldn't jog with us anymore. Later telling my mother, "she has long legs and knows how to use them, others are jogging same distance she takes two strides and covers the same distance" they sit outside the dojo in the same wicker chairs at 1am. Middle of night sharing a cup of tea and sharing laughs over how exhausted the 4 me, sensei manikanda, sensei moses and Rajendra were (Rajendra didn't make it through the 3 day grading process).

3am. Shihan distributes the belts. Exhilaration. 4.30 my mom and shihan sharing relief and a cup of tea. Again at gate facing the sea watching the sunrise together before she had to leave for work.

My father was never there. The strong, quiet, kind, guiding, nudging, at times whacking male presence was shihan. 

The father I never had. 

The only person I would argue with fight with cry at coz I'd be so mad and frustrated that Noone understands. 

The one that I once said "shihan I am angry and want to cry but I also don't want to cry, what do I do" 

He says " give me 10 push ups and fight with me. " he walks out to the dojo. Sternly tells his other student to clear the floor. A few left the room. A handful stayed out of curiosity. 

He put on my gloves for me. He bowed to me and I was surprised. Says. You are my equal. So bow back. Spar. For 45 mins. Let's say that again FORTY FIVE minute! In the ring. With Shihan. He kept letting me land my kicks. Blocked my punches. But all my kicks landed. Every single one. His stomach. His back. His face. His shoulder. His knee. His poor wear knee. Not a wince. After I was spent he said "now you cry. Cry because you are tired. Not for anyone else. Always remember"

Oh my master. 

The surprise on your face when I entered your hospital room a week back. Though I had declared 10 years back "i will never come see you because you have wronged my friend".

You had no idea how to respond you said come back tomorrow. I waited for 40 mins outside blocking entry of everyone to give you the privacy you wanted. 

Finally when you called me in. 

And asked me where I have been the last ten years. 

When you held my hand and said the other friends that had come can wait outside. 

When I teared up, you told me you weren't afraid of being gone. All I could say. I never thought there will be a time without you, in my mind you'll always be there. There wasn't once I tot you shihan won't be around. And you pulled me in for a hug. The last hug. 

The last time I held your hand and you held back. The last time you looked at me with that twinkle and gave a silent reassuring blink of the eye with a light smirk. Your right lip curving up with the small laugh line showing your amusement. 

The way you introduced me there to the doctors and your younger disciples." My student, also a doctor. " the pride. 

Oh Shihan!

The call came. I ran. 

I cleaned you. I dressed you. Brought you to your home. Insisted on you entering your favorite room through the door and not the window like a thief. 

Removed all traces of the hospital from you. 

Helped you get dressed. One. Last. Time. 

Tied your belt. 

My master. The person who tied my first belt. In the same room. I tie your belt. One. Last.time. 

Oh the father I never had. 

I bathed you according to the quazi who said no one else but 2 men in the room insisted I be in the room. Asked me to help give you the sacred bath. Asked me "waapa Hai aapke?"(is he your father?)

Yes. "Ho!. Wappa Hai mere" (yes. He is my father)

Oh my Shihan. Oh my rock. Oh my deep River. Oh my deep Sea.

Rest in Bravery. 

-always. 

Your Student. 

Grateful Forever.

Dojo Arigato Dorei Matzu Shihan 

(Thank you for having taught me)

shihan. 25. March.2025

He fought, he forged, he gave his best.

Each strike, each stance, a lesson deep,

A legacy the brave will keep.

Now the winds salute his name,

The skies resound with warrior’s flame.

Not rest in peace—but rise in might,

Shihan lives in eternal light 

I Missed You Today

I missed you today, as I walked through the door,

Your wagging tail and happy face, a greeting I adore.

Your joy was infectious, it brightened every day,

And now in your absence, I find my heart does sway.

I'll never forget you, or the memories we've made,

Your gentle presence and love that will never fade.

We knew that time would come, when we would have to part,

But you'll forever stay within the chambers of my heart.

You were always there, with a heart full of love,

My loyal companion, sent from heaven above.

Though now I must go on, and learn to be okay,

Just know, my love, I missed you today.

Will you… hold my hand for a little while?

I don’t need you to save me.

No need for you to fix anything.

No need for you to carry my pain.

But will you simply hold my hand?

I don’t need your words,

Your thoughts,

Nor your shoulders to carry me.

But will you sit here for a while with me?

Whilst my tears stream,

Whilst my heart shatters,

Whilst my mind plays tricks on me,

Will you, with your presence, let me know that I am not alone, while I wander into my inner unknown?

For my darkness is mine to face,

My pain is mine to feel,

And my wounds are mine to heal.

But will you sit with me here, while I courageously show up for it all, my dear?

For I am bright because of my darkness,

Beautiful because of my brokenness,

And strong because of my tender heart.

But will you take my hand lovingly when I sometimes journey into the dark?

I don’t ask for you to take my darkness away,

I don’t expect you to brighten my day,

And I don’t believe you can mend my pain.

But I would surely love it if you could sit for a while and hold my hand, until I find my way out of my shadowland!

So, will you… hold my hand until I return again?

day 3 of looking for you

"The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

It's not the shattering itself that breaks you—it’s the silence that follows, the quiet space where you realize there’s nothing left to salvage. And in that moment, you know that you’ll never be the same again. 

You’ll build something new, perhaps, but it will never be what you lost."🌻🖤

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.

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Having a dog is1000 of your best days and just one of your worst.

I miss you patoos

my Lil one. the love of my life. the life of my love.

The heart in my eyes. The soul in my thoughts. The only one who stood sat and slept with me through floors, ropes, coirs, sheets and fluffies. The one i came home for. Came home to. The only reason i ate. Coz i had to cook for you.The one who walked ran rode and drove with me. 

My little one. My entire life. The one with my story. Rest and my story rests with you. Noone else. Never again. 

Rest my dear Lil one. 

Oh my love.

My Lil Ms.B

***Bhairavi Ammajo Iyer***

08. February. 2025

Saturday

00.20 am.

declutter time again

There's a sense of having a small win when something leaves the house.

5 Feb 2025

Hope amma boss welcomed you into her embrace and said Hello Boss!!!! 

Rest my little poonai kutty, veshamamootai. The one I tot I will grow into my 60s with has been taken from me today, far too soon. 

5.02.2025. R.i.p. Gymnu gymjoo thangapatoo.

my story. mine.

What happened to me isn’t your story to tell. 

You weren’t there in the hardest moments—when I had to dig deep just to keep going, when no one else could see the weight I was carrying. You know parts of it, sure, but not everything. And knowing a little doesn’t mean you understand the whole picture. My struggles, my choices, my growth are mine, and it’s up to me to decide how and when to share them.

If you care, then respect that. Don’t assume, don’t speculate, and don’t speak on things you don’t fully understand. Sharing someone else’s story without knowing the whole truth isn’t fair, no matter your intention. 

My boundaries exist for a reason, and honoring them is a way of honoring me. My story is personal, and it’s not yours to share—it’s mine to tell, in my own time and my own way.