Ek baat jo hothon pe aayi...
An urge to write that couldn't be restrained.
18 Dec 2025
I was sitting on the kitchen platform of my family home, watching Dad relax in his chair after dinner. It was that poignant night—the evening before I was to leave for my Karma Bhoomi in the early hours of the morning.
During our usual chit-chat, Papa asked me an unusual question: "Of all these days, what was the best memory you’ll take back with you? What was the best time you spent at home this time?"
I was taken aback. I paused to gather my thoughts, my mind zapping through the timeline from December 3rd to the 18th.
I remembered landing in Bhopal; the surprise visit to my uncle and aunt; the joy of seeing my expecting sister-in-law (their daughter in law). I thought of the shopping trip where I found that perfect traditional dress, and the long wait with my brother for the market to open so he could get his Ascot tie. I laughed inwardly remembering his teasing—how he threatened to introduce me as a "dealer" because of the trunk full of drinks I’d packed for the post-wedding parties.
I recalled the grand welcome at the wedding house, the glitter of jewelry, and trying on the outfits Mom had lovingly arranged. I remembered the blur of the car ride to the bride’s town, feeling hallucinated by exhaustion from back-to-back travel and work stress.
The wedding itself was a two-day spectacle of luxury and happy faces, but to me, it felt hollow. Lately, I’ve begun to find that scale of pomp and show meaningless. The essence of two souls coming together is often lost to reels, likes, and an outward showcase of happiness.
The real magic happened afterward. The party we threw for the groom’s friends and our extended family in a rustic, barn-like setup was incredible. With a bonfire, the peak of winter, and comforting local food, we welcomed the new bride with games and laughter. I felt like a child again because my parents, my brother, and the uncles I grew up with were all there. My heart was full.
The memories kept coming: the drive back home with Dad, eating crunchy guavas and water chestnuts fresh from the harvest. The twenty-minute train ride to our farm village with Bade Papa. I remembered the open kitchen in that old mansion, cooking with my elderly Grand-uncle and Aunt who live a quiet, retired life. There was a bittersweetness to their story, having moved there after selling their home following a rift with their children.
I felt proud of the "bucket list" items I checked off: enrolling my aunts and uncles in a naturopathy session to show them that healing is possible through understanding one’s own body. And the family trip to Maheshwar and Omkareshwar—a dream I’d held since last year. I was invited in the Baneshwar Temple (alone) as no one else could jump from the boat, and get to the center island...I felt blessed. I wore my traditional best, we fed the fish in the Narmada, and stayed until the evening laser show. The Aarti at the Ghats felt like a divine blessing.
I remembered the ride back, with Bade Papa acting as the DJ, playing old songs I might never have discovered if not for him. I thought of our long walk together, and the way his eyes lit up in the dark as he watched videos of his grandkids on loop. My heart cried with gratitude, realizing how much the elderly live on such simple memories.
Finally, I thought of the quiet morning on the terrace. I had Dad sit in the winter sun for a "therapy session." I asked him to write down every positive adjective that describes him. After years of nagging and the weight of low self-esteem, he needed to see his own goodness. To me, that was the most beautiful moment of the entire trip.
All of this flashed through my mind in seconds. I looked at Dad, moved by the depth of the last two weeks, and mustered the courage to ask him: "And what about you, Papa? What was your favorite part?"
He looked at me and simply replied, "This time, your Mom didn't get mad at you like she used to all these years."
And I went silent.
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