My Life My Way

Wait wait &wait... For all the women who wait—the silent heroines of love—this is your story. Each morning begins with hope, the promise of a shared evening when love can unfold in its simplest form: a quiet conversation, a shared meal, or a walk under the stars. Yet, as the hours pass, life intervenes. Work deadlines, unexpected calls, errands, and responsibilities pile up, pushing those precious moments further out of reach. And so, the waiting begins. It’s not just about the physical presence but the yearning for connection. The days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and before you know it, years have quietly slipped by. With every passing day, unspoken thoughts and emotions accumulate like unopened letters stored in the heart. Words of affection, moments of joy, or even shared frustrations remain locked away, waiting for the perfect time to be expressed—a time that rarely comes. But love, in its quiet resilience, persists. It weaves itself into the fabric of daily life, even ...

Frozen Time: A Tribute to My Dad ! Memories are like fragile treasures, and some remain etched in our hearts, even when time fades their details. This is my story, a dedication to the faint, precious glimpses of my childhood and to the man I call "Duddy"—my father, whom I never truly got to know. It was the early 90s, perhaps 1992 or 1993. Two little sisters, ages 4 and 5, dressed in cream coloured layered frocks and tiny white and red shoes, eagerly waited for their favourite adventure. One sat at the front of the bike, clutching the handlebars, her small hands barely covering them, while the other perched on the pillion seat. The bike was a Jawa, and the rider—a tall, fair, and handsome man with a proud moustache—was none other than their father. He would take us to a park in a nearby Defence colony in Saintala, a small town that still holds pieces of our family’s story. I can still feel the wind on my face and the sound of laughter as we rode through those streets, as if t...