Your phone buzzes — “Where have you reached?” You’re still in your pajamas, hair all over the place, maybe brushing your teeth, but your reply goes fast — “On the way!” Every DESI knows this line. It’s not really a lie. It’s hope. You want to leave. You just haven’t started yet.

The routine never fails. You say “leaving now” and then start looking for your shoes, making chai, or checking Instagram once more. Take a selfie.Some people even send a random road photo with “stuck in traffic yaar,” while they’re still sitting at home. And if someone calls, you start walking around the house to sound like you’re really outside.

Parents always know the truth. Say “on the way” to your mom and she’ll ask, “Which way? Bedroom way or kitchen way?” And just like that, your whole acting career ends. But somehow, we still do it every single time — because it makes us feel like we’re at least trying.

So next time you’re sitting comfortably on your sofa, sipping chai, and typing “on the way,” don’t feel bad. You’re not lying — you’re manifesting movement. That’s the DESI way of life — always late, always confident, and always just “five minutes away.”

At Mumbai railway stations, while we wait for our trains, there are always small scenes happening around us. One of them is the shoe polish boys — sitting on the platform with their small wooden boxes, ready to shine someone’s shoes before the next train arrives.

They call out gently, with a polite smile, never losing patience even when people walk past. Their quick tak-tak sound, the steady rub of the cloth, and the way the dull leather suddenly shines — it’s all done with such rhythm and skill.

I love that tak-tak sound. I can almost hear it as I type — that firm tap they give when one shoe is done, before you shift and place the other foot on top. A simple, everyday moment, yet so full of life.

For many office-goers, that shine matters. A clean shoe can change how you’re seen. You can be judged for a dusty shoe and admired for a polished one. These boys understand that — and quietly make sure you walk away looking just a little more confident.

Today, many places have automated shoe polish machines, but what these boys can do is different. There’s a human touch, an eye for detail, and a pride in their work that no machine can replace.

They may go unnoticed in the rush of the city, but they are part of what keeps Mumbai moving — small heroes who add to our daily lives in their own simple way. Sometimes, we just forget to give them the credit they truly deserve.

Maybe next time, we can pause for a moment — not just to get our shoes polished, but to notice the shine beyond the shoe. ✨

Satish Shah — the man who could make anyone laugh without even trying — has said his final goodbye.

From Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro to Sarabhai vs Sarabhai, Ghar Jamai, Hum Aapke Hain Koun, Hum Saath Saath Hain, Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, and Main Hoon Na — he gave us endless moments of joy. No matter how short the role or how many stars shared the screen, Satish Shah always managed to shine through.

He had that rare gift — to make comedy look easy and emotions feel real. His expressions, his voice, his timing — everything about him drew you in. One minute he’d have you laughing with a clever punch, and the next, he’d move you with quiet sensitivity.

Who can forget Indravadan Sarabhai — the ever-sarcastic, hilarious, and utterly lovable dad? The Sarabhai vs Sarabhaiteam gave him the most touching farewell — singing the show’s title track for their “Indu” with tears, smiles, and memories. It felt like saying goodbye to a part of our own family.

Satish Shah wasn’t just an actor; he was an emotion — of warmth, wit, and those simple moments of laughter that made life lighter.

Thank you, Satish Shah, for filling our childhood with laughter, comfort, and joy. You will always remain in our hearts — our favorite Indravadan, our screen’s happy soul. ❤️

Zindagi ki khasiyat hai yeh kabhi jhukti nahi; saanse ruk jaati hai magar zindagi rukti nahi.

This is the second consecutive year we have been blessed to celebrate Annakut at the Abu Dhabi BAPS Temple — a day that truly fills the heart. The temple is alive from morning till evening with faith, colours, and devotion.

People from different parts of India gather together, and suddenly you hear so many Indian languages around you — Gujarati, Marathi, Tamil, Hindi — it feels like a little India in the middle of the desert. There are community groups singing bhajans, many of which we have grown up listening to since childhood. Those familiar tunes bring back memories of home, of festivals with family, of temples where we once stood beside our parents with folded hands.

Women look graceful in colourful sarees and beautiful suits, men in their festive best, and even the children are dressed up with so much excitement on their faces. Everywhere you look, there’s a warm sense of belonging.

The day is filled with bhajans, cultural performances, and smiles that need no language. A sattvik lunch and dinner are lovingly served, and it feels like such a blessing to receive Prasad twice in one day.

Living away from India, days like this remind us of the strength of our community and the comfort of shared faith. The BAPS Temple has become that one place where people from all walks of life come together — to pray, to celebrate, and to feel at home once again.

It’s not just about the food or the rituals, it’s about that feeling — that even miles away, our roots still hold us close. 🙏✨

There we were — a bunch of classmates, their spouses, and kids, all in our colorful festive best, ready to turn a simple dinner into a Mumbai-style mela. The restaurant lights didn’t need to shine — our laughter was doing a brighter job!

We had three tables — one for the kids (the noisiest gang, of course), one for the men (the self-proclaimed food critics, stock market experts, and, of course, part-time “spouse analysts” 😏), and one for us ladies — where the chatter and giggles could easily drown out the background music.

The real fun began when someone said, “Tujhe woh yaad hai…?” — and just like that, the years melted away. Old stories, legendary goof-ups, and college memories came tumbling out, one louder and funnier than the other. Some tried to defend themselves, others pretended not to remember — but the teasing didn’t stop.

The men’s table was its own entertainment zone — juggling food reviews, road traffic cribs, the latest driving fines, and a dash of work stress. Meanwhile, at our table, we decided to pull a fast one on one of the men — insisting he looked just like SRK… bas thoda fairer version! You should’ve seen him blush — full-on DDLJ-style grin, with that classic side-eye from his wife that said it all.

But the real comedy started when our “SRK” casually mentioned Maya — their household help. Poor fellow didn’t realize what a storm he’d unleashed. Within seconds, the ladies jumped in — “Ohhh, Maya? Dil Toh Pagal Hai waali Maya?”And before he could even take a sip of water, the dialogues began flying — “Maya ek aisi ladki hai jo kabhi kisi se apne dil ki baat nahi kehti…” followed by “Maya ke liye dance sirf ek shauk nahi, ek junoon hai!”

At this point, our “fair SRK” was caught between laughing and hiding under the table, while the rest of us were in splits. Even the kids were looking over, wondering what the grown-ups had eaten that made them laugh so much.

From appetizers to desserts, it was a full-on feast — of food, friendship, and unfiltered fun. The kids had found their gang, the men had their share of stress talks and fines, and we women? We had our Maya moment that’s sure to be discussed for many Diwalis to come!

We finally ended with a big group photo — one that’s going straight into our treasure box for the years ahead. Honestly, if it wasn’t a working day next morning, we’d still be sitting there. It took someone saying, “Kal school hai aur office bhi… chalo chalo!” to bring us back to reality.

That’s the beauty of old friends — miles away from home, yet the same warmth, teasing, and laughter. This Diwali, we didn’t just celebrate — we recreated the madness of Mumbai right at our table. 💛

Our mothers never believed in grand gestures or emotional speeches. There were no hugs after every phone call or “I love you” texts on WhatsApp. Their love was quieter — served on steel plates, wrapped in foil, and sprinkled with ghee. They were the women who did more than they said.

When we were growing up, love was never expressed through words but through actions. A warm paratha tucked into your tiffin, a scolding that came right before your exams — because apparently, tension brings focus! Their way of showing affection was equal parts strictness and comfort.

And then, after marriage or once we moved away, that love became even more profound. Every visit home felt like a festival. From the moment you said, “Ma, I’m coming home,” the kitchen went into full celebration mode. She’d be up since dawn, making your favourite dishes — the menu prepared days in advance. One ear on the pressure cooker, the other tuned to the gate, waiting to hear your car stop outside.

The minute you arrived, it was like Diwali had come early. Food kept appearing endlessly — “Just taste a little,” she’d say, piling your plate till it looked like a buffet. And when it was time to leave, there was no escape without a food parcel (or three). Packed snacks, breakfast mixes, and instant meals — “Take this, you can at least sleep ten minutes extra tomorrow morning,” she’d justify lovingly. Because only a mother can think of your sleep, your hunger, and your heart — all in one go.

Goodbyes, no matter how often, never came easy. Whether you visited once a month or every weekend, there would always be misty eyes at the door. That little lump in her throat, that final “call me when you reach” — they never changed. And if you came with your spouse or kids, she’d still find a few stolen minutes alone with you. A quick check — “You’re okay, na?” — whispered while pretending to adjust your dupatta.

They could read our faces like open books. One glance, and they knew if we were tired, upset, or pretending to be fine. Nothing missed their radar — honestly, half our moms could easily get recruited by RAW for their observation skills!

Our mothers may not have been expressive, but they were unforgettable. Their love was practical, powerful, and pure — stitched into our childhood and simmered into our souls. They didn’t say “I love you” — they lived it, every single day. ❤️

You know that one person you genuinely gave your time, attention, and emotional energy to? The one who always had a reason to be too busy, too tired, or too important to respond? The same person who suddenly remembers you only when they have some work with you or when their favorite people aren’t around.

At first, you keep giving them benefit of doubt — maybe they’re caught up, maybe they didn’t see your message, maybe… maybe… But after a point, you realise you’re the only one doing the running in a two-person race.Its about priorities.

So, you finally decide — I need to stop trying.
You stop texting first, stop initiating, and stop overthinking. You tell yourself, “If they care, they’ll show up.”

And guess what? Suddenly, the same person who was always too busy starts dropping random “Hi” or “Long time!” messages like it’s a coincidence.
This is simply— attention withdrawal symptom!

These are the kind of people who don’t want you, but also don’t want you to go.
They love the power of being missed.
They don’t crave connection, they crave validation.
It’s like they want to prove, “See? Even when I ignore, people still come back!”

But when you don’t — when you choose peace over their drama — oh ho, the tables turn!
Now they feel left out, start imagining stories, or worse, throw hints on social media like “some people change.”

The truth is simple — these are people who enjoy the chase more than the company.
They can’t handle being ignored because their ego catches a cold the minute the attention heater goes off.

If someone truly cares, you won’t have to search for signs — their actions will make it clear.

Silence reveals everything that words often hide.

Not my story — just an observation. 👀

Some movies you watch… and some you live. For my husband, Sholay is not a film — it’s an emotion, almost a religion. I sometimes feel he should’ve been the third wheel between Jai and Veeru! 😅

Maybe words can’t do justice to his love for it — even Gabbar would say, “Yeh pyaar thoda zyada nahi ho gaya re?”

After marriage, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it with him. He says it’s his stress-buster. No matter how long or tiring his day is, he’ll come home, put on Sholay, and watch it like a sacred ritual — half today, half tomorrow.
And if I don’t sit beside him, he gives me that dramatic Thakur stare, the one that silently says, “Yeh haath mujhe de de Thakur!” (as in, give me company!).

A few years ago, when Sholay came back to theatres, we went to watch it. From the first whistle to the last gunshot, my husband was non-stop with the dialogues —
“Basanti, in kutton ke saamne mat nachna!”
“Kitne aadmi the?”
“Tera kya hoga Kaalia?”
He knew every pause, every background beat!

I thought people around us would get irritated, but to my surprise, everyone was doing the same! The whole hall echoed the film like a national anthem. That’s when I realised — this wasn’t just cinema, it was collective nostalgia.

Ramesh Sippy didn’t make a film — he created a feeling that has lived in our hearts for decades. The friendship, the courage, the laughter, the loyalty — Sholay was, and will always be, a celebration of Desi spirit.

And my husband never misses a chance to sing “Yeh dosti hum nahi todenge” with his best friend — and it’s such a lovely sight.
God bless their decades of friendship! ❤️

Every single time he watches it, he still gets teary-eyed at the end… secretly hoping that maybe this time, Jai (Amitabh) won’t die. ❤️

Because Sholay may have made history, but in our home, it lives on as a story of true friendship, selflessness, and love for a friend — one that never fades, even after the credits roll.

Today, with the passing of Asrani — our beloved Jailor sahab, another piece of Sholay’s magic fades into memory.
May his soul rest in peace. 🙏

And as he would say —
“Hum angrezon ke zamaane ke jailor hain…”
— a line that will echo in our hearts forever. ❤️

Lakshmi Pooja in our home has its own rhythm — a bit of tradition, a bit of teamwork, and a lot of laughter.

My husband takes charge of the rangoli every year. He loves perfection — planning every design and choosing the right colours. I have no patience for it, so he has been doing it year after year, turning it into a riot of colours. My only contribution is cheering him on, and honestly, I don’t think I should do any more! 😅

I take care of the decorations, flowers, and Prasad. I decide where everything should go, and sometimes we even paint our own diyas to make it more special. The house fills with the smell of incense, sweets, and a quiet happiness.

Every year, we try to make it special — not just for Goddess Lakshmi, but for our family. Now our children have also started helping, and that makes it even more joyful.

For us, Lakshmi Pooja is not just about inviting wealth — it’s about feeling thankful for the love, laughter, and togetherness that already fill our home.

And that, I believe, is the true blessing of the festival. 💛

Burning crackers with family and close friends — that used to be the highlight of Diwali!
The entire street would glow, everyone shouting instructions no one followed, and someone’s dad would always say, “Bas ab last one!” (which of course meant ten more rounds).
It was chaos, laughter, smoke, and joy — all rolled into one perfect evening.

Now, cut to life abroad.
We still try to recreate that magic — light a few sparklers, maybe a zameen chakri or a flower pot, all while nervously scanning for neighbors.
Even if it’s just early evening, there’s always that one person ready to complain about the noise pollution.
And those silent “no-sound” crackers? The ones that promise to just sparkle sweetly? — they always have that one rogue pop waiting to test everyone’s blood pressure.
Next thing you know, the community group chat is buzzing louder than the crackers themselves!

Still, we try our best — careful not to disturb anyone, yet determined to keep that festive spirit alive.
Because Diwali without a little sparkle and laughter just feels incomplete.
Someday, I want to take my kids home — to show them what a real Diwali feels like: the smell of fresh sweets, new clothes, lights everywhere, and the sky lit up like a festival painting.
But since the festival always lands between school weeks, we end up celebrating in our own little way — quietly, sweetly, and just a bit homesick.

After all, we’re DESI — we’ll always find a way to make even a muted Diwali shine loud in spirit! 🌟✨