There’s a special kind of excitement in the days leading up to Navratri. The house is cleaned from top to bottom, the golus are carefully unboxed and arranged step by step, decorations are thoughtfully placed, prasadam is planned for all nine days, and return gifts are ready for friends and little ones. Every detail, no matter how small, is a labor of love—an offering in itself.
But what truly makes the festival magical isn’t just the rituals or the arrangements—it’s the people who gather to celebrate. Our close-knit circle of friends have become like an extended family. They eagerly wait for our invites each year, whether it’s Ganesh Chaturthi or Navratri. Many have been joining us for over a decade, and it’s not just their presence—they lend a hand, share the workload, and add their own energy and vibes, making every celebration grander, brighter, and full of life.
Celebrating with such friends turns every effort into something sacred. Bonds grow stronger, traditions are cherished, and joy multiplies in the company of those who truly care.
Navratri, like Ganesh Chaturthi, is more than a festival—it’s a celebration of love, connection, and the beautiful tapestry of relationships that make life meaningful. And at the end of each day, as the lights dim and the laughter fades, we are reminded that these shared moments, filled with devotion and togetherness, are the memories we will carry in our hearts forever.
“In their laughter, their helping hands, and the joy they bring, we find that the true essence of any celebration lies not in the rituals, but in the love and togetherness we share.”
When we were growing up in the 80s and 90s, being on time usually meant reaching at least ten minutes before the decided hour. It wasn’t about being over-disciplined, but about being prepared. Starting early also helps to cover for any unforeseen or unpredicted delays that may occur on the way. More than anything, it was a quiet way of saying, “I value your time as much as mine.”
Today, that habit doesn’t hold the same weight. For kids now, reaching “on time” is enough. They don’t see why coming early matters. Life feels more casual, and time is treated as something flexible. And when we bring it up, it turns into a debate. We sound like we’re preaching, and they always seem to have a reason to counter it.
But punctuality has never really been about the clock. It’s about respect, commitment, and responsibility. It’s one of those small values that shape how people see you and how you see yourself. And even if today’s world moves at a different pace, this is still a value worth passing on.
Being on time is not about minutes—it’s about the respect you carry for others and yourself.
What if God gave us a chance to meet our younger self, just once in a lifetime?
I picture her standing before me—bright eyes, smooth skin, and effortless charm. She carries the confidence of innocence, untouched by time. And here I am, with greying hair, freckles, and a heart that has lived through both joy and heartbreak. Yet, our smile is still the same.
She looks at me with surprise. “Is this really me?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “This is us. Time has touched me, but it hasn’t changed the core of who we are.”
She frowns, “But what about our dreams?”
I answer softly. “Some came true, some changed shape, and a few were left behind. But each turn made us stronger.”
She studies me again. “And the sparkle in your eyes?”
“It’s still here,” I reply. “It just lives deeper now—in quiet joys, in resilience, in knowing how to carry both happiness and pain with grace.”
We laugh together—the same laugh that never changed.
And as I walk away, I realize: youth is about chasing dreams, but age is about discovering their meaning. Every step, every detour, every stumble is part of that discovery. So if you ever feel lost on your journey, remember—your younger self gave you the wings to dream, and your older self will give you the wisdom to fly.
In the end, every stage of life is not about losing yourself—it’s about finding yourself in new ways.
When I began Abstracts by Anita, I never imagined that one day I would be standing here, writing my 200th post.
What started as a small attempt to share my reflections has turned into a journey of capturing life in fragments—moments stitched together with emotion, laughter, nostalgia, and truth.
Echoes of Childhood and Youth
I’ve written about the innocence of school years, where friendships were sometimes tested by differences in background, yet quietly shaped us into more mature souls.
I’ve celebrated the music of our youth—the golden melodies of the 70s and 80s that still tug at the heart, and the spirited 90s songs that bring back crushes, heartbreaks, and carefree laughter.
The Magic of Reunions
Reunions have their own quiet magic.
They remind us that time may have passed, but bonds don’t always break—they bend, stretch, and wait patiently. Whether it’s a school reunion or a spontaneous meet-up with old friends, the laughter somehow feels the same, the inside jokes still make sense, and for a few hours, we get to be those younger versions of ourselves again.
Reunions don’t remind us of what we’ve lost with time—but of everything we’ve carried forward.
First Love, Forever Memory
First love is rarely perfect, but it is always unforgettable.
It teaches us the language of longing, the thrill of small gestures, the ache of silence. Whether it ended in a whisper or a storm, it etched itself somewhere deep, shaping how we love and what we expect from it.
I’ve written about those early sparks—not just as romantic nostalgia, but as reminders of our emotional beginnings, where even the smallest glance could make our day.
The Heart of a Mother, The Soul of a Woman
Motherhood has found its space here—the selflessness, the quiet strength, and the invisible burdens mothers so often carry.
Alongside it, I’ve spoken of respect for women, whether working or non-working, because every role a woman plays carries dignity, even when the world measures it differently.
Remembering Papa
Through my words, I’ve kept my father alive—remembering him in stories, reflections, and emotions that continue to guide me.
Writing about him has been my way of holding on to his presence, even as life moves forward.
Laughter in Everyday Life
Then there are the banters that make life light—the rolling comedy of husband-wife conversations that echo in every home, the silly but sweet teenage talks that bring back our youthful innocence, and the daily exchanges with friends that still make us laugh till our eyes water.
Reflections on Society & Change
I’ve also written about the deeper questions we must face as a society.
Like Kapil’s dilemma during Ganesh Visarjan—a reminder that our traditions, as beautiful and heartfelt as they are, must also adapt to care for our environment and our future.
It is in such reflections that I hope my words can spark thought, and perhaps, in small ways, inspire change.
Judgements and Grace
I’ve spoken of judgements too—the quiet ways society measures us, sometimes harshly, sometimes unfairly—and how important it is to rise above them with grace.
These writings have been my way of turning thoughts into conversations, and conversations into connections.
Two Hundred Steps, One Journey
Today, as I look at these 200 steps, they don’t feel like just blogs.
They feel like 200 heartbeats—each carrying a memory, a lesson, a smile, or a tear.
Together, they form the soul of Abstracts by Anita.
Gratitude and What Lies Ahead
And yet, this journey is not mine alone. It belongs to every reader who paused, reflected, and connected with my words.
You’ve been the reason these fragments turned into something whole.
So here’s to celebrating the past 200, and to welcoming the next 200 with open arms.
Because life, after all, is not just lived in milestones—it is lived in these little abstracts, where the truest essence of our journey shines.
We all start our bucket lists at some point — in late teens, after graduation, or following a first big break. When we write them, we have no idea what life ahead will bring. Will you get the job you dream of? Will family or health demands change your path?
Some dreams are small and easily achieved. Others, like owning a home, carry a weight of hope, pride, and independence. Even a modest space of your own feels like a privilege. We dream freely at first, imagining nothing but the simple joy of ownership.
Yet life doesn’t always make dreams easy. By the time you reach your 40s, you may realize it might never happen. You’ve spent years making choices, caring for others, building lives around responsibilities, and yes — it’s your choice — but it comes at a cost. The dream that once felt possible can feel like it has slipped away. That ache is real, and it’s okay to feel it.
The ache of an unfulfilled dream can feel heavy, especially when it’s something so close to your heart. It’s okay to grieve. At the same time, nurture the essence of that dream in other ways — a personal corner, a space that brings you joy, or moments that give you pride and independence. Celebrate what you have achieved, and allow gratitude, hope, and small daily joys to fill the space left behind. Life may not have given you everything you wanted, but it can still be rich, meaningful, and deeply rewarding if you let your heart heal and guide you forward.
“Even if a dream goes unfulfilled, let hope and the joys you’ve created guide your heart.”
School days often brought together friends from very different financial backgrounds. For those of us who had less, maturity came early. We quietly learned what to demand and what to let go of. We measured our wishes carefully, because we knew the value of every small thing.
Yet, those years weren’t easy and were not always kind.Friends laughed at simple clothes, called out for not keeping up with trends, or assumed lack of sense of style. They never realized that behind the silence was a child who had to carry the weight of being different . It felt far too personal, too raw to talk about.
Time, however, has a way of shifting everything.Hard work, building own paths changed life.The financial conditions once a struggle became steady, and the life dreamt off slowly came true. But people around remain the same. Those who once mocked now say with a smirk, “Oh, finally you’ve learned to dress well.” They see the surface, never the struggle. They don’t know the sacrifices, the sleepless nights, the grit that shaped one.
And here is the learning- One can’t go around correcting them. Some people will always find something to say. But I no longer seek their validation. Because I know my journey. I know what it means to value every single thing I own, every little dream I’ve achieved, and every milestone I’ve reached. Nothing was ever handed to me—I earned it all, step by step.
That’s why today, even as life looks different from the outside, I remain grounded. Because the essence of who I am was shaped in those very years of silence and struggle.
And maybe they never will understand.But that’s okay because we know what it means to earn every single thing, not inherit it. We know the worth of life beyond labels. We know the quiet dignity of struggle, and the unshakable pride of resilience.
✨ I may look different now, but deep within, I am still that same person—only stronger, wiser, and deeply grateful for the road that made me who I am.
There is a charm in live singing sessions that no recording can capture. The joy of sitting with friends, listening to those familiar notes fill the air, and watching a singer breathe life into songs from decades ago is an experience that takes you back in time.
The 70’s and 80’s melodies are pure nostalgia. They carry a certain softness, a soul that feels eternal. Then come the 90’s songs—oh, what can I say about them? They remind us of our youthful years. Every song had a story. Some became the soundtrack to secret crushes, some echoed the feeling of being deeply in love, and some stood witness to heartbreaks. Sweet and spicy, happy and sad—music carried all our emotions, and still does.
Those were cassette days. Originals always seemed a luxury, so we found our own ways of keeping music close. I still remember the joy of writing down song names on paper, collecting random favorites from here and there, buying blank tapes, and getting them recorded. That way, instead of the six songs from one movie album, we had our own curated treasure—four to five times more melodies on a single cassette. Those tapes weren’t just music collections; they were handmade playlists before playlists existed, filled with care and love for music.
And today, when I sit in these live sessions, handing the singer a small chit with song requests, and then humming along when he sings, it feels like slipping into a time machine. The heart feels lighter, the mind calmer, and the soul deeply connected to something timeless.
Music is not just about tunes or words—it is about the life we lived through them. And in every melody, we find pieces of ourselves again.
Mothers have an extraordinary way of placing everyone else before themselves. In many homes, especially in Indian households, I’ve seen how easily they hold themselves accountable for their children’s struggles as if motherhood comes with an invisible thread of self-blame woven into it.
The clearest reflection of this selflessness is found in the kitchen. In households where mothers still cook, they lovingly ask their children and spouses what they’d like for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. And then, without hesitation, they prepare exactly that. Their joy is in the smiles around the table, while their own cravings quietly fade into the background.
What touches me deeply is how this doesn’t change with time. Even when we return home as adults, our mothers despite fragile health still spoil us with our favorite dishes, encourage us to rest, and take over the chores we can’t manage. Their homes remain the one place in the world where we can shed the weight of responsibility and simply be children again.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I had inherited this same selflessness. But I also discovered that breaking the chain just a little could be a gift. Once in a while, I began making something I craved, simply for myself. It felt different at first, but also deeply nourishing. That small act of self-love reminded me that when we give to ourselves, we have even more love to give others.
I don’t regret choosing a life where I pour into my family it brings me happiness. But by adding myself to the list of people I care for, I found a deeper balance. I was happy before, but today I feel even happier.
Because after your mother, it’s only you who can truly pamper yourself. Love yourself. Care for yourself. You deserve it all and more.
✨ Through my reflections, I try to capture the everyday truths that touch our hearts. Maybe in my words, you’ll find a piece of your own story too.
I’ve noticed this with my own plants,when I speak to them, when I sit near them and send them a little positive energy, they seem to respond. A drooping leaf stands taller, a dull stem begins to glow, and slowly, life creeps back into them. It makes me wonder if it’s not just the water or sunlight they thrive on, but also the vibrations of care and presence. In their quiet way, my plants remind me that everything alive blossoms with love.
Maybe all of us—plants, people, every living being—are just waiting for a little love to grow.
For the longest time, I never really thought of myself as someone who could “do something” with writing. Sure, I scribbled my thoughts, made little observations about life, and often found humor in everyday situations. To me, it was nothing more than a passing hobby. Something small, something personal.
In fact, whenever someone praised my words, I would almost laugh it off. “It’s just a few lines… it doesn’t mean anything,” I’d tell myself. I believed anyone could do it. I didn’t see it as a gift; I saw it as something ordinary. Looking back, I realize I was blind to the very thing that came most naturally to me.
Life, of course, had me walking paths that were “practical” and expected. Like so many of us, I focused on responsibilities, routines, and the safer choices. But even while I was doing all of that, there was always this quiet pull—those little notes, reflections, and thoughts I’d jot down almost unconsciously. I didn’t value them, but they kept finding their way back to me.
And then came Abstracts by Anita. What started as me simply sharing a few daily reflections turned into something much bigger. People connected. They told me my words made them laugh, made them think, they could relate to it,sometimes even made them feel understood. What I had dismissed as “just small things” became moments of meaning for others. And slowly, I began to see what I had been missing all along: this was more than a hobby. It was a part of me.
Today, I look back at those early doubts with a smile. Because the truth is, sometimes the world notices your gifts before you do. The compliments, the encouragement, the appreciation—they’re not just polite words. They are gentle nudges, reminders that you might be sitting on something special without even realizing it.
So here’s what I’ve learned: there is no harm in switching directions, in embracing something you never thought could be “serious,” and in being different. In fact, the life that feels most fulfilling often comes from choosing to follow the path you once underestimated.
✨ For me, that path is writing. For you, it could be something else. But if the world has been quietly showing you a gift—don’t ignore it. It might just be your true calling.
Blessmesai 
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