This Time, I Choose Me!!!

I still remember the first time I saw you.

There wasn’t much of an interaction.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing that should have changed the course of my life.

And yet… there was something.

Something I cannot explain even today.

Looking back now, I sometimes call myself stupid.

Because the red flags were there.

Not hidden.

Not subtle.

They were right in front of me.

And every time one appeared,

I found a way to explain it away.

Maybe I misunderstood.

Maybe things will change.

Maybe I am expecting too much.

Maybe this is just a phase.

I kept pacifying myself

until ignoring the truth became a habit.

I was foolish.

Time passed.

And I am a Taurean—

stubborn, they say.

Apparently, even God knew that.

Perhaps He looked at me and said,

“Ye manne wali nahi hai.
Toh theek hai… iske hisaab se chalne do.”

And somehow,

you and I became us.

Many, many years ago,

I chose you.

Above everything.

Above everyone.

I chose you even when choosing you

meant disappointing people who loved me.

I chose you even when somewhere, deep inside,

a voice was trying to tell me not to.

I even failed God.

And maybe He was right.

Because I was a big-time fool.

People told me I was crazy.

I didn’t listen.

I thought love meant standing by someone.

I thought marriage meant adjusting.

I thought patience could fix things.

I thought if I gave enough of myself,

one day you would finally choose me too.

Twelve years.

Two children.

And today, after all these years,

the hardest truth I have had to accept is this—

Maybe we were never meant to be together.

Because I have been alone

for most of this relationship.

Not physically.

But in every way that truly matters.

You chose everyone else before me.

Not once.

Not twice.

Every single time.

And I was alone when I needed you the most.

I was alone when I was pregnant.

I was alone while trying to find my place

in a family that never truly accepted me.

And what hurt more than their rejection

was your silence.

You never really stood between us and said,

“Enough. She is my wife.
She deserves respect too.”

Instead, somehow,

they were always right.

And I was always the problem.

The difficult one.

The angry one.

The unreasonable one.

The one who needed fixing.

I was even called mentally unwell.

The irony of it all

still makes me wonder

how easily people throw words at others

without looking into their own homes.

There was a police complaint

because I lost my temper with my daughter—

because she wasn’t studying,

because she was spending hours on a screen,

because I was trying to be the parent

who was actually there to supervise.

I was living like a single mother

for nearly a year.

Two children.

Two tiny lives depending on me.

And there wasn’t even a call asking,

“How are you managing?”

My parents stepped in.

They took my son

because managing two children alone

was simply not feasible.

They helped me when I needed help.

And instead of gratitude,

there were more accusations.

More blame.

More ways to make me feel

that somehow, even in my helplessness,

I was wrong.

Then my parents met with an accident.

And all I remember hearing was concern

about their son.

Their grandson.

“Thank God the child is safe.”

Yes.

Thank God he was safe.

But what about my parents?

What about the people

who had stood beside me

when nobody else did?

Was no one worried about them?

And then there was the time

I met with an accident

with my son in the car.

I was frightened.

A mother.

A human being.

And the response I received was,

“He is a pro.”

What the hell, man?

Was that supposed to make me feel better?

Was I supposed to laugh?

Was I supposed to be grateful

that my fear had been dismissed so casually?

How many times

am I expected to swallow my feelings?

How many times

am I supposed to compromise?

How many times

must I make myself smaller

so everyone else can remain comfortable?

And somehow, through all of this,

you continue to live like a king.

You get to be Daddy Dearest.

The fun parent.

The one who fulfills their wishes.

The one they run to.

And I?

I am the monster.

Because I don’t have enough time.

Because I say no.

Because someone has to make sure they study.

Someone has to cook.

Someone has to clean.

Someone has to plan.

Someone has to remember.

Someone has to worry.

Someone has to carry

the invisible thousand things

that keep a family running.

And that someone

has almost always been me.

You get to be the father.

I have had to be the parent.

And maybe that’s why

the children see us differently.

But I know what I have carried.

I know how many nights

I have gone to sleep exhausted,

with tears somewhere behind my eyes,

wondering why I was still fighting

for something that was never fighting for me.

And with every passing day,

something inside me is changing.

The woman who once chose you

above everything

is finally learning to choose herself.

Not because she stopped caring.

Not because the years meant nothing.

Not because the children don’t matter.

But because she matters too.

For years, I thought choosing myself

would make me selfish.

Now I understand—

sometimes choosing yourself

is the only way to save yourself.

I chose you once.

I chose you over everything.

And that decision

turned into a nightmare I never imagined.

But maybe there is one thing

I should thank you for.

You made me stronger.

Every time you failed to stand beside me,

I learned to stand on my own.

Every time you chose someone else,

I learned to stop waiting to be chosen.

Every time you made me feel alone,

I discovered that I could survive alone.

Every time you broke something inside me,

I somehow rebuilt it stronger.

So yes—

this time there is a choice again.

Between you and me.

And for the first time,

I am not afraid of the answer.

I don’t need to convince anyone.

I don’t need permission.

I don’t need to explain

why I am tired.

I don’t need to prove

that I have tried enough.

I don’t need to beg someone

to see my worth.

Because I finally see it myself.

So this time,

I choose me.

Not because I hate you.

Not because I want revenge.

But because I have spent twelve years

choosing everyone else

and leaving myself behind.

And I refuse to do that anymore.

You were once the person

I chose above everything.

Now,

after everything,

I choose myself above you.

And maybe,

just maybe,

this is not the end of my story.

Maybe this is the first chapter

where I finally become

the woman I was always supposed to be.

The woman who doesn’t chase.

Doesn’t beg.

Doesn’t constantly compromise.

Doesn’t apologise for existing.

The woman who finally looks in the mirror

and says—

“I should have chosen you sooner.”

And this time,

I am listening.

This time, I choose me....

A Shoulder, A Sunset, and Someone Who Understands!!

Sometimes, all I want is to sit beside someone, watch the sun go down, and talk about everything and nothing. 🌅

Someone who will listen to my endless rants, my random thoughts, my worries, and all the things I probably overthink. Someone who won't judge me, try to fix me, or make me feel like I'm too much.

Someone I can be completely myself with. Where I don't have to pretend I'm okay when I'm not, be strong all the time, or think twice before saying what's on my mind.

I don't need grand gestures or perfect words. Sometimes, I just want a little understanding, a warm shoulder, a genuine conversation, and the comfort of knowing that I can let my guard down.

Maybe that's all I've ever wanted… to feel understood without having to explain myself, and to feel at home in someone's presence. 🤍🌅

#UnspokenFeelings #ThingsWeDontSay #HeartTalk #SunsetThoughts #JustBeingMe

                           

💓FROM A LITTLE WISH TO A LIFELONG MEMORY....BAPPA CAME HOME🙏

                                

This year brought me an experience I had never imagined. At 38, I had never practiced idol worship, though I had visited temples and sacred places. While travelling one day, my 7-year-old daughter noticed the Ganesha idols on the streets and asked why they were everywhere. I explained to her that Ganesh Chaturthi was near and people welcome Bappa home. Without hesitation, she said, 

“I want to bring Him home.”     

And in that instant, I agreed.

Not knowing much about the rituals, I sought guidance from friends and did my best to learn. When we finally welcomed Bappa, my daughter insisted we keep Him for the full 10 days. Though I initially tried to convince her otherwise, her devotion was unwavering, and I chose to follow her lead.

With sincerity and gratitude, we celebrated these days as best as we could. It may not have been perfect, but it was heartfelt. I am deeply thankful to my daughter for bringing this joy into our lives and for giving me an experience I never thought I would have.

Now, though the house feels a little empty after His visarjan, our hearts are full—knowing that He will return next year to bless us again. 

"🌸Sometimes our children guide us to the most beautiful blessings💛 Thankful for these 11 days of love & devotion🙏"

Ganpati Bappa Morya, Pudhchya Varshi Lavkar Ya!

 

Holding It All Together

I’m holding myself up — every single day. 

Balancing work, home, and kids like a juggler who can’t afford to drop a ball. 

I stay strong because I have to be. There’s no other option. 

But somewhere in this strength, exhaustion is quietly creeping in.

Lately, I find myself irritated more often. 

I lose patience with my kids, even when they’re just being kids — playful, noisy, and full of life. 

I scold them, and the guilt that follows is heavy. 

I know they deserve better, but I feel so drained that I can’t seem to help it. 

I’m not proud of these moments, but they are real.

And sometimes — just once in a while — I want to disappear.

 Not forever. Just long enough to breathe. 

To go someplace where no one knows me, no one expects anything from me, 

and I don't have to be responsible for anyone or anything.

I want silence, not just around me, but within me. 

I want my mind to go still — no thoughts, no lists, no worries — just me, present in the moment.

I imagine myself sitting on a quiet shore, watching the waves roll in and out.

 No noise, no chaos — just the rhythm of the sea and my own heartbeat.

 In that moment, I’m not a mother, not a worker, not a caretaker.

 I’m just a woman, existing, feeling the wind on my face.

 And in that simplicity, I find a glimpse of peace… of happiness.

I don’t want to escape my life.

 I just want a pause — a moment to rest before I pick everything up again.

 "My Brother, My Home"

Five years apart, yet close in soul,
He filled the cracks, he made her whole.

Though younger by the count of years,
He calmed her storms, he stilled her fears.

She held his hand when he was small,

But he’s the one who caught her fall.
In every trial, every doubt,
He showed her light when hers went out.

They’ve fought like fire, burned and bruised,
Words thrown in anger, harshly used.
Once, in a moment, full of pain,
She shut the door in heat and strain.

That day still echoes in her chest—
A wound she hides, a deep unrest.
She'd take it back, rewrite the scene,

Erase the hurt, keep the space clean.

For him, she'd trade the world away,

Her own children know—he leads the way.
He’s more than blood, more than her own,
The truest love she’s ever known.

He’s been her guide, her northern star,
Her safe place, no matter how far.
Through every chaos, joy, or fall—
Her brother’s love outshines them all.

No fight can last, no pride can stay,
When hearts like theirs won't drift away.
For in this life, come what may be,
Her brother is her sanctuary.

“The Fortress of One”

In the heart of Delhi's restless beat,

Lived a mother with love and aching feet.

Two young souls under her wing,

She bore the weight of everything.

No village near, no shoulder close,

No hand to help her chase her woes.

Home and office, night and morn,   

                        She braved the tide, though bruised and worn.                       

With rising sun, she packed their bags,

Ironed shirts and zipped their rags.

Her voice, a whip when time was tight,

Her eyes, twin flames of constant fight.

She taught them rules, set boundaries tall,

So they might rise, not trip or fall.

Discipline, her only shield—

In this harsh world, she wouldn't yield.

But once a month, their father came

With gifts, with games, and none to blame.

He smiled and softened every line

She'd drawn in sweat and sacrifice fine.

“Let them breathe, let them play,

Why must your love feel like a cage each day?”

He’d say with eyes too blind to see

The cost of keeping a family free.

The toys he brought, the sweets he gave,

Could never match the nights she stayed

Awake beside their fevered beds,

Or kissed their dreams and stroked their heads.

Yet arguments flared like Delhi heat,

Old love now bruised, not soft but fleet.

Voices rose, and silences screamed,

Of homes once whole, now torn at seams.

"You're too harsh," they'd say with scorn,

"A mother like you leaves hearts forlorn."

They whispered lies of trauma deep,

Of children who might never sleep.

An FIR cold as courtroom air,

Filed by hands that wouldn’t dare

To bear what she bore day and night—

Her children's tears, her silent fight.

Now she stands with fire and ache,

Branded cruel for their own sake.

Short-tempered? Yes. But wrong at core?

What mother would not wage this war?

She does not crave the world’s applause—

Just safe, good lives without a pause.

So if you judge her, judge her true:

Could you do all the things she’d do?

A mother’s love wears many masks—

Some tender sweet, some thorned with tasks.

Don’t call her harsh without the weight

Of walking in her tested gait.

---

Is she wrong?

No.

She is a fortress built in flesh and bone,

Guarding two lives all alone.

Not every storm wears thunder’s face—

Some rage in silence, born of grace.

 

"Dreams of the Beach: A Love Beyond Reality"

The warm golden sun stretched across the horizon, casting a soft glow over the beach. The air was salty, carrying the sounds of waves gently crashing against the shore. The scent of the sea mingled with the earthy fragrance of sand, and everything seemed peaceful, as though time itself had slowed down.

She stood there, her feet sinking into the soft, cool sand, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. In front of her was a vision she could never have imagined—a handsome boy, casually standing by the water’s edge, as if he belonged to the very rhythm of the ocean. His white shirt clung to his chest, the fabric smooth and flowing in the breeze. The shirt’s top three buttons were undone, revealing a clean, sculpted chest, a soft hint of tan, the muscles of his body apparent beneath the light fabric.

The waves behind him crashed softly, as though the sea itself was whispering secrets. His dark hair tousled by the breeze, his eyes fixed on the horizon, were like deep pools of mystery. It was as though the world around him—nature, the beach, the wind—had conspired to create this very moment.

She could hear the soft sound of his laughter, light and carefree, as if he didn’t have a worry in the world. His presence was magnetic, effortless. The way he stood, calm, with his hands tucked in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, made her feel as if she were witnessing a moment only for her eyes. The wind seemed to play with the hem of his shirt, teasing the fabric just enough for her to see the smooth line of his jaw, the slight glint in his eyes, as if he knew he had all of her attention.

The waves rolled in and out, almost in perfect rhythm with her heartbeat, as if the whole world had aligned for this one simple, perfect moment. She couldn’t look away, her breath caught in her throat, lost in the peaceful yet thrilling presence of this boy who seemed to have stepped out of her dreams and into the reality of the beach.

Her feet shifted in the sand, her mind spinning, wondering if he would turn toward her. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, he had noticed her standing there, feeling the same pull between them, as the sound of the ocean whispered in the background, and the sun dipped lower in the sky, turning the entire world into a painting of perfect serenity.

The next few days felt like an eternity, each one dragging on as she couldn’t shake the vividness of the dream. It clung to her, like a phantom touch, a whisper of something that felt far too real to be mere fantasy. She found herself walking along the beach, the same stretch of sand she’d dreamt of, wondering if somehow, some way, he might be there. But of course, he wasn’t. The waves crashed softly against the shore, the sun cast its golden glow over the world, but it felt empty without him.

It was the afternoon when she received a message, the notification pinging through her phone like a distant promise. It was a simple text—nothing extravagant, just his name, the boy from her dreams, the boy from the beach. His message read: "Hey, I know this might sound crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I know we’ve never met, but I feel like we’ve shared something, something I can’t quite explain. Would you want to meet? Somewhere like that beach?"

Her heart skipped a beat. The words seemed impossible, surreal, as if they were plucked straight from her own mind. She stared at the screen, trying to make sense of it. Her hands shook as she typed back: "I’ve been dreaming about you too. I don’t know how or why, but I feel like I’ve known you forever."

The seconds dragged as she waited for a response, her breath caught in her throat. Then, his reply appeared almost immediately: "Meet me tomorrow, same time, same beach. I think we need to talk."

The night before, she could hardly sleep. She kept seeing the image of him—his warm smile, his chest bare beneath the white shirt, the feeling of his hands on her skin—and the kiss, that kiss. She dreamt of it again, and when she woke up, it felt as if it had happened all over again, as if the line between dreams and reality had blurred completely.

The next day, she arrived at the beach early, the sun warm against her skin, and the air filled with the scent of saltwater. She walked to the same spot she remembered from her dreams, her heart racing in anticipation. Every wave that crashed felt like it was in rhythm with her heartbeat.

Then, she saw him. He was standing near the water’s edge, just as he had been in the dream, his white shirt billowing lightly in the breeze, his dark eyes scanning the horizon. When he turned toward her, it was as if the entire world stopped. He smiled—a warm, knowing smile—and walked toward her with that same effortless confidence.

She could hardly breathe. It was him—exactly as she remembered. But this time, there was no dream to hide behind. This was real.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the same tone that had been in her dreams.

“I didn’t think I would either,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. “But… here I am.”

He took a step closer, and her heart quickened. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The waves crashed gently, the breeze stirred the sand beneath their feet, and they stood there in the shared silence, like the universe itself was holding its breath.

“Why do I feel like I’ve known you?” he asked, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her feel as though he could see straight into her soul.

“Because you have,” she whispered, stepping closer to him. “In my dreams… I’ve been dreaming about you.”

His smile softened, and he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, just like in her dreams. “I don’t know how this is possible,” he said quietly, “but it feels real. Feels like we’ve always been meant to be here, right now.”

And without another word, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that felt both familiar and new, tender and full of the longing they both shared. It was everything she had imagined—softer than the dream, yet with an intensity that left her breathless. The world faded away again, and all that existed was them—here, now, together.

When the kiss finally broke, they stood close, their foreheads resting against each other. “I don’t want this moment to end,” she whispered.

“Then it won’t,” he replied, his voice soft, but filled with certainty. “We’re not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

The sun hung low in the sky, painting everything in warm hues, and for the first time, she felt like everything was in place. It was no longer just a dream, no longer just a fleeting moment that would fade at sunrise. It was real. They were real. And whatever this connection was, it was something neither of them could deny.

And so, they stood there, hands intertwined, the sound of the waves crashing in the background, knowing that what had started in her dreams was now a beautiful reality that neither of them wanted to let go of.