A Cup of Tea, A Caged Parrot, and an Uncomfortable Question!

 Freedom is one of those gifts we rarely value until we imagine losing it.

It was the afternoon of 3rd July.

The sun had quietly surrendered behind a blanket of clouds, and Bengaluru was wearing the kind of weather that makes you slow down, not sunny enough to tire you, not rainy enough to rush you. Just... beautifully still.

I was at my parents' home.

They had stepped out for a family function, leaving me in charge of supervising the painters who were giving the house a fresh coat of color. It felt as though the old home was getting ready like a bride shedding the faded years and dressing herself in vibrant new shades.

Around 1:30 p.m., the painters broke for lunch.

Suddenly, the house fell silent.

And for the first time that day......it was my time.

I walked into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.

Just as the water began to boil, I heard it.

A familiar sound.

Birds chirping.

Within seconds, I knew it wasn't just any bird.

It was a parrot.

Almost instinctively, I hurried through the tea-making ritual, poured myself a cup, and stepped into the backyard, scanning the trees with childlike excitement.

My parents' home is one of the few independent houses left in the neighborhood, now surrounded by towering apartment buildings. Amidst all the concrete, our little backyard still breathes.

It isn't a large garden. But it is alive.

Flowers bloom without asking for attention. Curry leaves perfume the breeze. Guava, vegetables, and seasonal plants quietly coexist. Every corner carries memories.

As a child, I spent countless evenings here plucking flowers for prayers, watering plants, chasing butterflies, climbing the guava tree to get fruits before the birds could.

Looking back now, those moments feel almost unreal.

Like scenes from a world slowly disappearing.

I took another sip of tea. 

Still no parrot. The chirping continued.

This time, instead of searching with my eyes, I followed the sound.

That's when I found it.

Not on a tree. Not soaring across the sky.

But inside a cage.

It hung outside the window of the neighboring house.

There were a few lovebirds.

And two parrots.

As I stood there, time almost paused.

Lunch hour had softened the city's usual chaos. There were no honking vehicles, no vehicle noise, no conversations competing for attention.

Only silence.

A silence loud enough to make me notice something else.

Just a few feet away, in our garden, a butterfly danced freely from one flower to another.

And suddenly, an unsettling thought entered my mind.

What must those parrots feel every single day?

From inside that cage, they could clearly see the garden.

They could see the trees. 
They could watch butterflies fluttering wherever they wished.
They could hear the wind rustling through leaves.

Everything that represented freedom......was right in front of them.

Yet completely out of reach. 

I wondered...

How badly would they want to stretch their wings?
How desperately would they long to feel the wind against their feathers?
How painful must it be to watch freedom every day....without ever being able to touch it?

Then another thought struck me.

What if, someday, there existed another species stronger than us, more intelligent than us, more technologically advanced than us?
What if they decided humans made wonderful companions?
What if they built beautiful cages with food, water, toys, medical care, and told themselves...

"We're taking very good care of them."

Would comfort replace freedom?
Would luxury make captivity acceptable?
Would we call it kindness......or imprisonment?

Sometimes, power quietly convinces itself that control is compassion. Perhaps that is exactly what humanity has done.

Because we are stronger, we assume we have the right to own, tame, display, train, and confine other living beings.

Somewhere along the way, affection has started wearing the disguise of possession.

We call them pets. But have we paused to ask whether they chose us?
Or whether we simply chose for them?

I often wonder what children silently learn when they grow up watching birds inside cages.

Do they learn love?
Or do they unknowingly learn that it is acceptable to imprison beauty for companionship?
Do they understand the meaning of a natural habitat?
Or do they begin to believe that another life exists for our convenience?

The same thought extends beyond birds.

These days, I see more and more dogs living inside apartments.

Many are loved deeply.

Fed well.
Dressed beautifully.
Photographed endlessly.

But have we stopped to ask a simple question? Is being loved the same as being allowed to live naturally?

For a creature designed to run, explore, smell the earth, and interact with the world...can four walls ever truly replace the outdoors?

Perhaps the greatest tragedy isn't that animals cannot speak.

It's that we rarely stop long enough to listen.!!

That afternoon, I finished my tea. 
The butterfly had disappeared.
The parrots were still in the cage.
The garden remained exactly where it had always been.

Only one thing had changed.

Me.

Because sometimes life doesn't teach us through books, speeches, or grand experiences.

Sometimes........it whispers through the chirping of a bird.

And if we are quiet enough, it changes the way we look at the world forever.

The measure of our humanity is not how well we care for the creatures that depend on us, but how willingly we protect the freedom they were born with.

The Silent Language of Companionship

It was early evening when Indu sent me an image and said, “I want you to write on this.”

When I saw it, the only word that came to my mind was Companionship.

She messaged, “The couple holding each other - probably one is taking care of another.”

I replied, “I shall definitely write , anything for you!”

And while she had merely planted a thought, it grew roots in my mind.
All evening, I found myself lost in it.

Perhaps that couple didn’t even know someone was watching them.
They didn’t know that amidst the rush of a bustling city, their quiet togetherness was radiating something so beautiful - something rare.
They were unaware that a stranger somewhere had captured them from behind, and that another stranger would sit down to give that moment a meaning.

There was something about that image - a quiet message, unspoken yet powerful.

When I think of relationships, I often see two words hiding inside - relation and ship.
But not every relation becomes a ship, does it?
Not every connection finds the courage to travel together through storms and seasons.

To me, a relationship is more than just proximity or promises. It’s companionship in its truest sense - walking together through life’s changing seasons, being each other’s calm, the silent assurance that says, “Come what may, I’m here.”

Among all bonds, friendship and love stand apart - because we choose them.
They’re not inherited, they’re built.
Brick by brick. Day by day.
Of course, paradise has its thorns - love isn’t always a red carpet, it’s a garden that blooms, withers, and blooms again with time.

And in that cycle lies the beauty of companionship
Serving each other coffee in silence.
Holding hands when words fail.
Listening more, talking less.
Travelling together - not to see places, but to stay connected in motion.
Sharing life’s load, without measuring who carried more.

I often find myself smiling when I see couples like that - quietly growing old together.
They remind me that love doesn’t always need to be loud or grand.
Sometimes, it’s in the gentle back rub, the shared laughter, the unspoken understanding.

What binds such souls?
I’ve seen love, fights, cold wars, compromises, laughter after tears, and silences that heal more than words ever could.
And I’ve realized - the real glue isn’t perfection.
It’s trust, respect, and love - three threads, twisted together, forming a rope strong enough to hold two hearts across time.

Sometimes, I wish I could capture that beauty exactly as it is - not through words, but through feeling.
Because language often falls short of the heart’s vocabulary.
And yet, here I am - trying to wrap the infinite in syllables.

Then, as always, my rational mind peeks in - reminding me that feelings are subjective, that not everyone experiences life the same way.
And my creative self smiles back, whispering, “Still… isn’t it beautiful that you try?”

One thing most people don’t know about me - I have a fantasy-filled heart.
I live half in reality, half in wonder.
Like Alice in Wonderland, I love imagining the impossible - miracles, moments, emotions untouched by logic.

Perhaps that’s why I see romantic relationships as my favourite fantasy.
Not because they’re unreal - but because they hold the possibility of everything we long for: care, belonging, and warmth.
Sometimes, a single touch on the back says more than a hundred promises ever could.

And maybe… that’s what companionship truly is-
not about holding someone because they need you,
but holding them because you can’t imagine walking alone.

It’s not about being seen together,
but being known - deeply, quietly & endlessly.

And somewhere in that ordinary moment 
of two people, unknown to the world, yet everything to each other.

I wish to find my own little miracle.
The kind of love that doesn’t flaunt, doesn’t fade - just simply that stays with me. 

When Life Brings You to a Halt!

 
There are certain years in life that feel unbearably heavy — where challenges seem to pile up, and every day feels like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Such times leave scars, yes, but also carve lessons so deep that they never quite leave you.

I had one such year, a few years ago. A major surgery forced me into stillness. Suddenly, I had time — time I never asked for, but desperately needed. As I lay recovering, thoughts began layering themselves in my mind, one after another. Some were sharp realisations. Others were whispers that grew louder with every passing day.

Here are the ones that stayed with me:

Realisation #1 - The Body Always Warns Us.
Every ailment starts with small signs — a sneeze, a headache, unexplained fatigue. For women, it often intertwines with stress, cycles, and silent pressures that compound over time. As a single mother with a business to run and an ambitious entrepreneur, I brushed them aside until my body gave up on me. And then, it demanded to be heard. The truth is simple: if you don’t listen to your body, one day it will make you listen.

Realisation #2 - Pain Redefines Priorities.
When the body is in pain, nothing else matters. To-do lists, deadlines, plans — they all dissolve. All you crave is relief. Pain, in any form, has the power to humble us, to strip away illusions, and to remind us of the most basic desire: to simply be okay again.

Realisation #3 - True Friends Are Rare.
In crisis, less than 5% of the people you know will actually stand by you. Those who do, they’re not just friends — they’re your life companions. The rest? They’re characters passing through your story. I came across a line that captures this beautifully: “Give it and see, leave it and see. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it never was.”

Realisation #4 - Actions Speak Louder Than Words.
Not everyone who says they care, truly does. Real concern doesn’t always look like grand gestures; sometimes it’s a small, quiet presence that proves more powerful than words. Life’s hardest moments reveal the gap between intention and action.

Realisation #5 - The World Moves On.
This one stings the most. No matter your suffering, life outside doesn’t pause. People continue with their routines, and the world spins at its own pace. The sooner we accept this truth, the lighter our hearts become. Acceptance doesn’t make pain vanish, but it does make it easier to carry.

That year left its marks, but also its gifts. Today, I carry these lessons not as scars, but as reminders.

If there’s one thing I’d leave you with, it’s this:

Listen to your body, cherish the rare few who truly stand by you, and remember — pain is temporary, but the wisdom it brings can shape you for a lifetime.

When a Conversation Becomes a Connection!

We, the people, rush.

We rush through our days. We rush through our decisions. We rush past moments that matter.
We overlook the magic hidden in ordinary interactions.
We forget to see - really see - the people we meet.
Even if we do – We just browse through or brush away

I’ve done that too. Afterall, I’m part of “those people.”

But every now and then, life taps you on the shoulder.
And in one such unexpected moment, someone walked in, stayed for just two hours - and stayed in my life forever.

Isn’t that life’s strange paradox?
Some people are in your life for years yet leave no impression.
Others appear for a fleeting moment - and leave a mark that time cannot fade.

A Coffee, a Conversation, and Something More 

It was a bright morning in Bangalore - the kind where the sun filters gently through chaos. I was heading Human Resources at First American, and we were on the lookout for a Head of Learning & Development.

My colleague Toufiq, who led Talent Acquisition and was one of the blue-eyed boys in the team, forwarded me a profile. The resume looked promising. I decided to meet the candidate for an informal chat. No boardroom, no formality - just a conversation.

We chose Café Coffee Day at Wilson Garden. That CCD had a certain charm - tucked in just off a traffic - clogged road, yet oddly calm, like a quiet corner in a crowded mind.

She walked in, poised yet warm. We ordered our coffees, settled in - and dove into a conversation that flowed effortlessly. We spoke of work, leadership, vision, challenges, possibilities… but more than that, we simply connected. It didn’t feel like an interview. It felt like talking to someone you somehow already knew.

I’ve always believed that the best interviews aren’t really interviews.
They’re conversations without agendas. Meetings without masks.

And by the time I exited CCD that morning, I knew. She was the one. I wanted her to be part of our journey.

When Destiny Has Other Plans

But just when everything seemed aligned - resume, conversation, intention - life added its twist. After all, Mr. Destiny needs to play his superiority Right!!

She had to move out of Bangalore due to personal constraints.

And just like that, it ended before it began.

She politely informed us. We wished her well. And that was that.

Now, in most cases, you forget and move on. It’s just “an interview,” right?
But this one lingered. Not in a professional sense, but in a deeply human one.

We never worked together.
But we never lost each other either.

One Coffee. One Connection. One Constant.

A decade has passed. She’s still in Learning & Development. I’m still in the people business.
We live in different cities - Bangalore and Pune. Yet every time we speak, time disappears.

Our conversations have no agendas, no ticking clocks, no filters.

It’s rare, isn’t it? To meet someone who reflects your thoughts without mirroring them, who listens without judgement, who energizes you simply by being herself.

That’s what happened with Sunitha.

One meeting. One spontaneous coffee. And a friendship that outlasted job titles, companies, and cities.

Life’s Quiet Reminders

Sometimes, life doesn’t shout.
It whispers. Through people. Through moments we almost ignore.
It nudges us to slow down, to observe, to feel.
And once in a while, it gives you a gift - wrapped in nothing but conversation.

No fireworks. No declarations. Just two people who met as professionals and left as something far more enduring.

Have you ever met someone like that?
A passing connection that turned into a lifelong friendship?

If yes, maybe it’s time to call them.
And if not—maybe the next coffee you have with a stranger could be the beginning of something beautiful.

Happy Friendship Day!

 

Who Said People Don’t Care?

They say the world has changed.

That kindness is outdated. That empathy is on leave. That everyone is in it for themselves.

And some days, it’s hard to argue.

We see it in the sharp glances of strangers, the hurried silence of elevators, the cold efficiency of meetings, and even the unexpected distance of familiar faces.
Yes - some days it does feel like we’re all just passing each other, eyes down, hearts armored.

But is that the whole truth?

I’ve wrestled with this thought for a while. It’s not a clean yes or no.
Because I’ve also known eccentric behavior that bruised, and gentle gestures that healed.
There’s a strange paradox we live in - we crave connection, yet fear judgment; we want to give, but are wary of being taken for granted.

We hesitate to help those we know - because with familiarity comes expectation.
We run mental spreadsheets - 
What if they ask again?
What if they never stop?
Will I look weak for saying yes?
Or heartless for saying no?

But help a stranger? Oddly easier.
There’s no past as reference. No transaction to balance. No emotional invoice. 
Just a moment of pure, anonymous humanity.
No fear of being judged. No pressure to impress.
Just two people meeting briefly under the same sky.

And that brings me to Basavaraj.

It was a regular Sunday morning. I had ordered breakfast for my parents. Their home is little tricky to find on google maps like solving a riddle, so I called the Zomato delivery partner to guide him.
His name was Basavaraj.

He stayed patiently on the call, politely confirming each turn like a human GPS with empathy mode switched on.
I mentioned it was my parents’ place, and he carefully navigated through until he reached the gate and delivered the food.

Now, this wasn’t a life-changing event.

It was such a simple interaction - but something about the calm in his voice, the respect in his tone, and his unhurried patience in the middle of a rush hour truly moved me.
It’s gestures like these that deserve to be noticed.

After the delivery, I messaged him: “Thank you so much.”

His reply?

“For any help or any kind of emergency, call me, ma’am.”

I blinked at the screen. He didn’t know me. I didn’t know him. I probably wouldn’t even recognize him if he stood right in front of me. And yet, that message - short, sincere, and selfless - moved me more than many formal gestures ever have. 

In that moment, I realized something.
The world hasn’t lost kindness. We’ve just stopped noticing where it quietly lives.

It doesn’t always wear a cape.
Sometimes, it rides a scooter and delivers idli at 11am.

So, No! - People do care.
Not everyone. Not all the time. But enough.
Enough to remind you, on an otherwise unremarkable Sunday, that decency is still out there doing quiet work.

And maybe, that’s the point.

If strangers can show up with warmth and no strings attached, what’s stopping us - the ones with all the strings, the context, and the calendar invites?

Look, I know I tend to get all reflective about these things.
Life throws these moments at me, and before I know it, I’m philosophizing like a chai-sipping Socrates.

Sometimes I wish I could just move on, be that “Oh well, life happens” person.
But No! - Few minor incidents becomes a major internal TED Talk.
And suddenly, I’m narrating morals in my head like a part-time monk with a playlist.

Because truly - everyone carries a story.
And some of them hand you a line from it without even knowing.

So here’s my not-so-grand revolution:

Let’s not underestimate the ripple of a kind word.
Let’s not wait for the world to get its act together before we soften ours.
Let’s not dismiss the power of small acts - because they often echo louder than we think.

Kindness isn’t outdated.
It’s just underrated.

And maybe - just maybe - the world doesn’t need a million Basavaraj's.
It just needs you and me, showing up a little softer, a little less distracted, and a little more human than we were yesterday.

That’s how the world changes.
Not with spotlights.
But with small, unclaimed moments of kindness.

One idli delivery at a time.

The Days We Count!

 

When was the last time you counted the days?

Not in a calendar sense, not with red circles or reminders on your phone - but truly counted the days. Day one. Day two. Day three. Waiting. Watching. Wanting something to begin… or something to end.

I recently asked a friend recovering from surgery the same question.
He paused and said, “I don’t even remember.”

So, I asked myself:
When was the last time I counted the days?

It was as if two parts of my mind were summoned into a quiet conference. One - the emotional, the heart - that stores life’s moments like pressed flowers in a diary. And the other - the rational, the analyst - that dissects and categorizes life like a spreadsheet.

Both answered. 

My emotional self took the lead. It didn’t hesitate. The memory arrived like a wave that doesn’t knock - it floods.
It was June 2022.

I remember counting down not for something to arrive, but for something to be over.
My mother had just suffered a stroke. The world didn’t just shift - it collapsed inward. That moment is etched into me like a scar you don’t see, but always feel.
I remember freezing. I remember wanting out of that reality. Each day that followed felt like climbing a staircase with no end. Six days of swirling fear, helpless prayers, and the piercing  silence of hospital corridors amidst of total chaos. 

I counted those days like someone drowning counts for air.

And yet, in that fog of uncertainty, hands reached out to hold mine.
Voices whispered, “I’m here.” People I didn’t expect showed up.
Some who I thought would - didn’t.
They say crisis reveals character. It also reveals company.

Even now, I’m grateful to the unseen power that heard my cries in the silence. And to the people who stood beside me - not with grand gestures, but with quiet presence. I learned, in those six days, what truly matters.

Then, my rational mind chimed in again.

It reminded me, we also count days when something beautiful is on the horizon.

A meaningful conversation you've been waiting to have
The relief of completing something you once thought challenging enough!
The peace of stepping away from chaos into calm
That quiet moment when your efforts finally feel seen
Or simply, a day that doesn’t begin with dread

Those are the countdowns of joy—we anticipate them with giddy excitement. We don’t want to “get through” those days, we want to race toward them. We lean into them like sunflowers chasing sunlight.

And then, it hit me.

There are two kinds of countdowns in life:

• The ones we want to escape.

• And the ones we can’t wait to embrace.

One is born from pain. The other from purpose.
One is survival. The other - celebration.

But both remind us of one powerful truth:
We are alive.
We are feeling.
We are in motion.

So what if…!

What if we could fill our lives with more “I can’t wait for it!” moments?
What if, instead of just surviving some days, we deliberately designed days we could savor in anticipation?

What if we built a life where the emotional and rational parts of us both smiled at the calendar - not with dread, but with delight?

Because when we look back, life won’t be measured by the years we lived, but by the days we counted.

So here’s to creating more countdowns worth the wait.

Not just ones we wish to end, but ones we wake up for - with wide eyes and a racing heart.

What are you counting down to today?

More importantly - 
Are you running away from it, or running towards it?