The Making of Confidence: One Chore at a Time

I was inching my way through the ever-bustling Bangalore traffic, lost in the chaotic rhythm of honks and halts, when a podcast gently playing in the background mentioned the name “Smriti.”

And just like that, I was transported — not to the podcast’s story, but to a quiet classroom from years ago, where a 12th-grade girl named Smriti once sat. Fragile in spirit, painfully self-aware, and wrapped in the silence of low self-worth. She was the eldest child, overprotected and rarely allowed to step out into the world on her own. Her voice often trembled when she spoke, as if she had to cross an invisible wall of fear each time she opened her mouth.

But buried beneath that hesitation, there was a soft yet undeniable thirst — a thirst to grow, to break free, to become someone beyond her timidity. And that’s something people who’ve always been bold can never fully grasp. Confidence, to them, is a given. For someone like Smriti, it’s a mountain.

Just then, as I stood at a red light watching the countdown tick away, a small boy — maybe ten — dashed across the zebra crossing. A flash of childhood courage. And another flash of memory. Smriti used to be dropped off to my classes every day, even though she lived barely a kilometre away. Her father, cautious and protective, couldn’t imagine letting her walk alone.

I remember telling him, gently but firmly, “Let her try. Let her learn.”
But he replied, “There’s too much traffic. I’d rather be sure she’s safe.”

I didn’t push. After all, you can only take the horse to the water — drinking is a choice born of readiness.

But that image stayed with me — a father afraid, a daughter caught in cotton wool, and a childhood that never stepped out into the world.

And then I started noticing something. A pattern. A quiet truth that no textbook teaches:

• The ones who became confident early had to live life early — either by parental design or by circumstance.
• They had tougher days, sometimes not out of trauma, but out of necessity.
• They were involved — in chores, in errands, in daily decisions.
• They were asked to do things on their own. They were trusted with little responsibilities that later became the bedrock of belief in self.

Isn’t that how strength begins? Not in loud applause, but in small, silent wins.

When I visit rural schools, I often meet teenagers who carry themselves with surprising surety. Not polished, not fluent in English perhaps, but undeniably rooted. They help their parents in the fields, take care of siblings, know how to budget small amounts of money. Their lives don't give them the luxury of being protected.

And I wonder: Are they confident?
Yes. In many ways, far more than their urban counterparts.
They may hesitate in front of outsiders, maybe shy away from a crowd. But talk to them — in their language, in their space — and they shine. They know how to handle life. Because they’ve been handling it.

Government school children are the same — sit with them in their comfort zone, and their talent pours out like an unsung melody. It’s not lack of confidence — it’s often just unfamiliarity with the environment.

This thought sat with me until curiosity took over. I turned to research — and like a friend of mine always says, “If you’ve thought of it, ten thousand others have too.”

Harvard’s research confirmed it: children who are entrusted with chores, who are made responsible for tasks, grow up feeling capable. And when you feel capable, you begin to believe in yourself. That belief becomes esteem. That esteem builds confidence.

How simple!. How profound!.

Confidence is not a coat you wear — it is skin that thickens over time.

Not everyone needs to fight a battle to become brave. But we all need to do — to try, to fall, to fail, to succeed, to repeat. It’s not about shouting “I can do it!” from the rooftop. It’s about quietly telling yourself, Let me try. Let me try once again.

We often search for confidence in the wrong places — in applause, in image, in validation.

But maybe… confidence is born in smaller, quieter things — like walking alone to class for the first time. Like doing the dishes without being told. Like making a mistake and knowing the world didn’t end.

If you ask me today where confidence begins, I’ll say —
It begins at home, with a chore.
With a choice.
With the chance to try.

And if you're ever wondering whether to let someone "do it on their own," maybe the better question is —
"What will they believe about themselves if they do?"

That belief is the true beginning of self-confidence. One step at a time.

 

It’s Nothing… And Yet Everything

This morning unfolded in a way I hadn’t planned, but I’ll carry it with me for a long time I guess!

My dad and I had stepped out early on an errand. On our way back, we stopped at Brahmin’s Cafe in Hanumanthanagar — that modest, bustling place where the aroma of fresh filter coffee and piping hot idlis feels like home.

We had our breakfast, as Dad waited inside for our parcel , I stood quietly near the entrance sipping coffee, just watching the world pass by — the rhythm of life on the street, people rushing, pausing, chatting, honking, living.

Then I saw him.  

An old man walked slowly, almost painfully, with a walking stick. He wore a tucked-in faded brown shirt, slightly darker trousers, and carried a worn-out bag — fragile, pale, and almost invisible in the crowd.

Beside him walked another man — mid-40s perhaps — in a navy-blue T-shirt, holding a plastic bag with mangoes. He was gently speaking to the old man, almost as if he knew how to speak to silence.

They moved barely a metre before the younger man helped him sit on a small steel stool near the entrance. He walked inside, and as he passed by me, I smiled and said softly,

“I’m proud of you.”

He smiled back humbly and said,

“It’s nothing. He’s old… I just offered him some coffee.”

That sentence stayed with me.

A few moments later, he came out again holding a steaming hot cup of coffee, handed it to the old man, and they shared a few words — words that clearly meant more than they sounded.

Then he came back in and said to me,

“He hasn’t had anything since morning.”

I instinctively responded,

“May I join hands? I’ll get him something to eat.”

He hesitated with kindness,

“That’s okay. It’s nothing.”

I smiled back and said,

“Exactly — it’s nothing. You gave him coffee, I’ll get him breakfast.”

He nodded gently and said,

“Just two idlis… he wants it parcelled.”

I walked to the counter, paid for the food, and handed him the coupon. He looked at me warmly,

“Thank you. Are you from here?”

“Yes,” I replied, “Bangalore.”
He introduced himself — Anand from Mumbai, visiting his brother nearby.

I told him my name, introduced my dad, who was quietly watching the scene unfold from a distance — perhaps wondering how two strangers suddenly seemed like old acquaintances.

As I walked back to where Dad stood, the sights around me felt different — like I had suddenly become part of the city’s heartbeat. I noticed people sitting on the steps — a couple laughing over coffee, someone deeply immersed in a call, another quietly finishing a dosa, and our old man, now trying to chat with an elderly woman beside him. It felt like…

The world operates on its own frequency — invisible, yet beautifully orchestrated.

In a tiny pocket of time, three strangers — who never knew each other before and may never meet again — created something ordinary, yet extraordinary.
One got to eat, two got to give.
And in that moment, everyone was full — not just stomachs, but hearts.

As we walked back to the car, my dad asked me,

“Who was that? Do you know him?”

I smiled and said,

“No. I don’t know him.”

He was puzzled,

“Then why did you speak to him? Why did you get food for that old man?”

I laughed and replied,

“He gave coffee. I just gave breakfast. None of us know each other.”

He paused… and then smiled.
A simple, proud smile that only a father can give — the kind that says “I saw you.”

As we sat in the car, I turned to him and said,

“You know Dad, Mom taught me something long ago. She always says — ‘Whenever you feel like you can help someone, don’t overthink. If it doesn’t hurt you to give, then give it immediately. Because the window to serve is small — and sacred.’”

What I did today? It was just a small echo of her wisdom.

💭 And here’s what stayed with me:

Kindness is rarely about the big gestures. It’s in the tiny moments, when no one is watching, no spotlight shines, and no applause follows.
It looks like “nothing.”
But to someone else… it might mean everything.

When One Missed Call Becomes a Verdict

Some friendships don’t break with betrayal. 
They don’t end with conflict.
Sometimes, they simply wither under the weight of one unexamined belief.

Decades of friendship. Laughter. Loyalty. Conversations. Silence.
And then one missed call.

There was a day—one I don’t even remember clearly - when, he says, I didn’t answer his call. And perhaps I didn’t. Life may have caught me off guard, and I might have had my own reasons, though none of them were meant to hurt. I vaguely recall that he was scheduled for surgery the following week, and I had every intention of meeting him before that. It was raining heavily that day, and amidst personal priorities and a rushing mind, I just couldn’t make it. I wish I remembered the exact sequence better. But what I do remember - with complete clarity - is everything I did afterward.

I called. Many times.
I sent messages. Wishes. Voice notes.
Not out of guilt, not out of compulsion—but out of care.

No response.

Yesterday, after all this time, I saw him. I smiled, and I spoke.
He didn’t.


His words cut—not because they were loud, but because they were laced with cold conviction.

“If someone doesn’t answer my call, I feel ignored. And if I feel ignored, I hate them. That’s how I am. That’s my discipline.”

I stood there, holding silence in one hand and reason in the other.
I asked gently, “What about the calls I made? The messages I sent after?”
There was no answer. Only more righteousness.
As the decision had already been made.
And one missed call was enough to erase eighteen years.

Later during the evening, I settled and started thinking of the ‘Birthplace of Stupidity’ & ‘Emotional Absolutism’.

There’s a kind of foolishness that doesn’t shout.
It hides behind labels like discipline, principle, self-respect.
It doesn’t examine. It just concludes.

This is what I call emotional absolutism - a rigid belief system where a single incident becomes the full story.
Where one missed moment of imperfection becomes a verdict.

In such minds, there is no room for grace. No elasticity of thought.
Only binary definitions - 
Answer me or you don’t care.
Miss my call, and you’re out.
Fall short once, and you’re unworthy.

They don’t question why they feel ignored and are they drooling under assumptions!
They don’t examine how their beliefs were formed!
They don’t revisit the memory with compassion.!
They simply rationalize their withdrawal—and call it discipline.

A positive label of discipline to protect their ego, to avoid admitting they might be wrong or overly sensitive, to feel powerful is indeed a rationalized rigidity.

I wondered why people choose this route when there are so many easy ones –

Because it’s easier to hate than to hurt.
It’s easier to hold a grudge than to hold a conversation.
It’s easier to rewrite the story than to face vulnerability.

And perhaps, for many, it’s a hidden ego defense: If I pretend, I don't care, I won't feel the ache of being cared for imperfectly.
If I reject first, I won't feel the sting of perceived rejection.

So instead of repairing, they retreat.
Instead of letting go, they form phony rules.
Instead of reconnecting, they redraw boundaries—on paper that once held deep trust.

When One Incident Becomes Everything - It’s precarious! - this tendency to let one moment, one missed call, one forgotten word, one argument, one misunderstanding, define the depth of a relationship.

I can quote many instances where in - 

·         A friend stops talking over a misunderstood message.

·         A partner walks away after one argument.

·         A parent condemns a child over one mistake.

All because someone made their hurt a law, and expected the world to obey.

They forget—relationships are not courtrooms.
They are not places for judgments or penalties.
They are living, breathing entities—where imperfection isn’t just inevitable, it’s essential.

The Lesson I’ve Learnt - There would always be a hidden face of an individual which you will get to know one day. 

I don’t chase. I don’t compel.
I don’t demand to be heard.
Because any relationship that needs to be persuaded - is already gasping.

But I do believe in sorting things out.
I believe in grace, in the benefit of doubt, in mature conversations.
I believe in second chances, when the foundation is strong.

Yet, I’ve learned a deeper truth: You can’t reason with someone so consumed by their own narrative - so fixated on being right—that they’ve gone blind to everything else. When a person is emotionally invested in their version of the story, even truth becomes unwelcome. They’ll ignore facts, dismiss intentions, and sacrifice connection - all just to protect the fragile illusion of being justified. Even if it costs them their peace, their relationships, even their own dignity - they’d rather hold onto blame than face balance.

You can’t force growth in someone who worships their own beliefs more than shared humanity.
And you can’t sustain a bond where ego becomes the gatekeeper.

A Note to all who is reading this -

The next time someone misses your call or they missed to call back — pause!
Next time when some one did not reply in line with your expectations - hold on!
Ask yourself: Am I judging years by just one day and an incident?
Am I letting one moment erase a history of care and shared values?

And if you’ve been on the receiving end of such treatment - let this remind you:

Their silence says more about their wounds than your worth.

“Some people don't grow cold because they were ignored. They grow cold because they confuse discipline with emotional absolutism. And that is not strength - it is simply unhealed hurt trying to look powerful.”

Forgive, if you must. Walk away, if you must.
But never let someone else’s narrow lens shrink your heart or your perspective.

Because maturity lies not in perfection, but in the ability to examine, expand, and empathize. 

Love, Choice, and the Spaces Between: A Personal Reflection on Ayn Rand’s Philosophy

Have you ever met someone and instantly felt at ease, as if their energy somehow matched your wavelength? You may not talk to them often, but when you do, you pick up right where you left off—effortless, honest and real.

For me, that person is Prema. A cousin of a friend I met over a decade ago, Prema is—quite fittingly—a prem ki murti in my eyes. We somehow skipped the small talk stage and dove straight into deep waters of life, purpose, emotions, and on one particular day—Ayn Rand.

Our conversation that evening began with Carl Jung and spiraled beautifully into Rand’s bold, structured take on love, sex, and marriage. With her characteristic calm, Prema summarized Rand’s philosophy in her own words

Pride for self—for who and what you are.
Admiration for the other—for the sum total of who they are.
When this is mutual—that is love.
Sex is a celebration of that love—
A selfish, rational pursuit.
Love or marriage should be where
Independence is equal,
Dependence is mutual,
And obligation is reciprocal.

Those words lingered with me. At first, I parked them in the backseat of my mind—there were a hundred things on my plate. But when Prema gently reminded me to share my thoughts the next day, I paused, sat in my porch, and truly thought about it.

When my ideals met my experience

Love. Sex. Marriage.
Three words that once felt like fairy tales to a younger me. Back then, I was Alice in a wonderland of idealism—enchanted by the idea of forever love. But life has a way of turning your fairytales into philosophy. As I met people, saw relationships unfold and fall apart, counselled broken hearts and confused minds—I realized: these words aren’t synonyms. They are different journeys, sometimes crossing paths, often not.

And yet, somewhere in that chaos, Rand’s framework struck a chord. Not because I agreed entirely—but because it invited me to define my own truth.

Self-Esteem: Its been a 'Quiet Rebellion' for me!

In my early twenties, I believed love meant blending in—being agreeable, pleasing, adjusting. But here’s what I know now: you can’t pour from an empty cup. Real love begins with self-worth.

It wasn’t a loud revolution. It was a quiet rebellion. I stopped asking, “Am I enough for someone?” and started asking, “Am I enough for me?”

That simple shift changed everything. It redefined how I connected, how I gave, and more importantly—how I protected my own peace.

Love as Action, Not Emotion!
My definition is - Seeing is believing. 

I once had a friend—he felt more than I did. Life took us in different directions. Years passed. And one afternoon, we met for coffee. He walked me in, stepping to my right so I was safe on the footpath. He remembered my favorite milkshake. Ordered the snack I always loved.

Not because we are still close.
But because he once cared enough to remember.

That, to me, is love.
Not a dramatic gesture. Not a grand confession.
But a lingering action that outlives emotion.
Love doesn’t always speak—it shows. Its a more a verb for me than a state of amygdala!

Sex: Two People, Two Realities - Challenging, but that's the truth!

As a counsellor, I’ve seen how often relationships crumble over unspoken differences—and one of the most misunderstood areas is sex.

She once told me she felt used.
He, on the other hand, felt he was expressing love.
Neither was wrong. They were just speaking different emotional languages.

For a woman, sex often comes with layers—emotion, safety, vulnerability, trust.
For a man, it may begin with biology, but that doesn’t mean it lacks depth.

The issue isn't the difference which isnt a flaw, its a fact!
The issue is the silence about the difference.

Modern relationships falter here—not because we feel differently, but because we assume the other shouldn’t. The bridge between bodies is not physical. It’s emotional intelligence.

Marriage: The Everyday Choice

I’ve watched my parents—their little fights, their big let-gos. Quiet disagreements. Loud laughter. Annoyances that lasted minutes, loyalty that lasted decades.

Marriage, as I’ve seen, isn’t about gazing into each other’s eyes to forget the world. It’s about standing shoulder to shoulder and saying, “Let’s face the world together.”

Not a contract. Not a duty. Not perpetual

To me, marriage is this:
A daily recommitment to say,
“You’re my choice. I stand by it.”
Today. Tomorrow. Again. And again.

Where's the meeting point then?

Ayn Rand gave me a structure. Prema gave it a soul.
Life gave me the in-betweens—those grey spaces where real love resides.

So here’s what I’ve come to believe:

Love isn’t just admiration.
It’s understanding. It’s showing up.
It’s needing each other without losing yourself.
It’s a presence you choose—daily.
Rand called it rational admiration.
I call it practice, presence, and choice.
And marriage?
It’s not a fairytale.
It’s a legacy of small, consistent choices that say—
“You’re still the one. I still choose you.” 

Beyond the Surface-to-Braving the Depths: My dive into the unknown

As I saw the vast ocean, turquoise waters my heart started beating heavily. They asked me to sign with the name and time in. I had an emotional hijack from hindsight, but forebrain was pampering me to say – you wanted to do this!

Stepping into water doesn’t matter until you know you are going inside. Every step of mine the water level raised. I saw others engrossed getting trained hustling with breathing and learning sign language.

I felt a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. Here it was - the moment I had been dreaming about for years. For as long as I can remember, the thought of being submerged in water terrified me. Aquaphobia had kept me at bay for years, but today, I was determined to face it. My heart raced as I put on the scuba gear, each step feeling like a battle with my own fear.

My trainer(Thanks Abhinesh aka Abhi) was constantly reassuring that ‘I will do good’. But, unless there is an inner voice screaming at you to silence that fear, you can’t shut it up. For someone like me, with a deep fear of water, submerging my face beneath the surface felt like an impossible feat. It's more than just a physical act—it's a mental battle. The sensation of water closing in is suffocating, like the world is shrinking around you. It’s a big deal, a monumental leap.

When I took that first dip, the moment my face slipped beneath the surface, my entire body trembled with panic. The cool water surrounded me, and in an instant, it felt like the air had been stolen from my lungs. I gasped, trying to remember how to breathe, but fear gripped me so tightly that in just two seconds, I shot back up, heart racing, desperate for the comfort of air. The fear was real, raw, and overwhelming. As I broke the surface, gasping for air, I could feel the fear gripping me tightly. But then, I started speaking to myself—You really want to do this. This is on your bucket list. I didn’t come all this way just to be scared and give up. I wasn’t going to let fear win. Deep down, I knew I wanted to experience the magic I’d only ever seen in documentaries—the colourful coral, the graceful sea creatures, the beauty of the underwater world. This was my chance to see it for real, and I wasn’t ready to leave without that moment.

The moment you make the decision not to give up, things start to change. It’s like a switch flip inside you, and that decision becomes the first step in breaking free from that fear that has been gripping you. It's that split second when determination outweighs doubt, and suddenly, the thing that once paralyzed you starts to feel a little more manageable. One step at a time.

Today as I am sitting here charting my experience, all I am feeling is - Once your inner voice starts speaking, something remarkable happens—everything else goes quiet. The noise of doubt, fear, and hesitation fades into the background. That steady, determined voice inside becomes louder, clearer, and more focused. It drowns out the chaos, silences the anxiety, and reminds you why you’re here, pushing forward. In that moment, it’s just you and your resolve—nothing else matters. It’s so true for all other phases of life.

As my trainer signalled, I took a deep breath through my regulator. With one gentle push, I found myself sinking into an unseen world. The world above was fading away. But instead of panic, there was a strange sense of calm. The water embraced me in cool silence. For the first time, I wasn’t fighting the water—I was flowing with it.

The water was an enchanting turquoise blue, so clear it felt like stepping into a dream. Small schools of fish danced around me, but one caught my eye—a beautiful white fish with a striking yellow streak. It moved with such grace, mesmerizing me completely. In that moment, I was captivated by the beauty around me, all while focusing on taking deep, steady breaths. The pressure in my ears grew uncomfortable, but I discovered something simple—a quick press of a button, and just like that, everything reset. It's funny how things that seem challenging at first can become easy when you're open to finding solutions.

The coral formations stretched out like underwater gardens—branches of corals shaped like bushes, sponges with a soft, almost tempting texture. I had to remind myself—respect the territory. My trainer’s presence was reassuring, always checking on my comfort with the water. I clung to his hand, a small anchor in this vast, unfamiliar world, and every moment felt breathtaking. Nothing around me resembled life on land. How could something be so otherworldly, so strikingly beautiful?

I started to wonder—if just a few meters of the ocean looked this vibrant, what mysteries and wonders must lie in the deep, unexplored waters?       

With each breath, I could feel my fear slipping away. The marine life around me—the butterflyfish, the yellow tang, the delicate sponges, the vibrant barrier reefs—they pulled me in completely. Every direction I turned offered something new with the sandy floor below. I was so captivated by the world unfolding before me that I forgot I was even underwater, the very place I had once feared. It was as if my mind had been rewired to appreciate every detail, every color, every creature.

At one point, the pressure in my ears broke my trance, but it didn’t matter. I signalled to the diver with the camera, trying to express with my hands what my words couldn’t convey—this was magnificent. My trainer reassured me, and I knew everything was just fine. A thousand words wouldn’t do justice to this experience. If this is only 5% of the ocean we’ve discovered, what secrets must the other 95% hold? I couldn't stop thinking about it.

In that world, nothing else existed—just me, the water, and its inhabitants. It felt like we were three musketeers—water, sea life, and me. It sounds almost silly now, thinking back to how petrified I was before the dive, and yet minutes later, I felt like we were the best of friends.

I had no sense of time down there. Every second felt weightless, like I was suspended in a different world. I wanted to stay longer, to immerse myself a little more in this surreal beauty. When something truly captures your soul, time ceases to exist. It’s a sign that you’ve just lived an unforgettable experience, where minutes dissolve into moments, and moments become memories you’ll hold onto forever.

Emerging back to the surface was like waking from a dream. The horizon stretched endlessly, and as I pulled off my mask and regulator, the cool breeze on my face was a reminder that I’d just witnessed something extraordinary. Suddenly, the sky above seemed less fascinating, and the land beneath my feet felt… ordinary. I found myself shouting in triumph, like a warrior who had just won her greatest battle. Maybe I wasn’t just a diver anymore—I was a queen, having conquered both the ocean and my own fears.

To those who don’t know how to swim—trust me, it doesn’t matter.
To those still on the fence, wondering if you should try it—just close your eyes and dive in.
To the adventurers out there—what are you waiting for?
And to my fellow aquaphobics—you must go for it. This isn’t just about witnessing something new, it’s about reclaiming power over what once held you back.

The greatest lesson the ocean taught me: Don’t fight the water—flow with it. It’s a lesson not just for diving, but for life itself.

So, if you’re thinking of trying scuba diving, trust me, it’s more than an adventure. It’s a doorway to a whole new perspective, a way to experience the world in a way you never imagined.

Retrouvaille - Experiencing joy of rediscovery.

Have you heard of the word called "retrouvaille". 

Most of us would not have heard though.

Retrouvaille means 'The joy of meeting of finding someone again after a long separation; a kind of rediscovery.

 

I am going through and experiencing retrouvaille. 😊

It’s been 24 hours that I spoke to one of my childhood friend. Just visualize if you are speaking to someone beloved after nearly three decades ~ 30 years. And the emotional delight and fervent fondness wasn’t just in speaking, it was in discovering that the frequency remains the same, the maturity of 30 years of growth is in sync and the ecstasy of warmth is amplified and is playing in perfect harmony.  

Distance has never killed the connection. The time gap has not slayed the correlation. No interaction has not slaughtered the tenderness of our friendship.

It was in early 1991 that I moved out of my elementary school to high school and that was the last time I saw her. We never had phones as what is today, nor emails to be in contact. Things moved on and indeed we did not even realize that we should be in touch. Seems like - what is networking today is got introduced only because of technology and commercialization.

 

Innocent days, Virtuous thought process, pure souls, naïve lifestyle and clear skies above.

We had spent hours together at school. Probably we never understood the word ‘future’ then.

We never knew the definition of the word called ‘Challenge’. All we might have thought was only of the gigantic word called ‘exam’ and ‘tests’. I am sure that it wasn’t as tense setting as today.  What is called ‘responsibility’ today was unstated then.  

 

I still remember that we had played a skit which went ultra-popular and we were told to play and present it multiple times on various platforms. And we were only two of us who played. There was this science day where we did experiments together.  There were days where I went to her home to collect notes if I was absent from school. There was a day where I lost my way to reach her place, and the next consecutive time, she picked me up from a place to take me, and from then on, her home was easy to access. Even today, she might not stay in the same building and road though, but I purposely go in front of her place just to experience that I was once there. Call it nostalgic, sentimental, or yearning.. the sensation is relishing.

 

Currently, she stays in the western world and I am in the east, as we had a video call… I kept on gazing at her same bubbly face, the same affection being showered and I could not control few sparkles from my eyes and as they say – when you are overwhelmed, neither can you express in words nor in any form of language.

 

Language has barriers to express all that you feel. It was yet again that moment for me yesterday that I could not talk, express, or have a tête-à-tête. 😊

 

But, I am sure there is a reason why we are reunited. There is a reason why connexion got reconnected. And more so, with same symmetry.

 

Thank you, Anitha, for bringing in the momentous joy and taking me back to my childhood. Along with a few you predominantly stand out.

 

My heart spoke much more than my tongue.