Where Is My Safe Place?

Losing a father changes something fundamental inside us. Three months is not a long time in grief. Grief doesn’t move in a straight line. Some days you function. Some days it crashes over you like a wave. Both are normal. When we resist grief, it tightens. When we allow it, it softens slowly. Love does not end with death. Grief becomes lighter when we realize we are not losing the bond — only the physical presence.

Three-month mark is often harder

The shock fades. Reality settles in. Others stop checking in. You are expected to “be normal.”  This is actually when grief can intensify.

You don’t need to solve grief. You just need to survive it kindly. Your inner child lost her father.

Poem inked from......soul of a daughter who lost her father… From the woman standing in uncertain water....From the soul asking quietly — where do I belong now?

Where Is My Safe Place?

Where is my safe place now that the door I ran to does not open anymore?

Where is the house where silence felt warm and my name sounded protected?

The walls still stand somewhere, but the heartbeat inside them is gone. And without him, even memory feels rented.

I walk forward — cook, speak, smile, function — but inside I am still sitting beside him, waiting for his voice to say, “Don’t worry. I am here.”

Where is my safe place when the world feels conditional, and love sometimes comes with raised voices and fragile ground?

Where do daughters go when fathers leave without teaching them how to live in a world that feels louder than their courage?

I search in rooms. In people. In routines. In prayers.

But safety is no longer a place. It is a memory.

And maybe — just maybe — it must now become me.

Maybe my safe place is not a house, not a person, not a promise.

Maybe it is the quiet strength he left in my bones.

Maybe it is the way I still stand even while breaking.

Maybe it is the whisper inside my trembling chest that says —

“You are not abandoned. You are becoming.”

So I gather my scattered pieces, sit with my loneliness, and build — slowly — a room within myself where his love still lives.

And there, in that unseen space, I begin to feel held again.

– Juju’s Pearls

Because even in loss, a daughter learns to become her own shelter.

Letters I Write in My Head

Letters I Write in My Head: A Mother to Her Son

10 Life Lessons I Want My College-Going Son to Carry Forward

The day my son stepped into college, I realised something quietly profound: parenting is not about holding on forever, but about letting go with values packed neatly in the heart. As mothers, we often teach through reminders, worries, and food—but beneath it all lies fierce love and silent prayers. These are the lessons I hope my son carries with him into adulthood.

Lesson 1: Who You Are Will Speak Before You Do

Long before anyone asks what you study or earn, they will notice how you treat people who can do nothing for you. Carry yourself gently. Character is not taught in classrooms; it is revealed in small, unguarded moments.

Lesson 2: Freedom Is a Skill You Must Learn

Living away from home will feel intoxicating at first. But freedom without discipline quickly becomes chaos. Learn to plan your days, respect your limits, and clean up your own messes—literal and emotional.

Lesson 3: Falling Is Allowed. Staying Down Is Not

You will make mistakes I cannot prevent. That is not failure; that is growing. Our home does not measure worth by uninterrupted success, but by the courage to begin again without bitterness.

Lesson 4: Your Lesson in Respect - Is Your Sibling.

Before the world teaches you how to treat mankind especially women, you learned it at home. Listen to your sibling even when you disagree. Let their opinions matter. Your masculinity does not diminish when you make space for their voice—it matures.

Lesson 5: One Day, Your Sibling Will Be Your Strongest Constant

Life will scatter friendships and change addresses, but your sibling will remember your shared childhood even when the world forgets you. Protect that bond. Time is kind to siblings who stay kind to each other.

Lesson 6: Choose Companionship Over Crowd Approval

Not everyone who sits beside you belongs beside you. Walk with people who encourage honesty, effort, and empathy. Loneliness with integrity is better than company that hollows you out.

Lesson 7: Strength Is the Ability to Speak When It’s Hard

You do not have to carry everything silently. Confusion, fear, and exhaustion do not make you weak—they make you human. Reach out. Strong men build bridges, not walls.

Lesson 8: Learn to Care for Yourself Before You Promise to Care for Others

Cook simple meals. Wash your clothes. Budget your money. Independence is not a gendered virtue; it is basic adulthood. The man who can manage his life brings peace into others’ lives.

Lesson 9: Achievement Means Little Without Anchors

Ambition will push you forward; relationships will hold you steady. Stay connected to your sister, your family, your roots. Success feels lighter when shared.

Lesson 10: You Will Always Have a Place to Return To

Go chase the life you imagine. Change, grow, stumble. But remember—there is a home that does not demand explanations, a father whose pride is not conditional, a sister who knows your past, and a mother whose heart beats for you, prays for you.

“You chose me to be your mother, and I am proud of you every single moment.”

Love Maa!

10 Lessons I’d tell My Daughter

10 Lessons I’d tell My Daughter (From a Mother Who’s Lived a Little)

My dear daughter,
I may not have done everything right. But I have lived—and life has been my most demanding teacher.

If I could pause time and speak to you not as a mother who must know everything, but as a woman who has learned slowly, honestly, here is what I would tell you.

1. Never make yourself small to make others comfortable.

Love should never require you to shrink. The world has enough space—take up yours.

2. Your worth is not measured by how much you sacrifice.

Giving is beautiful. Disappearing is not. Choose balance, not burnout.

3. Speak up—even when your voice shakes.

Silence may keep the peace, but it steals your truth. Your voice deserves to be heard.

4. Choose health early, not as an afterthought.

Rest is not laziness. Sleep is not indulgence. Your body is the only home you will ever truly own.

5. Marriage is a partnership, not a rescue mission.

Love should walk beside you, not ahead of you. Never confuse control with care.

6. Don’t live your life to please society.

“Log Kya change” has ended more dreams than failure ever has.

7. Learn to ask for help without guilt.

Strength is not doing everything alone. Strength is knowing when to lean.

8. Be kind to yourself on the days you fall short.

Perfection is exhausting. Grace is powerful. Choose grace.

9. Protect your childhood—and your children’s.

This is the lesson I learned late. Some truths are too heavy for a child

This is the lesson that aches the most.

In my effort to be honest, I shared my battles with you—my disappointments, my hurts, my unresolved relationships—without realizing that a child is not meant to carry a parent’s emotional weight.

What I thought was openness quietly became a burden.

In speaking my pain aloud, I may have seeded unhappiness, colored a few relationships, and taken away a part of your carefree childhood.

Children need safety more than truth.
Light more than layers.
Joy more than justification.

Whenever, you become a mother, remember this:
heal before you share.

10. Remember: it is never too late to begin again

If I learned this late, you don’t have to. And if you forget—remember, there is always time.

I didn’t know all this when I was your age.
But if knowing it now can make your path lighter, braver, freer—
then every mistake I made has meaning.

Walk gently.
Walk boldly.
And above all—walk as yourself.

 “You chose me to be your mother, and I am proud of you every single moment.”

Love Maa 

SEVEN -7 Phere# 7 lives

Saat Phere & Saat Janam: 

Why Love Begins by Walking Together? 

In a Hindu wedding, love doesn’t announce itself loudly. It begins quietly—by walking in circles around fire. 

The Saat Phere are the seven sacred rounds taken around Agni, the holy fire. They are not decorative rituals meant only for photographs. They are practical promises for real life—made not to an audience, but to a witness that cannot be fooled.

Part 1 : Seven Promises, One for Every day of Marriage

Each round represents a vow meant for ordinary days not extraordinary moments.

1) To nourish each other and the home 

2) To offer strength when one feels weak

3) To build prosperity with honesty and shared effort

4) To grow in wisdom, respect, and understanding 

5) To care for family together

6) To pray for health and time

7) And finally, to remain friends!

That last vow often goes unnoticed, yet it is the one that carries a marriage through decades. Romance may begin a relationship, but friendship sustains it.

Traditionally, the groom leads the first four rounds and the bride the last three—a subtle reminder that leadership in marriage is not fixed. It changes, depending on who needs to lead and who needs to hold space. 

The ritual is also called Saptapadi, Mangal pheras , or Saat Vachan. Different names, same meaning.  After the seventh step, the marriage is considered complete. In reality, that is where the real work begins.

Part 2 : Fire reminds us that relationships need tending. Ignore them, and they fade. Care for them, and they give warmth.

What the Fire Really Asks?

1) The sacred fire does not ask if you will always be happy? 

It asks if you will always be honest.

2) It does not promise ease; it demands endurance.

3) It does not romanticize permanence; it tests commitment.

 In circling Agni seven times, the couple learns an ancient truth: marriage is not a straight road. It is a return—again and again —to shared values, shared effort, shared becoming. And perhaps that is why love in this tradition is circular. 

Part 3 : Saat Janam: Love without an Exit Clause

 Saat Janam—seven lifetimes. To say Saat Janam ka rishta is to declare that this bond is not a coincidence of convenience, but a recognition across incarnations. 

A familiarity that precedes memory. It means choosing the same person again, even when it would be easier not to. 

In my experience, there are seven major challenges in every marriage which must be overcome to uphold the integrity of institution of marriage. Just like seven year itch or the famous saying, " A marriage which lasts for seven years, will last a lifetime.". These seven lives are the seven times when both partners let down their ego and return to each other in a more determined, mature and understanding way. 

A Personal Promise

At our wedding, we made a simple pledge that has stayed with me far longer than the ceremony itself: I call it NR pledge ( Neelesh Reemanshu)

 “We promised to rise in love—not fall in love.” 

 Because falling is easy. Rising takes effort. Falling is instinctive. Rising is intentional.

Perhaps that is what the Saat Phere, Agni and Saat Janam truly teach us. Marriage is not about dramatic declarations or flawless harmony. It is about returning—again and again—to shared values, shared effort, and shared growth.

That is why love here moves in circles. Because what truly matters is worth revisiting.

Because what is sacred must be revisited. And what is eternal never moves in a hurry. 

Love, 

Juju