The Weight Nobody Can Weigh

 

The Weight Nobody Can Weigh

There are some weights that a weighing scale cannot measure.

The weight of stress.
The weight of expectations.
The weight of constantly being there for everyone.
The weight of life quietly changing you.

For six or seven years, my body has been collecting some of that weight.

Once, I was fit. Healthy. Comfortable in my own skin.

Then life happened. Menopause happened. There were personal losses and change in few relationship and professional dynamics. 

And somewhere between surviving, adapting, caring, losing, rebuilding and simply putting one foot before the other, my body changed.

Now, sometimes, someone calls me fat.

My spouse.

My siblings.

Perhaps they say it casually. Perhaps they don't realise how deeply the word travels.

But it does.

It lands somewhere much deeper than the body.

I know I have gained weight.

I know I need to take better care of myself.

But I also know that motivation isn't always waiting around the corner.

Sometimes a woman isn't lacking discipline.

Sometimes she is exhausted.

Sometimes she doesn't need another lecture about calories.

Sometimes she needs a little kindness.

Because the woman you see today is not merely the body that became heavier.

She is the girl who once dreamed.

The woman who worked.

The daughter who cared.

The wife who gave.

The mother who nurtured.

The doctor who healed.

The writer who created worlds.

The human being who survived chapters nobody else completely read.

So yes, perhaps one day I will lose this weight.

But until then, please don't lose sight of me.

Because my body may have changed with the seasons of my life.

My soul is still mine.

And I am still so much more than the number on a weighing scale.

Love Juju ❤️ 

 

From Tom & Jerry to Pippa & Pogo

Perhaps every long marriage has its own cartoon phase.

Ours began somewhere between Tom & Jerry.

One chased.
The other escaped.
One got irritated.
The other irritated back.
There were arguments, misunderstandings, dramatic exits—and, somehow, the next morning, breakfast still happened.

That is marriage.

Not always romance.

Sometimes it is two people occupying the same kitchen while silently negotiating who is going to surrender first.

Over the years, though, something changes.

The fights may not disappear, but their meaning does.

You begin to realise that the person irritating you today is also the person who has witnessed your worst days, your strangest moods, your unfinished dreams and your ridiculous habits.

You have accumulated history.

And history has a strange way of turning irritation into familiarity.

Perhaps that is when Tom & Jerry slowly become Pippa & Pogo.

Pippa and Pogo are two slightly eccentric creatures who have stopped trying to win every argument.

They still annoy each other.

They still have different operating systems.

They still occasionally wonder, “How on earth did I end up living with this person?”

But there is affection underneath the irritation.

There is space for imperfection.

There is a quiet understanding that not every disagreement needs a winner.

After decades together, perhaps marriage is less about finding someone who never irritates you and more about finding a way to remain kind while being irritated.

The early years ask:

“Do you love me?”

The middle years ask:

“Can you please stop doing that?”

And the later years perhaps ask:

“Okay… this is who we are. Shall we have tea?”

Maybe that is growing old together.

From Tom & Jerry—

to Pippa & Pogo.

Still chasing.

Still teasing.

Still occasionally driving each other crazy.

But somehow…

still sitting on the same sofa.

May all marital relationships find their inspiration from cartoon world, like we did. 

Love Juju ❤️ 

“Small Holes in My Marital Ship”

 

The Small Holes in my Marital Ship

Living with your spouse for decades can sometimes feel like playing a video game.

Just when you think you have understood the rules, Level 7 suddenly appears.

And you realise—you never received the manual.

For years, I have lived with unpredictability.

Not necessarily the dramatic kind that makes for a movie. Something much quieter.

Meal timings that are never quite predictable.
A simple need that suddenly becomes an urgent need.
A small thing missed—a salad, perhaps—and an unexpectedly large reaction.

To someone watching from outside, these may sound ridiculously small.

“So what if the salad wasn't there?”

Exactly.

The salad isn't the problem.

The problem is the hundred little adjustments surrounding the salad.

Waiting because someone else's timing is more important.

Putting your own plans on hold.

Remembering things that perhaps shouldn't require remembering.

Learning to read moods.

Trying to prevent the next irritation.

And slowly, without realising it, becoming a person who is always on standby.

For years, I wondered whether I was making too much of these things.

After all, there was no single catastrophic event.

Just little things.

But recently I found a metaphor that made sense to me:

They are small holes in my marital ship.

One small hole doesn't sink a ship.

But keep making small holes for years, and the person inside the ship eventually gets tired of bailing out water.

Perhaps this is what many women experience but don't know how to articulate.

It isn't always about cruelty.
It isn't always about a “bad marriage.”
Sometimes it is simply about an unequal distribution of emotional adjustment.

One person's timetable becomes the household timetable.

One person's mood becomes everyone's weather.

One person's preferences quietly become everybody else's responsibility.

And the other person keeps saying:

“It's okay. It's a small thing.”

Until one day she realises that her life has been made up of thousands of small things.

I am learning something rather late in life:

Small does not mean insignificant.

And accommodating does not have to mean disappearing.

Perhaps the answer isn't to abandon the ship.

Perhaps it is to stop pretending that the holes aren't there.

Some need repairing.

Some need boundaries.

Some need a conversation.

And some simply need us to stop taking responsibility for every leak ourselves.

Because marriage should not require one person to spend her entire life standing with a bucket.

She deserves to sit on the deck too.

And perhaps, after all these years, I am learning to do exactly that.

Love Juju. 

Mumbai Times article

Article in Mumbai Times 

Do click on link, read and share. 

https://mumbaitimes.online/dreamboat-publishings-national-bestselling-author-dr-reemanshu-bansal-radiologist-by-day-author-by-night-storyteller-always/

VIBE MATCHING !

 This write up stems from our today JRC Juju's Reader Club monthly meet on September 2, 2026.

VIBE MATCHING !

The essence of like-minded people or “vibe matching” is not that two people think exactly alike. It is that their inner worlds feel compatible.

In simple terms: Like-mindedness is shared perspective.
Vibe matching is shared emotional frequency.

In simpler terms: Like-minded people think similarly.
Vibe-matched people feel similarly.

What does “vibe matching” actually mean? It is that effortless feeling of “You get me.” You don't have to explain every reaction, defend every emotion, or translate your sense of humour. There is a natural ease in being together. It can mean:

• Similar values — what matters to you both, feels important.
• Similar emotional wavelength — you respond to situations in ways that feel familiar.
• Compatible energy — one person's presence doesn't constantly drain the other.
• Shared curiosity — you enjoy talking about similar ideas, dreams and possibilities.
• Mutual respect for differences — you don't have to agree on everything to feel understood.
• Similar pace of life — one isn't constantly rushing while the other wants to pause.
• Emotional safety — you can be yourself without performing.
• Reciprocity — the interest, effort and affection don't feel one-sided.

And perhaps the most important distinction: Vibe matching is not sameness.

Two people can have completely different professions, personalities, backgrounds and opinions—and still have extraordinary chemistry. Because what matches may not be their lives. It may be their way of looking at life.

One may be quiet, the other expressive. One may be practical, the other dreamy. One may love crowds, the other solitude. Yet both may value kindness, freedom, honesty, humour and meaningful conversation. That's a match.

Some people enter your life and you have to explain yourself. With others, you simply exhale. You don't know them for years before feeling connected. Sometimes, within a few conversations, something inside you says: “Ah… my kind of people.” That is vibe.

Not necessarily agreement. Not necessarily similarity. Recognition. The feeling that your frequencies don't compete—they complement. And perhaps that is why we should stop asking only, “Do we have things in common?” and start asking, “How do I feel when I am around you?” Because sometimes the best relationships aren't with people who think like us. They are with people who make it safe for us to think, feel, laugh, dream and be completely ourselves.

That is vibe matching. Not finding your mirror. Finding your rhythm.

Find your tribe.
But don't let your tribe become your ceiling.-  Juju’s Pearls

Comfort gives you belonging. Challenge gives you growth. The right people give you both.

THE ALMIRAH REMEMBERS

 THE ALMIRAH REMEMBERS

There comes a strange day in a woman’s life when she opens her almirah not to choose what to wear… but to decide what to let go.

And suddenly, decluttering becomes an unexpected journey through time.

A saree you haven't worn in years. A blouse that belongs to a younger body.

A dupatta from a festival you barely remember. And then—the bangles. Red. Green. Pink.

Purple. Yellow. Blue. Every possible colour. Stacked together, still carrying the faint sound of the woman who once wore them. Then come the bindis. Bright little circles of colour that once sat proudly on your forehead. Hair clips. Ribbons. Scrunchies. Decorative pins. Tiny accessories you bought because they were pretty…because you were pretty…because you once had the time and inclination to fuss over yourself.

You hold them in your hand. And wonder—When did I stop wearing these? There was no announcement. No particular morning when you decided, “I am done with colours.” Life simply happened. Responsibilities happened. Children happened. Work happened. Age happened.

Somewhere along the way, bright bangles were replaced by a watch. Bindis became occasional.

Hair accessories became unnecessary. And the woman who once stood before the mirror deciding which colour matched her mood…began dressing according to what the day demanded.

So you make three piles: Keep. Donate. Discard.

But how do you put memories into piles? How do you throw away the little red bangles you wore on that special day? How do you discard a hair clip that has held your hair together through countless mornings? How do you donate a version of yourself? Perhaps that is why decluttering an almirah can make you unexpectedly emotional. You aren't really cleaning a cupboard.

You are clearing the shelves of your former selves.

The girl. The bride. The young mother. The working woman. The woman who tried so hard to be everything to everyone. And now… perhaps there is another woman standing quietly in front of the mirror. Older. Softer. Wiser. Less interested in matching everything. More interested in belonging to herself. 

So maybe I won't throw away every bangle. Maybe I'll keep a few colours.

Not because I will necessarily wear them again…but because I want to remember the woman who did. 

Because growing older shouldn't mean erasing who we were. It should mean making peace with every woman I have been. 

And perhaps one day, when I open that almirah again, I won't see things that have “gone.” I'll see evidence. Evidence that I laughed. Celebrated. Loved.

Dressed up. Dreamed. Raised children. Built a life. And became someone new.

The colours may have faded from my almirah. The bindis may have disappeared from my forehead. The bangles may no longer circle my wrists. But somewhere beneath all those layers of life…that colourful woman is still here. 

She was never lost.

She was simply waiting for me to find her again.

"Sometimes, decluttering isn't about throwing things away.
Sometimes, it's about discovering what—and who—you still want to keep."

                                   — Juju’s Pearls.

 

THE OPEN DOOR THEORY

 THE OPEN DOOR THEORY

What if the strongest relationships are the ones where the door is open—not just to leave, but to come home?

What if I told you that the secret to a lasting relationship is not holding on tighter…

but knowing that the door is open?

Sounds dangerous, doesn't it?

We have been taught that love means permanence. Stay no matter what. Adjust. Compromise. Forgive. Think of the family.

And somewhere between all these noble words, we sometimes forget to ask: “Am I still choosing this?”

The Open Door Theory is simple.

Imagine a relationship where the door is open. You can leave. So can I. No chains. No threats. No guilt. No “After everything I've done for you…”

And yet… we both choose to stay.

Now THAT is love.

Because there is a world of difference between: “I can't leave you.” And “I could leave you—but I don't want to.” One is dependence. The other is choice. One is fear. The other is love.

But perhaps there is another, softer meaning to an open door.

The door isn't only open for leaving. It is open for coming home.

Because even people who love each other deeply will fight. There will be misunderstandings. Words will sometimes be spoken in anger. Silences will stretch longer than they should.

Two tired people may hurt each other without intending to. And sometimes one person needs to walk away for a while—not from the relationship, but from the heat of the moment. The beauty of an open door is knowing:

You can take your time. You can breathe. You can calm down. You can find your words. And when you're ready… you can come home.

Not to a courtroom where the arguments are waiting. Not to a scoreboard counting who was right. But to an open heart. Because perhaps home is not the place where we never fight.

Home is the place where, after the fight, we still find our way back to each other.

An open door says:

“I may be angry with you, but I haven't stopped loving you.”

“I may not understand you today, but I am willing to try again tomorrow.”

“We may have broken the conversation, but we don't have to break the connection.”

And sometimes the most profound apology isn't a dramatic speech. It is simply: “Are you coming home?” And the most beautiful answer is: “Yes.”

An open door also means I don't have to disappear to keep you. I can have my own friends. My own dreams. My own opinions. My own silence. I can disagree with you without becoming your enemy. I can grow without making you feel threatened.

Love should give you roots without taking away your wings.

And perhaps this is where many  relationships quietly go wrong. The door closes—one small lock at a time.

Where were you? Who were you talking to? Why do you need this? Why can't you just be happy with what you have?

Eventually, control starts masquerading as concern. Possession starts masquerading as love.

And the relationship that once felt like home begins to feel like a room with no windows.

A relationship should be a safe place to stay—not a prison you are afraid to leave.

The Open Door Theory isn't an invitation to walk away. It is an invitation to look honestly at why you are staying and what kind of home you are creating for each other.  If fear disappeared… If guilt disappeared…If social expectations disappeared…

If the fear of being alone disappeared… Would you still choose the person beside you? And perhaps an even more beautiful question is:

After everything we've said and done to each other, can we still find our way home? Because real commitment isn't: “You have nowhere else to go.” Real commitment is: “You are free to leave. You are free to be yourself. You are free to disagree. And when life gets messy, you are still welcome home.”

So keep the door open. And keep the heart open too. Not because you are preparing to leave.

But because love needs both: the freedom to walk away…and the courage to come back.

Because at the end of the day, 

love is not about closing the door so someone cannot leave.

Love is about leaving the door open… and making home worth returning to— Juju’s Pearls

Some doors are meant to be opened. Some hearts are meant to remain open.