Monday, 8 December 2025
Sunday, 7 December 2025
When Time Changes: My Journey from Wedding Preparations to Farewell
I came home on a Saturday with one simple expectation: to celebrate.
My sister Anu’s wedding was supposed to happen a week later, and the house was already full of that warm, chaotic happiness that only families can create. Suitcases everywhere, sarees spread out on beds, uncles arguing about small things, aunties giving advice no one asked for—yet everything felt beautiful, because everyone was together.
I had no idea that in just a few days, time would show me how quickly it can turn.
How it can lift you up one moment, and break you silently in the next.
How joy and sorrow can sit in the same room without warning.
When I reached home, Amma—Shamala—my Momme, had her usual soft smile. Even though she was bedridden after fighting multiple brain tumours, multiple seizures and stokes for twenty long years, she still carried herself with quiet dignity. Her eyes, her presence, her silence… they always made me feel grounded. She taught me discipline, respect, and grace. Even during her illness, she carried a strength that I still cannot understand.
On Saturday, I thought we had more time.
On Tuesday, I learned that time doesn’t always wait.
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🌿 The House That Held Both Celebration and Silence
That weekend, our home felt alive.
Anu was busy choosing her jewellery. Daddy was pretending to be serious but secretly enjoying every moment. Laughter, arguments, memories—it all mixed together in a way that made me feel grateful.
And Amma was there in the middle of all of it, quietly watching us, almost like she knew something that we didn’t. She was peaceful, calm, and soft-spoken. I spoke to her, helped her, sat next to her, but I didn’t know those would be some of our last shared breaths at home.
Life doesn’t warn you.
Time doesn’t negotiate.
Moments don’t repeat.
By Tuesday morning, everything changed.
The same house that echoed with wedding preparations now echoed with cries.
When she took her last breath, my world felt still.
I had always known she was suffering, but nothing prepares you for the moment your mother leaves. Nothing prepares you for the silence after her voice is gone. Nothing prepares you for the emptiness that fills the house that once echoed with her presence.
Daddy cried too — not loudly, but deeply. The kind of grief that comes from losing not just a wife, but a lifelong companion. The woman he had stood beside for decades.
And through all this pain stood two strong women — Anu and Swathi.
They were hurting. But they didn’t show it.
They stayed calm, steady, composed — supporting Daddy, supporting me, supporting everyone.
Their grief was silent, but their strength was loud.
That day, I realised something:
Women are the real pillars of a family, especially during moments of loss.
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🌿 DADDY: THE MAN WHO CARRIED THE WEIGHT OF LOVE FOR 20 YEARS
As the shock settled, a deeper truth hit me.
Daddy had taken care of Amma for twenty long years.
Every day.
Every night.
Every hospital visit.
Every medication.
Every fear.
Every moment when we — his children — were away building our lives.
He carried the responsibility alone, with patience and love.
He protected her dignity.
He gave her comfort.
He never complained.
He never showed exhaustion.
He simply did his duty — as a husband, as a companion, as a man who loved deeply.
Sometimes I wonder how he managed those two decades.
How many nights he must have stayed awake.
How many times he hid his fear.
How many moments he prayed silently for her to have strength.
And then I realised something shocking:
If Amma had passed away when only Daddy was at home, everything would have collapsed.
But destiny, time, fate — whatever we call it — waited until all of us were in the house.
This was not chance.
This was grace.
🌿 Lessons Time Teaches Without Speaking
In four days, I learned what sometimes takes years to understand.
1. Time can change in a second.
One sunrise can carry joy; the next can carry loss.
Life is not a straight line—it bends suddenly, without explanation.
2. Family matters the most.
We were all together because of the wedding preparations.
If we had not come early, my mother would have left the world without us by her side.
That thought shakes me.
But it also comforts me.
Being together was a blessing disguised as routine.
3. Be humble. Time will humble you anyway.
Time does not ask who you are.
It does not care about your plans.
It teaches lessons in its own way.
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🌿 Amma’s Strength: A Twenty-Year Battle
People talk about strong women.
But I lived with one.
Amma fought a brain tumor for twenty years.
Twenty years of pain, medication, weakness, treatments, hope, fear, and faith.
Yet she never complained.
She never asked “why me?”
She taught us respect not by words but by her own grace.
She taught us strength not by fighting loudly, but by living quietly.
I want the world to remember her for that—
for her dignity,
for her courage,
for her softness,
for the way she made us feel safe even when she was suffering.
When she left, I cried.
But somewhere inside, I also felt relief—for her.
Her suffering had gone beyond what any human should bear.
There is no point keeping someone alive for our sake when they are suffering internally.
Love sometimes means letting go.
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🌿 Gokarna: Where Roots, Rituals, and the Soul Meet
We took Amma to Gokarna—our native place, our spiritual anchor.
Gokarna is not just a village.
It is a land of silence, of ocean winds, of ancient temples, and of moksha.
People believe that souls find liberation here.
As we reached, I felt something shift inside me.
The land felt familiar—like it had been waiting.
The soil smelled like stories.
The trees felt older than time.
My ancestors felt close.
Relatives from the village came—some I knew well, some I barely remembered.
Some were emotional, some were chaotic, some were frustrating…
but all of them were important.
You don’t realise the value of relatives until you see them standing beside you in the worst moment.
Their presence, even when imperfect, becomes strength.
We performed the rituals with full respect.
As a son, I felt the weight of Hindu duty on my shoulders.
But I also felt a strange peace, like I was doing something right.
Hinduism teaches that a son’s final rites are a sacred responsibility—
one that connects the living to the departed.
As the priest chanted mantras, as amma’s asthi touched water the last time,
I felt my heart breaking and healing at the same moment.
This is what culture does.
This is what roots do.
This is why Gokarna will always be more than a place—it is part of my soul now.
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🌿 The Truth of Prayer: Honest, Human, Imperfect
There is one more truth I learned during these days—
one that is difficult to admit, but real.
One of my distant uncles was very sick at the same time.
In Hindu tradition, if someone dies, no rituals or ceremonies can take place for eleven days.
My mother’s post-death rituals would have been delayed.
So we prayed for him to recover.
We prayed with fear, with hope, with selfishness.
Yes, selfishness.
And yet…
isn’t that what makes us human?
We pray not because we are pure,
but because we are scared.
We pray not because we know the right thing,
but because we want life to give us some space to breathe.
I do not feel guilt.
I feel honesty.
God understands even the prayers that come from fear.
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🌿 Daughter-in-Law: The Spiritual Bond Beyond Family Titles
In Hindu belief, a daughter-in-law is not just a daughter—
she is spiritually connected to the soul of the mother-in-law.
People outside our culture may not understand this,
but those who have lived through funerals and rituals know
that a daughter-in-law carries responsibilities and emotions
that are deep and sacred.
I saw this truth during Amma’s rituals.
I saw the bond beyond blood.
I saw the connection that continues even after death.
These relationships are not simple—
they are spiritual, karmic, meaningful.
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🌿 Staying Strong When the World Feels Weak
In the middle of tears, relatives, rituals, and memories,
I had to be strong.
Not because I wanted to be,
but because I had to be.
Hinduism teaches that duty comes even before emotion.
Strength is not about not crying.
Strength is about doing the right thing while you are crying inside.
I realised then:
Time teaches life’s biggest lessons only when you are not ready to learn them.
When I look back at those days, I don’t see only grief.
I see lessons.
I see love.
I see strength.
I see time shaping my soul.
Time taught me humility.
Family taught me unity.
Daddy taught me devotion.
Amma taught me grace.
Anu and Swathi taught me silent strength.
Gokarna taught me surrender.
Hindu rituals taught me responsibility.
Life taught me acceptance.
And above all…
**Time taught me that nothing is guaranteed —
except love, duty, and the memories we carry forward.**
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🌿 The Final Goodbye and the Beginning of Something New
When Amma left us, it felt like a chapter of my life had closed.
But in truth, another chapter began—
A chapter where her teachings guide me,
where her grace lives through my actions,
where her strength becomes my foundation,
where her silence becomes my wisdom.
I realised:
A mother never leaves.
She simply moves from the outside to the inside.
From the world to your heart.
From a presence to a blessing.
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🌿 What I Carry With Me Now
When I look back at these days, I don’t see only sorrow.
I see everything time taught me:
• Life is unpredictable.
• Family is everything.
• Roots matter.
• Rituals have meaning.
• Relatives are imperfect but important.
• Humility is essential.
• Prayers come in many forms.
• Letting go is also love.
• Strength is born in silence.
• Gokarna holds memories and moksha.
• A mother’s soul never leaves her children.
And above all:
Time can change everything.
And time can teach everything.
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🌿 A last whisper for Momme
This entire journey—from wedding preparations to performing final rites—
has become a timeless lesson in my life.
Amma taught me respect when she was alive.
She taught me strength when she was suffering.
And she taught me the meaning of life when she left.
Everything I am,
everything I will become,
is touched by her grace.
And I know that when I walked beside her funeral in Gokarna,
when the sea breeze touched my face,
when the last prayer was said,
something inside me changed forever.
Not broken.
Not lost.
Just… deeper.
Because love never disappears.
It simply becomes quiet.
Just like time.
Just like life.
Just like my Momme.
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