relationships

Celebrating Amma – A Life of Grace and Purpose

Some people carry grace like a quiet strength, touching the lives around them through simple, daily acts of love. In my husband’s mother – Amma – I discovered a woman whose beauty runs far deeper than what meets the eye, whose generous heart has shaped not just her family but everyone fortunate enough to witness her way of living.

When I first entered this family as a young bride, I was struck by more than just Amma’s natural beauty. There was something in the way she moved through her world – purposeful, caring, always thinking of others before herself. Over the years, what began as admiration has grown into deep respect and genuine affection.

In her, I found a mentor whose actions spoke louder than any words of advice.

The Art of Grace

There’s something almost magical about walking into Amma’s home. No matter when you arrive – whether it’s been planned for weeks or you’ve shown up unexpectedly – everything is immaculate. Not the cold perfection of a showroom, but the warm, lived-in cleanliness that speaks of care and respect.

In those early years of marriage, I was amazed by this aspect of her life. Despite her workload, despite being tired after long days, she ensured her work was done and, most importantly, that her space reflected the care she felt for her family. Her home wasn’t just clean – it was organized with a thoughtfulness that made everything feel intentional.

Over the years, I’ve come to understand her philosophy about our surroundings. The place around us is the one thing we can have control over, and when we keep it with neatness and care, that’s how we respect our space and ourselves.

I watched her live this philosophy every single day. She kept her things organized not out of obsession, but out of love. What I’ve always admired about Amma is her ability to not procrastinate or push things to a later date – she gets things done because she thinks it’s important. This applies not just to keeping her surroundings clean, but to everything in her life. She always dresses very neatly, presents herself with care, and tackles tasks without delay. This is another quality I can see clearly in my husband – he learned from her that important things shouldn’t be postponed.

Every time I visit India, even now when she and Appa are in their later years, I’m still amazed by how neat and tidy their house remains. Despite their age, their home still reflects that same grace and attention to detail.

What amazes me about Amma is her memory – it’s sharper than mine, and I’m much younger than her. She remembers details about conversations, events, and people that happened years ago. She even remembers exactly where things are placed in the house. She recalls exactly what was said, who was there, what was served. Her incredible memory helps her keep track of everyone she loves.

This became one of my greatest inspirations. Through witnessing her actions – never through words of instruction – I learned how keeping our space clean helps our minds feel clearer, more peaceful. I try to follow this lesson she taught me, though I often fall short of her standard of grace.

A Heart That Overflows

If there’s one thing that defines Amma’s approach to life, it’s abundance – not material abundance, but an abundance of heart. This shows most clearly in her kitchen, where no meal is ever planned for just the right number of people.

“It’s better to have more than for someone to have less,” I’ve come to understand this is her philosophy, and I’ve watched her live by this principle for over two decades. When guests come – whether it’s two people or ten – she always cooks extra. Always. I used to think this was just careful planning, but I came to understand it’s something deeper. It’s her way of showing love through provision, of ensuring that no one who enters her home ever feels there isn’t enough.

What moves me most is how she approaches her own needs. Every single day, Amma eats last. After making sure everyone in the family has had everything they need, after serving seconds and checking that everyone is satisfied, only then does she sit down to her own meal. I’ve tried countless times to negotiate with her about this, to convince her to eat with the rest of us, but I’ve lost every single one of these gentle battles.

This generosity extends beyond food. She gives of herself in countless small ways – remembering exactly how her family members like their coffee, ensuring their favorite dishes are prepared, thinking ahead to what might make their visits more comfortable. Her heart overflows with care for those closest to her.

Kitchen Companions

Some of my happiest memories with Amma happen in the kitchen. There’s something special about working alongside her – the easy rhythm we fall into, the way we can cook together without getting in each other’s way. She became not just my teacher but my companion in creating meals for the family.

In those early years of marriage, her kitchen became my classroom. Not through formal lessons, but through watching, trying, and gradually understanding the subtle art of South Indian cooking. Her cooking has so much taste, so much depth of flavor, and I learned by standing beside her, observing how she balanced spices, how she knew exactly when each dish was ready.

What meant so much to me was how she would encourage me when I cooked something she enjoyed. Coming from someone so experienced in the kitchen, her appreciation gave me confidence to keep trying new dishes and flavors.

But our connection goes beyond cooking techniques. We’re both women who love to enjoy life, who find pleasure in good food and good company. What I discovered about Amma is how beautifully spontaneous she is. Many times, in the middle of an ordinary day, I’d turn to her with a sudden idea.

“Would you be interested in going out to eat?” I’d ask, and she would always say yes with such enthusiasm. Off we’d go – two women who shared a love for trying different foods, for the simple pleasure of eating something delicious without having to cook it ourselves.

Amma enjoys chaat – those wonderful North Indian snacks – and South Indian foods with equal enthusiasm. Be it food outings or watching movies together – another common interest we share – these became some of our best bonding moments.

What made our relationship so easy from the beginning was discovering that Amma, despite being from an older generation, wasn’t rigid or overly orthodox in her ways. She was ritualistic, yes, but in a practical way that worked for our family rather than being bound by tradition for tradition’s sake. This was such a blessing for me as a young bride – being someone who also isn’t too rigid or overly ritualistic, I found in her a kindred spirit who valued substance over strict adherence to form.

The Family Keeper

Amma carries the stories of her entire family in her heart. She’s deeply attached not just to her own children, but to the family she married into and her extended family – her brothers and their families. When she speaks of them, which she does often, it’s always with warmth and affection. I’ve never heard her say anything negative about any family member. Instead, she focuses on their positives, their kindness, the ways they’ve touched her life.

Through her stories, I’ve come to know these relatives as real people with beautiful qualities. She remembers all the small things someone has done for her – a thoughtful gesture from decades ago, a moment of kindness during a difficult time. Her gratitude runs deep, and she carries these memories like treasures.

Her love for her grandchildren is something truly special to witness. When my children were young and she and Appa would visit us here, the house would transform with her presence. She didn’t just babysit – she played with them, engaged with them, created a bond that my children still cherish.

I can still picture her playing card games with them, and she brought the same competitive spirit to these games that she had with the adults. She would playfully hide the jokers, keep a perfect poker face, and tease her young opponents with that mischievous glint in her eye. What I loved watching was how she never gave up her competitive edge just because they were children – she played with the same interest and determination, making the games genuinely challenging and exciting for them. She was an expert at card games, and even with her grandchildren, she played to win while making sure everyone had fun.

When they were toddlers, she would spend hours making their favorite pureed foods, taking such care to prepare exactly what they loved. She would sit with them during cartoon time, patiently feeding them spoonful by spoonful, completely absorbed in making sure they were well-nourished and happy and equally enjoying with them their favorite shows. Even now, years later, her first concern when the grandchildren visit is whether they’re hungry. She’ll immediately start thinking of what to cook for them, what would make them feel most loved and cared for.

Her cooking was aromatic, filling the house with wonderful scents. She made sure her grandchildren experienced the tastes and comfort of traditional South Indian foods she grew up with.

Lessons Without Words

The most powerful teachings often come not through lectures or advice, but through quiet examples. Amma taught me about life simply by living hers with such grace and intention.

From her, I learned that cleanliness and organization aren’t about perfection – they’re about creating a peaceful space where love can flourish. I learned that hospitality isn’t about having the fanciest things, but about making people feel genuinely welcomed and cared for.

I can see her influence clearly in my husband – the way he keeps things organized, his natural cleanliness, his attention to neatness. These aren’t traits he consciously learned; they’re simply part of who he is because of the mother who raised him.

Amma has other passions that bring her joy – she loves playing Sudoku and puzzle games, exercising her sharp mind with challenges that keep her engaged. I can see where my husband and children inherited their love for puzzles and mental games.

A Heart Full of Gratitude

As I write this memoir as a birthday gift for Amma, I reflect on the woman she is and the many ways she has touched our family’s life.

What I’ve come to appreciate is how we’ve both grown in our understanding of each other over the years. Family relationships aren’t always simple, but there’s something valuable in learning to honor the good we see in each other.

Amma, as you celebrate another year of life, I want you to know how much your devotion to your children and grandchildren means to all of us. You’ve also been there during my difficult moments, listening with patience and understanding. That quiet support meant more to me than you might know.

I see how lovingly you care for Appa, always making sure he’s comfortable and has everything he needs. I find that very inspiring.

Your son carries your best qualities – your sense of organization, your attention to detail, your love of family. Your grandchildren light up when they remember those card games and the special foods you made just for them.

You’ve shown me what it means to maintain a graceful home, to care deeply for family, and to find joy in simple pleasures like a good meal shared or a challenging game of cards.

On this special day, I celebrate the gift of having witnessed your love for your family over all these years. May this new year bring you continued health, happiness, and many more moments of joy with those you hold most dear.

A Poem for you, Amma

Sweet moments with grandchildren, laughter we share,
Your love for adventure takes you everywhere.
Amma, you’ve touched our lives in countless ways,
A life lived with purpose, a heart full of light.

As you celebrate another year of this beautiful life,
We honor the woman, the mother, the wife.
May this birthday bring joy, health, and cheer,
To someone we cherish and hold very dear.

With all my love and admiration,

Sujatha

Everything is Already Ours: Belonging to God’s Unlimited Creation

This morning, after I fed the birds in the little park area in front of our home, I sat down to meditate near the trees. I watched these little birds come and eat, and I felt so happy I lost track of time.

There’s a crow who visits my balcony every morning for his feed. He once came into our home through the open balcony door, cawing to remind me it was feeding time.

There were times when I used to feel lonely. But now, with the crow visiting me and me feeding the birds, I realize no one is really alone. We’re all here together. We’re so connected.

I feel this is such a blessing. I feel connected to these beings, like I belong with them. The land where I feed the birds isn’t mine in the human sense, but I can still feed them there. The birds aren’t confined to me, but I still feel like we belong to each other. The trees aren’t confined to me either, but I feel I belong alongside them.

When we belong and coexist, there is no sense of controlling or owning. We’re living with them as family.

That’s when it hit me – I had it backwards. I used to think I needed to own things to truly enjoy them. Like the times I felt if I had a bigger outdoor area, I could have a bird feeder hanging in my garden or grow more plants and flowers to enjoy. But the truth is, I don’t need to own anything. Everything already belongs to me. The whole world belongs to all of us.

It really does feel like we all belong to it. The trees, the birds, the sky, the water – it’s all just there for me, for all of us. We belong to it, and it belongs to us.

I feel such abundance, such richness – not because I possess anything, but because I have access to everything through belonging. Everything is given to us without needing to grasp or control it.

I feel immense gratitude to our Creator for providing us with all that we need – everything is already given – and for all the beauty that’s already there for us to enjoy.

We can still grow plants or take care of our animal friends in our space, but that doesn’t restrict our sense of belonging to the vastness of creation.

This thought made me feel so vast, so free. I felt truly happy – not because I had something, but because I let go of needing to have it. The happiness comes from not controlling, not owning, just being and connecting.

We’re so blessed. We have this entire world, and we can experience it as belonging to us while we belong to it. When we see it that way, everything changes. We want to take care of it. We want to coexist with each other because we’re all part of this same beautiful belonging.

This is such a beautiful reminder to step out into nature whenever we feel down or alone – to realize the beauty and peace that nature offers, reminding us we’re never truly alone.

We’re all family, belonging to this unlimited creation – a gift of God’s unlimited love flowing through everything around us.

Forgive or Forget? Navigating Relationships That Weren’t Meant to Be

As Mental Health Awareness Month prompts us to reflect on what truly nurtures our wellbeing, I find myself thinking about relationships – specifically, the ones that, despite our best efforts, aren’t meant to last.

I recently faced this with someone who once meant a great deal to me. After experiencing hurt, I valued the relationship enough to offer peace, to make things lighter, to do my best from my end. I genuinely tried to nurture what we had, hoping we could rebuild what was lost. Yet despite these sincere efforts, I eventually realized something important: sometimes the same patterns that caused the initial hurt remain, even after forgiveness has been offered and accepted.

Some relationships naturally drift apart, as though they were never truly meant to endure. The pattern can be particularly painful: a relationship forms, hurt occurs, distance grows, forgiveness follows, reconnection happens… only for the same cycle to repeat itself months or years later.

What I’ve learned about mental health through this experience is profound. Our inner voice often whispers the truth long before we’re ready to hear it. That feeling of something not being quite right – that’s wisdom trying to protect us.

I believe that prioritizing mental health means honoring those internal signals. It means recognizing when a connection depletes rather than replenishes us. It’s not about blame or holding grudges; it’s about acknowledging the reality of what is, rather than clinging to what we hoped could be.

Not every relationship that enters our life is meant to remain there permanently. Some connections serve their purpose for a season, teaching us necessary lessons before we continue separate paths.

The most valuable lesson I’ve learned is that forgiveness doesn’t obligate us to restore a relationship that repeatedly shows itself to be unhealthy.

I don’t believe we should forget the experiences that have shaped us. Each relationship – even the painful ones – has contributed to who we are today. These moments have taught us about boundaries, about ourselves, about what we truly need from connections that deserve space in our lives.

The journey toward better mental health often involves making peace with the reality that some chapters in our story are meant to close. This isn’t failure – it’s growth.

As Mental Health Awareness Month reminds us, we must come first in our own lives.

The greatest responsibility we have is to nurture our own wellbeing. No one else carries this responsibility for us – it is ours alone.

Sometimes, protecting that wellbeing means making thoughtful decisions about which relationships deserve our continued investment, which ones should be honored from a distance, and which should be released entirely.

This is crucial to our mental health – recognizing what brings us peace versus what disturbs it, acknowledging those feelings, and honoring them instead of pushing them aside. There’s wisdom in our discomfort that deserves to be heard.

There’s profound courage in recognizing when a relationship consistently disrupts your peace. Sometimes the most compassionate choice – both for yourself and the other person – is to release the expectation that things will be different next time.

Forgiveness doesn’t always mean restoration. Sometimes, it simply means freedom – the freedom to wish someone well on their journey while continuing your own, unburdened by regret or obligation.

In honoring our mental health, we learn that some of the most important boundaries we’ll ever set are the ones that protect our peace, even when others don’t understand. And that’s not just okay – it’s essential.

What have you realized about relationships that has been crucial for your mental health? What wisdom has your journey taught you about the connection between healthy boundaries and wellbeing?

My Friend Who Taught Me to Choose Joy

I met Shobana in seventh grade, and something about her drew me instantly. Despite life’s challenges, she had this remarkable way of making everyone around her smile. Her energy was infectious – she could light up any room she entered.

She has this incredible gift for humor – it’s not just what she says, but how she says it. Her perfect timing, those deliberate pauses, the way she uses her expressions and gestures – she can make anyone burst into laughter. Even the simplest story becomes hilarious when she tells it.

She created her own style, wearing her father’s loose shirts with confidence, starting trends instead of following them. She was always surrounded by friends, both boys and girls, drawn to her natural warmth and authenticity.

Back then, my world felt heavy. Growing up in a home where anxiety and stress seemed to linger in the air, I struggled with low confidence and craved love and attention. While I found it hard to make friends, with Shobana, friendship came easily. We spent hours in mindless chatter and laughter. Those were simpler times – I would just hop on my bicycle and ride to her apartment whenever I wanted to see her.

Being an only child, she turned her whole apartment complex into a family. She had this gift of making instant connections with strangers, calling them brother or sister, making them feel like family or old friends. People who had never met her before would find themselves comfortable in her presence within minutes.

I admired everything about her. Sometimes I felt silently possessive of our friendship, but I never showed it – perhaps because I understood that trying to contain her joy would only diminish it. Looking back, that might have been my first lesson in unconditional love.

We remain best friends to this day, and I still feel the same wonder and gratitude about our friendship. Through her, I learned some of life’s most valuable lessons – how to keep things light, how to greet strangers with warmth, and most importantly, how to choose happiness despite life’s challenges. She was a blessing in my young life, and continues to be one, silently guiding me toward joy just by being who she is.

Our friendship taught me that true beauty lies in how we make others feel, and what a blessing it is to have someone in your life who can still make you laugh like you’re in seventh grade.

Simply by being herself, she showed me something precious – that keeping things light and finding reasons to laugh felt so much better than carrying the weight of worry and sadness. She taught me that having a sense of humor isn’t just about making jokes – it’s a way of moving through life, of finding lightness in ordinary moments, of transforming everyday situations into occasions for joy. This gift of seeing life through a lens of humor continues to remind me that there’s always room for laughter, always a way to lighten the heart, always a moment worth celebrating with a smile.