“How are you?”

Such a simple question.

Three words. Sometimes said in passing. Sometimes asked while walking past someone. Sometimes exchanged automatically, almost like a greeting.

“How are you?”

“I'm good.”

“I'm fine.”

“Doing well.”

And we move on.

But lately, I have been wondering what exactly people mean when they ask me that question.

Do they really want to know?

And if they do, which version of the answer are they looking for?

Am I physically okay? Mentally? Emotionally? Socially? Am I sleeping well? Am I eating well? Am I coping? Am I happy? Am I overwhelmed? Am I tired in the way sleep cannot fix? Am I holding myself together because I have to?

Because “How are you?” has never felt like one question to me.

It feels like a whole questionnaire hidden inside three words.

The truth is, I haven't really been well for the past two decades.

That sentence feels strange to write.

Not because it isn't true, but because I have spent so many years making it sound less true.

I have learned to function.

I have learned to smile.

I have learned to show up.

I have learned to take care of things, take care of people, meet expectations, finish what needs finishing and then say, “I'm okay.”

Being okay has almost become a reflex.

I think being a people pleaser has something to do with it.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that my discomfort should not make other people uncomfortable.

So I make things lighter.

I laugh when I want to cry.

I say, “It's fine,” when it isn't.

I say, “I'm okay,” because explaining that I'm not okay feels exhausting.

And sometimes I say it simply because I don't want to become someone's problem.

There have been days when I have been physically exhausted, emotionally drained and mentally somewhere between holding on and letting go, and someone has asked me, “How are you?”

And I have smiled.

“I'm good.”

Good.

What a convenient little word.

It saves conversations.

It protects us from questions.

It protects other people from having to sit with an uncomfortable answer.

But sometimes I wonder, if I actually said what I was feeling, would anyone stay long enough to listen?

If I said, “Actually, I'm not doing very well,” would the person stop?

Would they ask again?

Would they sit beside me without trying to fix me?

Would they listen without comparing my pain to someone else's?

Would they understand that sometimes I don't need advice?

I just need someone to know.

Maybe that's what I am still learning.

That answering honestly does not necessarily mean giving someone a complete account of my life.

I can say, “It's been a difficult day.”

I can say, “I'm tired.”

I can say, “I'm not feeling like myself.”

I can say, “I don't know how I am right now.”

And perhaps I don't always have to turn it into a joke or a smile immediately afterwards.

Perhaps “I'm okay” doesn't have to be my default answer.

Because there are layers to me.

There is the version of me that gets things done.

The version who laughs loudly.

The version who shows up for her family.

The version who loves deeply.

The version who worries too much.

The version who sometimes feels completely lost.

The version who is tired.

The version who is hopeful.

The version who is still figuring things out.

And all of these versions can exist at the same time.

Maybe being well isn't a permanent state.

Maybe sometimes being well simply means admitting that today I am not.

I am still learning to answer that question.

Not because I have suddenly figured myself out.

But because I am beginning to understand that my honest answer matters too.

And maybe, just maybe, when someone asks, “How are you?”, I will stop automatically smiling.

I will pause.

Take a breath.

Check in with myself before checking what answer will make the other person comfortable.

And if the answer is “I'm not okay,” perhaps I will allow myself to say it.

Because yes, I do wonder sometimes.

Does anybody really care?

But perhaps the more important question now is:

Do I care enough about myself to tell the truth when I am asked?

I think I am still learning the answer to that one too.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon

There is one thing I have been saying I will change for years.

“Tomorrow, I will go to bed on time.”

And by tomorrow, I mean every tomorrow.

I am actually a fairly disciplined and organised person. I like routines. I like lists. I like knowing what needs to be done and getting it done. I plan my days, manage work, take care of the house, look after the kids and somehow keep all the little moving parts of life going.

But when it comes to bedtime, all that discipline mysteriously disappears.

For almost a decade now, I have struggled with going to bed on time. And when I say on time, I don't even mean early. I am not aspiring to be in bed at 9.30 pm with a cup of chamomile tea and a book. At this point, I would happily settle for midnight.

Just midnight.

The problem is that by the time the day finally quietens down, I don't want it to end.

My husband comes home quite late. By then, there is dinner to serve, everyone to feed, dishes to deal with, children to put to bed and a hundred little things that somehow belong to the last hour of the day. It feels like I am running a closing shift at a restaurant that never officially closes.

And then, finally, the house becomes quiet.

The kids are asleep.

The lights are dim.

Nobody is calling my name.

Nobody needs anything.

And there I am, alone with my thoughts.

That silence feels precious.

So instead of going to bed, I sit.

I scroll. I watch something. I read. Sometimes I do absolutely nothing. And honestly, that nothing feels like something.

It feels like my time.

Perhaps that is why this habit has been so difficult to break. It isn't really about not knowing that sleep is important. I know. I know about the importance of adequate sleep, recovery and what chronic sleep deprivation can do to the body. I also know that constantly pushing bedtime later can affect stress hormones, mood and overall wellbeing.

And these days, my skin seems to be joining the conversation too.

My face looks tired. My skin doesn't have quite the same glow. The late nights that once felt like a harmless indulgence are beginning to leave little reminders of themselves.

My body is basically saying, “Madam, we need to talk.”

The funny thing is, every morning I wake up before 6 and promise myself that tonight will be different. And I advise every patient of mine to get at least 7 hours of sleep.

Tonight, I will finish everything and go to bed.

Tonight, I will not waste those precious hours.

Tonight, I will choose sleep.

And then night comes.

The house goes quiet.

And I think, “Just ten more minutes.”

We all know how that story ends.

But I think I am finally ready to change it.

Not because I suddenly became extremely disciplined overnight. Not because I have found some magical bedtime routine. And certainly not because I have stopped loving those quiet hours to myself.

I simply think I have reached a point where I need to understand that rest is not stealing time from myself.

It is giving time back to myself.

The quiet house will still be there tomorrow.

The unfinished reel can wait.

The messages can wait.

The scrolling can wait.

Even my precious alone time can sometimes be replaced with something equally precious: sleep.

So this is my new promise.

Not an ambitious 10 pm bedtime.

Not an unrealistic lifestyle makeover.

Just midnight.

Because after nearly a decade of saying, “I will sleep on time tomorrow,” I think tomorrow has finally arrived.

And this time, I really mean it.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon

Some places you visit.

Some places you remember.

And then there are places you somehow keep returning to, almost without planning to. Rishikesh is that place for me.

My first memory of Rishikesh goes all the way back to when I was in 4th standard. I was just a child then, travelling with my parents, probably too young to understand what it was about the place that stayed with me. I remember the hills, the river, the excitement of being somewhere so different from home. I didn't know it then, but Rishikesh was quietly making a little space for itself in my heart.

Years later, in the first year of my marriage, I returned.

It had barely been three months since our wedding, and there we were, my forever travel partner, my husband, and I, heading to Rishikesh for camping and rafting. It was one of those trips where marriage still felt new and every little adventure felt like something we were discovering together.

We camped, we rafted, we laughed, we got a little scared, and we came back with stories that we still remember.

But somewhere between the rushing waters of the Ganga and the quiet hills surrounding us, I realised that there was something about Rishikesh that drew me in.

Perhaps it was the Ganga.

There is something deeply calming about sitting beside that river. It can be loud and powerful, rushing past rocks and carrying everything in its path, and yet watching it can make you feel strangely still. I have always felt quietly connected to it.

And then there are the hills.

Green, majestic and sometimes wrapped in mist, they make the city feel like it is held gently in their arms. The mornings can be magical. The evenings have their own rhythm. And the sound of the river somehow becomes a constant background song.

Little did I know that Rishikesh would eventually become almost a second home to us.

My sister-in-law moved here, and suddenly our visits were no longer occasional holidays. We began coming back multiple times a year. And every year, without fail, Rishikesh became part of our Rakshabandhan ritual.

There is something special about having a place that is connected not just to travel memories, but to family memories.

Over the years, though, I have also watched Rishikesh change.

The quiet little destination I remember from childhood has become incredibly touristy. Cafés, hostels, adventure camps, yoga retreats, river rafting packages, Instagram-worthy spots and bustling streets have transformed the landscape. Some corners that once felt untouched now seem perpetually busy.

And yet, somehow, Rishikesh still manages to retain its soul.

You just have to look a little harder for it.

Wake up early before the crowds arrive. Sit by the Ganga. Walk away from the busy streets. Look up at the hills. Listen to the temple bells. Watch the river flow without trying to photograph every second of it.

And there it is.

The Rishikesh I have always loved.

Maybe that is why I keep going back.

Not because every visit is the same. It isn't.

The city has changed. I have changed. Life has changed.

But the Ganga still flows. The hills still stand. And somewhere between the two, I still find that little girl from 4th standard, the newly married woman discovering adventure with her husband, and the woman I am today, returning once again to a place that has quietly become part of her story.

Some destinations are on your travel list.

Rishikesh is in my life.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon

 

If someone asked me today, “What colour describes you?”, I wouldn't have to think twice.

It would be light green.

Not emerald. Not olive. Not forest green. Not even the bright, almost neon green that demands attention.

Just light green.

Soft. Fresh. Calm. Alive.

And strangely enough, it has always been my colour.

Ever since I can remember, green has been my favourite. Maybe even before I could properly understand what a favourite colour meant, I was drawn to it. There was something about green that felt familiar to me. It didn't try too hard to be noticed. It simply existed, quietly beautiful, the way leaves look after the first rain or the way new grass feels under your feet.

As a child, I loved green without needing a reason.

As I grew older, I started finding reasons.

Today, light green feels like a little reflection of who I am.

It reminds me of growth.

Life has a funny way of changing us. We grow, we stumble, we learn, we change our minds, we become parents, professionals, friends, partners, caregivers. Some versions of us disappear quietly, while others emerge when we least expect them.

Green is the colour of something growing.

And perhaps that's why I have never really outgrown it.

I have grown with it.

There is also something incredibly comforting about light green. It reminds me of mornings when the house is still quiet. Of plants sitting near a sunny window. Of fresh coriander being chopped in the kitchen. Of trees swaying outside the car window while travelling. Of those tiny moments when you suddenly notice how beautiful something ordinary can be.

Maybe that is what I love most about this colour.

It doesn't scream for attention.

It just makes you feel good.

And perhaps, at this stage of my life, that is exactly what I need.

I have realised that life doesn't always have to be loud to be meaningful. Some of the most beautiful things happen quietly. A child's sleepy hug. A cup of tea that you finally get to drink while it's still hot. A conversation with someone you love. A few minutes to yourself. The first green leaf on a plant you thought wasn't going to survive.

These are little things.

But they matter.

Light green reminds me of that.

It also makes me think of hope.

Not the dramatic kind of hope that comes with big promises. The everyday kind. The kind that says, tomorrow can be a little better.

A new leaf doesn't know how big the tree will become. It simply grows.

Perhaps we could all learn something from that.

I think my relationship with green has changed over the years, even though my love for it hasn't. When I was younger, I loved it simply because it was pretty. Today, I love it because of what it makes me feel.

Grounded.

Fresh.

Peaceful.

Hopeful.

And maybe a little optimistic.

So, if you asked me what colour describes me today, I would still say light green.

Because it feels like a colour that is always becoming something.

And honestly, so am I.

I am still learning. Still changing. Still figuring things out. Still making mistakes. Still discovering little things about myself. Still finding joy in unexpected places.

I don't think we ever really arrive at a final version of ourselves.

Maybe we are meant to keep growing.

Like leaves.

Like trees.

Like that beautiful, imperfect, wonderfully unpredictable thing called life.

And after all these years, my favourite colour still feels like home.

Light green.

It always has been.

And somehow, I think it always will be.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon

7 Reasons to Follow Me… or Unfollow Me

Social media is a funny little world. We follow people because something about them catches our attention, makes us smile, inspires us, or simply makes us feel like we are sitting across the table having a conversation.

But sometimes, we also unfollow. And honestly, that’s okay too.

So, if you have ever wondered what you will find if you follow me, here are seven reasons. And if none of these speak to you, well, you have seven perfectly good reasons to unfollow me too!

1. Authenticity

I am not here to pretend that life is perfect.

There are beautiful pictures, happy moments and carefully planned content, but there is also messy hair, unfinished chores, parenting chaos and days when absolutely nothing goes according to plan.

I believe authenticity is about showing up as yourself, even when everything isn't Instagram-perfect. I would rather share something real and imperfect than create a picture-perfect version of a life that doesn't exist.

2. Creativity

I love looking at ordinary things differently.

A simple family moment can become a story. A corner of the house can become a beautiful frame. A product can become part of a fun reel. Creativity, for me, isn't about having expensive equipment or elaborate setups. It is about finding interesting possibilities in everyday life.

If you enjoy content that tries to think a little differently, you might enjoy being here.

3. Aesthetics

I have always been drawn to beautiful things.

Pretty spaces, thoughtful details, good photography, colours that work together and those tiny moments that deserve to be captured. I don't think aesthetics have to mean luxury. Sometimes, the most beautiful things are incredibly simple.

A neatly arranged breakfast. Sunlight falling across a room. A child laughing without knowing the camera is there.

Beauty really is everywhere when we slow down enough to notice it.

4. Sustainability

This is something I genuinely care about.

I try to be more conscious about what I buy, reuse what I can and think twice before throwing something away. I am far from perfect, but I believe sustainable living isn't about making every choice perfectly. It is about making better choices whenever we can.

Small changes count. And when enough of us make them, they can become meaningful.

5. Joy in the Mundane

I have a soft spot for ordinary days.

Morning coffee. A walk with my family. Cooking something simple. Watching my child play. Finding a beautiful sunset on an otherwise completely normal day.

Life isn't made only of vacations, celebrations and milestones. Most of it happens in between those moments. And I think those everyday moments deserve a little more appreciation.

6. Upcycled Fashion

Fashion doesn't always have to mean something new.

I love giving old pieces another chance, styling something differently and finding creative ways to make an outfit feel fresh. Sometimes, the best outfit is already hanging in your wardrobe.

There is something incredibly satisfying about wearing something you already own and making it feel completely new again.

7. Travel on a Budget

And then there is travel!

I love exploring new places, but I don't believe you need an unlimited budget to see the world. Sometimes, the best experiences come from planning smart, finding hidden gems and being willing to step slightly away from the obvious tourist trail.

For me, travel is about experiences, people, food, stories and memories, not just expensive hotels and fancy itineraries.

So, if these seven things sound like your kind of content, welcome!

And if they don't? That's perfectly okay too.

Social media should be a space where we choose what adds something to our lives. Follow for the things that inspire you. Unfollow when something no longer does.

No hard feelings.

I'll simply keep showing up here as myself, finding beauty in the everyday, creating, travelling, rewearing, rethinking and enjoying this wonderfully imperfect life.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon

Motherhood has a funny way of changing your priorities.

Before having kids, I thought I was a fairly particular person. I liked things organised, I preferred home-cooked food, and I cared about keeping my surroundings clean. But after becoming a mother, these things started feeling less like preferences and more like little responsibilities I carry every day.

Being a doctor adds another layer to it. I have seen enough to know that many everyday habits can have a significant impact on our health. At the same time, being a mom has taught me that you cannot sterilise your children's entire world or control everything they touch, eat or experience. And honestly, you shouldn't.

So, I try to focus on three things that matter to me the most: cleanliness, sustainability and nutritious food for my kids.

1. Cleanliness

I am particular about cleanliness at home. Very particular, actually.

With children around, there are always sticky fingers, muddy shoes, toys on the floor and mysterious crumbs hiding in places I didn't even know existed. But beyond keeping the house looking clean, I am conscious about hygiene because of what I have seen professionally.

Children touch everything. Door handles, floors, playground equipment, shopping carts, pets, their shoes and then, inevitably, their faces and food. Germs are simply a part of everyday life.

So I am quite finicky about sanitizing everything on a regular basis, things which can't be washed. Like gadgets, upholstery, closets and cabinets etc. We don't wear outside clothes inside the house and if any guest sits on the bed, I wash the sheets before lying on it. Similarly, we wash every exposed body part after coming back from outside and of course shoes are an absolute NO inside the house.

I want my kids to understand simple habits like washing their hands before eating, after using the washroom and after coming home from outside. I make sure fruits and vegetables are washed properly, kitchen surfaces are cleaned regularly, and their water bottles, lunch boxes and frequently used items don't get neglected.

At the same time, I let them play outdoors, get their hands dirty, explore and be kids.

Because the goal isn't to protect them from every single germ. It is to teach them healthy habits that will stay with them as they grow.

2. Sustainability because their future matters too

The second thing I am particular about is sustainability.

Having children has made me think about the world in a completely different way.

When I look at my kids, I don't just think about the kind of childhood I want them to have today. I think about the kind of world they will grow up in.

That makes me more conscious about the little choices we make at home.

We try to avoid unnecessary plastic whenever possible. I prefer reusable water bottles and bags, and I try not to buy things simply because they are convenient for a few minutes but create waste that stays around for years.

I also try to teach my children not to waste food, water or electricity.

Sometimes these lessons are incredibly simple.

Turn off the tap while brushing.

Switch off the lights when you leave a room.

Take only as much food as you can finish.

Use both sides of a sheet of paper.

Carry a reusable bottle.

None of these things is going to save the planet overnight. But I believe children learn more from what they see us doing than from what we tell them.

If sustainability becomes a normal part of everyday life rather than a big, complicated concept, hopefully they will carry those habits into adulthood.

3. Healthy food because nutrition is not optional

And then comes the one I am probably most particular about: what my kids eat.

As a doctor, I know how important nutrition is during childhood. As a mother, I also know how incredibly difficult it can be to convince a child that vegetables are more exciting than a packet of chips!

I don't believe in making food stressful. I don't want every meal to become a negotiation, and I certainly don't want my children to grow up believing that some foods are "bad" and others are "good."

Instead, I try to focus on balance.

Fresh fruits, vegetables, whole grains, pulses, nuts and seeds, dairy or suitable alternatives, and good sources of protein form an important part of what we eat at home. I try to make sure their meals are colourful, varied and as close to wholesome, minimally processed food as possible.

And yes, they have treats too.

Because childhood should include birthday cake, ice cream, the occasional pizza and those completely unnecessary snacks that somehow taste better when eaten at a friend's house!

For me, healthy eating isn't about perfection. It is about building a foundation.

I want my children to understand what hunger feels like, enjoy different foods, try new flavours and develop a natural appreciation for nutritious meals.

I also try not to force them to finish everything on their plate. Learning to listen to their own hunger and fullness cues is just as important as knowing that vegetables are good for them. Of course, I gobble up all their leftovers.

Raising healthy children is about the everyday things

When I think about these three things, I realise they are all connected.

Cleanliness is about taking care of their health today. Sustainability is about taking care of their tomorrow. And nutritious food is about giving their growing bodies the fuel they need.

None of this means I am a perfect mother. Far from it.

There are days when the house is a mess, vegetables come back untouched in the lunch box, someone forgets to switch off the bathroom light, and the kids come home with soiled uniforms.

And that's okay.

Motherhood isn't about getting everything right every single day. It is about consistently trying to make thoughtful choices.

As a medico, I understand the science behind health. As a mother, I understand the reality of trying to put that knowledge into practice with two little people who have minds, preferences and opinions of their own!

So, I don't aim for perfection.

I aim to give my children a clean and healthy environment, nutritious food without fear or pressure, and an understanding that the planet they inherit is also their responsibility.

Hopefully, these small habits will become a natural part of who they are.

Because ultimately, I don't just want to raise healthy children.

I want to raise children who know how to take care of themselves, each other and the world around them.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon