COFFEE TALKS and a lot more!

Every morning holds a small sacred rhythm for me😇 I have my morning ritual — a few quiet practices that anchor me before the day begins. It is my time of stillness, my gentle discipline, my way of aligning myself before stepping into responsibilities. But some mornings, before I can complete it, I hear him. “Amma… Amma…” And just like that, my ritual pauses. Yet strangely, I do not feel annoyed. Even though it is my cherished practice, even though I wake up with the intention of completing it fully, when he calls me, there is no frustration in my heart. No “why now?” No irritation. Only a soft surrender🤗 I walk to him and lie beside him, telling him I had just stepped away for a moment. Before I can settle fully, his tiny arms circle around me — tight, protective, as if he is afraid, I might disappear again. In that embrace, I am no longer a woman with responsibilities waiting in the kitchen. I am simply his Amma. In that embrace, my ritual does not feel interrupted. ...

 I don’t know how you understand the physics of pressure so perfectly — as if even the tiniest shift, an inch, half a centimetre, softly announces my absence to you. The moment I move, you stir. You lift your little face, half-open those sleepy eyes, and check… your tiny finger reaching out to touch my cheek, just to make sure I am still there. How do you know? I don’t know how much circus I have to perform to slide away from the bed once you finally fall asleep. However slowly I lift my arm, however carefully I shift my weight, however quietly I try to sneak out — you always know. You always know. Is it the warmth disappears? Is it the rhythm of my breathing changing? Or is it the scent of my body that tells you I am no longer beside you? How do you sense my absence so instantly, so surely? It is annoying. Deeply, deeply annoying. And yet… it also means that even half a centimetre of distance feels too much for you. It is only the waiting chores that make it feel annoying — I know...

 If there is anything in this world that can make me fall asleep in minutes, seconds, nanoseconds — my elixir, my tonic, my sweetest magic — it is sleeping on Puttu’s lap. My hands wrapped around his tiny, delicate body. His little palms softly patting my cheeks again and again, planting sudden kisses now and then. That warm baby scent all around me. And in his most serious little voice he says, “Don’t worry, Amma, I’m here with you. I’ll make you fall asleep, aathaa.” Within seconds, I begin to drift. And just when sleep slowly starts covering me, he gently lifts my eyelids and whispers, “Don’t be scared, Amma. Wait, I’ll go get my Gandhiva.” He carefully places my head back on the divan, runs off, returns like a mighty warrior, and repeats his dialogue. With intense concentration, he uses his Shabdavedhi and defeats the very annoying Brahma rakshasa. After a dramatic silence he announces proudly, “See, Amma! Now the sound has stopped. You can hear no sound. That means my Gandhiva...

 There were days when I didn’t even realise the importance of keeping my things back in place — my comb, my washed and folded clothes — neatly, every single day. I wouldn’t clear or tidy up because I never woke up at the time I promised myself. So I rushed, dropped things wherever, and ran out of the house. By the end of the week or month, everything looked so messy! But his place… it always remained the same — calm, neat, unchanged. MonkMan gently told me, “If you keep things tidy every day, this big clean-up won’t come at all.” I ignored it at first — how can anyone do these tiny tidy-ups every day?! But he kept advising me, calmly and patiently, to just try. I tried for a few days and gave up again. He said, “Try once more.” It took me some time… but now I set everything in place daily. I don’t have separate wardrobe-cleaning, kitchen-cleaning, or fridge-cleaning days anymore. I do a little every day — and it feels so relieving. There’s a sense of calmness, no disorder, and even...

There were days when I used to hold on to anger for long stretches. A small fight was enough to ruin my entire day. I would keep a fussy face, stop talking, and taunt again and again, as if punishing the other person would somehow make me feel better. But it never did. It only made the day heavier. Monk Man would calmly advise, “This is not the way to live. Anger is not a blanket you wrap yourself in.” I would snap back, “This is how I am! If you can’t accept it, just tell me.” Back then, I never realized that life is meant to be taken beautifully, not forcefully. We don’t have to drag hurt, stretch silence, or prolong irritation. Holding anger doesn’t make us strong; it only makes us stuck. Slowly, he made me understand that anger is just an emotion passing through the mind, like a storm passing through the sky. We don’t need to chase it. We don’t need to feed it. We just need to let it settle softly. Very slowly, I began to understand that it is better to speak, resolve, and move on ...

  There were days when if I didn’t like someone, I would keep complaining about them. I would talk about them over the phone, with friends, or with whoever was ready to listen. I never realized how deeply this habit had settled into me. One day Monk Man asked, “What do you gain by criticising people all the time? What do you build inside yourself?” He said when we bad-mouth others, we don’t damage their image first — we damage our own mind. We create negative thoughts, negative energy, and negative impressions inside ourselves. But I didn’t listen. I happily continued with my habit. I thought complaining made me feel lighter. But Monk Man warned me strictly one day: “If I hear you doing this again, I will talk to the person on the other side and tell them not to speak to you anymore. Enough of this!” The shock was real! So I started doing it secretly when he wasn’t around, and behind his back. But he kept noticing—not the words, but the energy. Monk Man never complained...