Unveil the Other Side

Anuj, an eleven year old boy, went on his first school camp. At home, chores magically avoided him. Camp changed everything. He learned to fold blankets, wash plates, and line up shoes. Helping friends felt fun, not forced. One evening, he proudly cleaned the tent without reminders. Returning home, Anuj surprised everyone. He set the table, watered plants, and packed his bag. His parents blinked, smiled, and hugged him tight. Camp hadn’t tired him; it awakened responsibility, confidence, and kindness. Anuj learned that helping isn’t punishment, it’s belonging for him and his family every single day thereafter with joy together.

 A new chapter—2026—has begun. Hope you’ve all had a great start to the year. My personal take for 2026 is simple: stay calm and composed, take life as it comes, and focus on building more strength—both physically and mentally. One month, one moment at a time. I thought of bringing back the calendar series this year, with moments captured through my camera.  January’s frame comes from Loch Ard Gorge — quiet, powerful, and grounding. A place that reminds me to slow down, breathe deep, and let strength build naturally, just like the cliffs shaped over time. Photo: Clicked at Loch Ard Gorge, Victoria,  Australia.

Padma was a small fourth-class girl, smart and curious, but her teachers never seemed to notice her talent. Their praise always flowed elsewhere, leaving her wondering if she was invisible. One evening, she told her mother how unfair it felt. Her mom gently held her hands and said, “You are unique, Padma. Your brilliance doesn’t need certificates or applause. Keep doing your best, and life will reward you in the right form at the right time.” Padma smiled, feeling lighter, knowing patience and effort would eventually unveil her true worth, and she walked forward with confidence in her bright future.

In the hustle and bustle of the city, I lost my sanity. Everywhere I turned, men moved like machines, gears grinding in a race to reach the top. Achievements piled high, yet faces grew hollow. I paused, wondering—where was the time for things we truly cherish? Perhaps buried beneath deadlines and desires, or tucked away in the dusty corners of the mind, saved for a “later” that never comes. As the city roared around me, I realized the cruel truth: in chasing everything, we risk losing ourselves. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the greatest loss of all.

Rain poured softly the day Krishna first saw Purvi—draped in yellow, lighting incense at the Ganapati pandal. Their eyes met like a prayer answered. Thunder rolled, but all he heard was her laughter. From borrowed umbrellas to shared street-side chai, their story bloomed. Every rain after felt like a song only they understood. When they wed under cloudy skies, even the priest smiled, “Blessed by Bappa Himself.” Years passed, but every drizzle pulled them back to that pandal, that glance, that moment. Love, like rain, sometimes arrives quietly—soaking deep, leaving music in its wake. Krishna and Purvi were always meant to be.

 Shravya, a young girl from Bangalore, was living a new life in Mumbai’s bustling Seepz, Andheri. It was the early 2000s, and her first job, fresh out of college, had brought her here. Away from home, she embraced the thrill of independence, juggling work deadlines and weekend outings with her newfound friends. The city taught her to manage money, from budgeting her modest salary to savoring street-side vada pavs. Each day was a lesson in self-reliance, and her tiny rented apartment became her sanctuary. Shravya was no longer just a girl from Bangalore—she was shaping into a confident, independent woman.