A message to all my readers When I first began writing down my stories in this quiet space, it was nothing more than an open diary. A place to put memories that needed somewhere to rest, reflections gathered over a lifetime, and thoughts that felt too personal—or perhaps simply too ordinary—to share in conversation. Conventional wisdom often suggests that personal musings rarely accomplish much on the wider internet. There are no frameworks here, no quick advice, and no polished agendas. Just the raw textures of life as I have experienced it: the sudden turns, the quiet routines, the moments of doubt, and the steady work of beginning again. Recently, as a small corner quietly crossed 30,000 reads, I paused to look more closely at the numbers. What moved me was not just the milestone itself, but where those visits were coming from. While some readers join from home here in India, so many of you are reading from entirely different corners of the earth—from Singapore across the seas ...
My life continued to revolve around my two sons and house. I was full of contentment for all that I had. The desire to learn to drive a car was never there, even when coaxed to learn that flame never kindled. No amount of persuasion could take me behind the steering wheel. “I have a full-time driver (my husband) who would take me wherever and whenever I shall go” is all I could say to justify my action.
I started learning to drive after immense persuasion from all quarters. Every day I touched the vehicle, I convinced myself of my [dis]abilities to learn it. The dogged helplessness I felt after helping a stray dog to make an obituary and a near-fatal accident at a right-angled crossing near my home paved the way to let driving be a distant dream for me. Overcoming those mental barriers to resume my driving lessons took almost three years.
I finally succumbed to my sisterly pressures and took to wheels. My sister would always call me at four in the evening to ” Take the car and go.” Another friend of mine would drive to work from a long distance. I could see her through the window pane of my clinic. Yeah! Everyone’s learning.
Two young boys perched up on the edge of the backseat curiously watching the traffic through the windscreen with me sitting in a perfectly terse posture was a common opinion of the people who would see me drive. As time passed, the children made themselves more comfortable with music, and conversation replaced the silence in the car. A decade later, it is time to say “adieu” to RJ 01 C3591. I have no car at a stretch for ten days. Today, I realize how much I miss my driving.
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