A post on kindness


I don’t remember a time when human beings were not intent on killing each other. My childhood was an era of oblivion, of course, but ever since I started paying attention to the wider world around me I read about cruelty meted out by human beings to other humans (and animals). Religion, borders, language, ethnicity – all become excuses to slaughter one another. But my post today is about the kindness that surrounds us too. Often, the acts of kindness do not make it to the mainstream media but if we look around us mindfully, we see it. There is this one poem that I listened to recently, read out by non other than the inimitable Helen Bonham Carter (I am a big fan). I must have listened to it more than a dozen times by now. It creates a warm feeling in my heart.  The poem inspired me to write this post. Here is the poem:

Small Kindnesses

by Danusha Laméris

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”

— The New York Times (9/19/2019),   Bonfire Opera

I want to write about the overpouring of kindness Gouri received from complete strangers thousands and thousands of miles away from her. Gouri came to work for my parents about 15 years ago. She had to heal first after she tried die by setting herself on fire. Married to a cruel man at the age of 14, she wanted to escape her fate by ending her life. She survived but with life altering scars all over her body and mind. Recently, the skin around her neck started contracting from the injuries, resulting in difficulty swallowing. We started looking for surgery to rectify that. But corrective surgery is expensive. I needed help to help her. After a lot of deliberation and discussions with my family, I decided to send out a plea for financial help in social media. I was tentative about my decision to ask for help though. Would people care or simply scroll through?

The response was overwhelming. I cried. Of course I cried. The kindness of my friends and acquaintances transcended every barrier –  Distance from the affected woman, not knowing anything about her except for my words. Her need and her unfortunate circumstances were enough for them. I found empathy, not pity in their words. Friends from India wired money directly to Gouri’s bank account, friends in USA sent money to me which I then transferred. At work, my dearest friend handed me cash with tears in her eyes. “This could have been our daughters,” she said. This could have been. Those who could not help financially sent their best wishes for Gouri’s recovery. I asked Gouri if I could share her photo so everyone knew what the money was going to heal. She is very reticent about standing before a camera, but she took a selfie and sent it to me, saying, “Didi, I know you will only do what is best for me.” Her unwavering confidence in me warmed my heart.

The surgery took place a month and a half ago. While the surgery was not complicated, the recovery was long and painful. But Gouri is doing very well. She has to wear a collar around her neck for a year to prevent the skin from further contracting. The collar, she says, is uncomfortable in Kolkata’s heat but she wears it religiously to let her neck heal. She met with the doctor again to operate on the burn injury in her shoulders and arm. She can not straighten her arm due to the burns. And the money that complete strangers sent to her for her surgery will cover the second surgery as well. This will also take time and involve pain and long recovery. But Gouri is willing to go through with it all for a chance at better quality of life. The final surgery will, hopefully, be on her face to cover the scars from the burn but the doctor has not mentioned anything about that yet. He is focused on functionality over beauty at this point.

This morning, as I read about the deaths in newspaper, I honed in on the kindness.

How will my children remember me?


I just finished reading an incredible memoir in graphic novel by Tyler Feder. The book is called Dancing at the Pity Party. Feder chronicles her journey in grief after losing her mother to uterine cancer when she was nineteen. This book has both humor and heartbreak as Feder paints the beautiful relationship that she had with her quirky, funny, extremely creative mother, her diagnosis of cancer, her physical decline and ultimately her demise. There is nothing funny in death but Feder’s mother found ways to keep her girls smiling even through extreme grief. After her death, Tyler, her two younger sisters and their father need to relearn to live life without the bright, shining light that was their mother.

Tyler Feder remembers the memories she created with her mother. And this made me think how my children will remember me when I am gone. Don’t get me wrong, I do not plan to go anywhere for a long time if it is in my hands. But there will be an ‘after me’ and what memories will my children have when they think of mom.

My fondest memories of my mother is our reading time together. And seeing her laugh. Her laughter did not remain just in her face, it traveled to her eyes and eventually to her whole body. She laughed with her whole being and it is the most beautiful visual I have of her in my mind’s eye.

I will venture to guess what my two kids will remember of their mother:

Numerous trips to the library.

Cuddles and reading books together.

Whenever Sean traveled, our tradition was to make kathi rolls and eat them sitting on the kitchen floor Indian style.

Many hours spent petting Sage. Many, many hours of laughter over Sage’s antics.

Buying burgers and fries from the concession stand in the ball fields and eating on the grass watching a little league baseball game.

Eating dinner in the back deck while solving the problems of the world. Now that I think about it, our dinner time conversations were always very deep.

My gullibility? My first reaction to a comment is to believe it. “Really?” “No, mom. That was a joke.”

Listening to music together in the car while driving to sports events.

Days of making quick pesto pasta for dinner due to lack of time (and planning).

Alu bhaja and patla dal.

Being a sounding board.

Yelling/nagging.

Also laughing (and not being able to stop).

I don’t know if I will be remembered as a shining light. I hope to be remembered as a constant light. I want them to remember me as “Mom was there when I needed her.”

After Annie by Anna Quindlen


I read the quote at the beginning of the novel and wondered if I would be able to handle this book. I also wondered if this book was written for me.

Your absence has gone through me

Like thread through a needle,

Everything I do is stitched with its color.

—–W. S. Merwin

Annie Brown, a larger than life personality with her big laugh and huge presence, is a mother of four young children, a loving wife, and a remarkable friend. In short, she is like a sun around whom her family and friend revolve. When Annie suddenly dies due to an aneurysm, the world around her goes off kilter. Her husband Bill Brown does not know how to continue living and caring for their four children, Ali, their oldest has to grow up overnight to care for her siblings, and Annie’s best friend Annemarie does not know how to stay sober without Annie’s firm but loving presence. The story is about a bereaved family’s journey to learn to live with the hole in their lives but that hole is filled with the presence of Annie Brown in their memories. The plot seems simplistic. It is not the plot that carries the story forward, it is the emotion. It is the characters, and realism portrayed in the story. This book was sad and triggering. I often felt engulfed by grief as I read on but I could not stop reading about the lives of Annie Brown’s children, her husband, Bill, and her best friend Annemarie after Annie’s unexpected death. Anna Quindlen is a masterful and nuanced storyteller who can put to words the subtlest human emotions and can bring her stories to life. So much so that I became a part of the Brown family experiencing their loss and their sorrow at losing their mother and wife. I felt this book in my heart more than simply reading it.

And the quote is so apt! I am indeed colored by the absence of my parents. When they were alive, there was thousands of miles between us. We were together once a year for a few weeks. The rest of the times there were phone calls and regular wsapp messages. But now everything I do has traces of their absence. I wonder if their energy is what made tonight’s sunset extra spectacular, or the daffodils are more vibrant because they are now fortified with their hue. It is strange, this absence, this life in my memories, in my actions, in the lense through which I see the world. This absence that stitches colors to my tapestry of life.

A Book Review


I have been reading and enjoying quite a few non-fiction books lately. It has been a great way to learn little nuggets of history, culture or interesting events that my text books did not teach me. I wrote this brief review about this fascinating book. Not only was the event interesting, anger provoking, and heart breaking all at the same time, but the author was able to conjure up the post Revolution War New York in front of my eyes along with the social and class structure of those days.

The Sewing Girl’s Tale: A Story of Crime and Consequences in Revolutionary America by John Wood Sweet

A sudden gift of a day.


I don’t want to sound like a whiner but I will say this: Mother Nature doesn’t always play fair with me. I don’t get every weekend off like many (not all) do. I get every other weekend off because I work at a library and the library is open seven days a week! My weekends are special. We, at the library, look forward to our weekends like souls thirsty for rest and relaxation. Let’s be honest, very few of us get the above stated rest and relaxation because….laundry, dirty house, bills, meal prep for the week and chores! And here is where you will tell me to quit whining. But I will say it anyway. Most the time it RAINS ON MY DAYS OFF! Ok, now that’s out in the universe, let’s move on.

Today was different. I woke up after a restful sleep. The sun was bright and my reading chair was awash in its golden light. The sky was baby blue with pillowy clouds lazily floating by. The tree in my backyard is full of buds and the daffodil bulbs which we discarded from our flower patch in ignorance has bloomed at the edge of our yard. We threw them out there but they come back each year to put a smile on our faces. They bring me joy. There is something special about these exuberant, bright yellow flowers that inspire hope and happiness in me.

For me, they are the first signs of spring. The second sign is the sighting of ants in my bathroom. I think I have written in one of my blogs that the first appearance of ants make me happy. That means spring cannot be far behind. Oh stop with your cringing! I am from India, I have seen worse than ants. I get mad at them as summer progresses though.

I can not stand winter. I love spring because it is full of hope, sunshine, and longer daylights but spring also means I have endured another winter. Fall is beautiful too, but what follows Fall? Not so much. No matter how long I live in this country, I cannot get used to winter.

I wanted to keep this day in my memory. I nodded at the happy daffodils today, watched an amazing performance at a local theater and witnessed a spectacular sunset.

Simple joys.

Light But Not Fluffy book club


There was a time in my life, not too long ago, when my brain rebelled against deep, thought provoking books. I grew up with the message from my teachers and extended family that one should not fill up one’s mind with irrelevant things. One should always read unabridged classics, books on history, science, philosophy. Books that will enlighten, inspire, expand your knowledge. In other words, read with a purpose. So I savored my Amar Chitra Kathas, comic books, Mills and Boons romances in secret – away from public eyes. Fortunately, my mother did not care what I read. I also had a couple of fabulous teachers who introduced me to poetry and prose that broadened my horizon, taught me how to think, enjoy, and appreciate written words. When I went to college to study English, I met very well read peers. They helped me with my reading too. I read serious, thought provoking books to keep up with the conversation, to show off and yes, to enrich my mind. Even as an adult, I read to learn something. I read to escape, empathize, decipher and of course, be entertained. I was and still am a fan of literary fiction.

Then Covid ravaged the world and my life. During those difficult days, I picked up literary fictions only to put them down again. I think I experienced the biggest reading slump that I have ever experienced in my life during Covid and especially after my parents died. One day, I picked up a lighter book and found myself turning the pages. I think the book was The Bookish Life of Nina Hill by Abbi Waxman. I finished the book in two sittings, enjoyed the story and thought about it for a while. The book was funny, well-written, and most importantly, hopeful. It was a romance but it was more than the formulaic romance that I used to read at age 16. I started reading more books that were light but full of of grace and hope. I wondered if there were people out there who have had enough of angst and sadness. We could get plenty of those if we opened the newspaper or turned on the news channels on television. I wondered if I could gather some people together to read and discuss lighter books in a book club. The caveat being the books needed to be uplifting, hopeful, and meaningful enough to generate conversation.

My bosses at work were willing to let me try out a book club like this. I gave myself 6 months and decided that if nobody came to the book club, I would move on to something else. My supervisor encouraged me to go for it so I did. On March 16, 2023, Light But Not Fluffy book club was born. Within the first 2 weeks of opening up registration for this book club, all the spots were filled and people kept calling to register. We opened with 18 people.

It has been a year now that we have been meeting. The book club has grown even larger. We range from 20 to 23. I have been facilitating book clubs for the last 8 years now and my mantra for facilitation is ‘be a guide, not a hero’. I ask a question and let the conversation grow organically without too much input from me. I am comfortable with silence (silence that neither of my book clubs have very much). I think silence is important to let people collect their thoughts. I watch out for interruptions and make sure everyone gets a chance to speak. Some want to listen and I respect that too. I was a little apprehensive at the beginning with such a big group that people will break out into private conversations and I will have to be that facilitator who has to bring the house to pay attention to the speaker. But the ladies who joined me never did that. Each one of them is respectful, attentive, and willing to listen. They are never shy to offer their opinion. They don’t always agree but they listen. What more could a facilitator ask for? We came together for the conversation and we stayed for the laughter.

Today is the birth month of Light But Not Fluffy book club. This book club is special to me for a couple of reasons. First, it came at a time when I was very sad and did not know how to get out of the quagmire of grief. Books helped. The hope that books provided and the people who gathered to talk about such books helped. The laughter helped. Second, in our endeavor to teach at the library, we sometimes forget about fun. This book club is just for entertainment. And that is all we get out of this book club apart from a camaraderie of strong, opinionated, and fun people. Perhaps we come away with some new thoughts about the book or life in general. We learn a bit about each other too. No research of the setting or culture or author is done in this book club. We simply read the story and talk about how the story made us feel, what did the characters do, did the plot make sense, what are the anomalies?

So happy birthday, book club. May there be years and years of laughter ahead, may there be hope, may there be grace, and yes, also snark. What is life without a little snark?

If you want to use any of these books for your book club, here is a list of all the books that we have read this year:

The Bookish Life of Nina Hill by Abbi Waxman

Evvie Drake Starts Over by Linda Holmes

The Kitchen Front by Jennifer Ryan

One Plus One by Jojo Moyes

Dear Mrs. Bird by A. J Pearce

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

The Hired Girl by Laura Schlitz

Killers of a Certain Age by Deanna Raybourn

The Story of Arthur Truluv by Elizabeth Berg

Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt

Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus

Story of a book mark


What? You don’t think book marks have stories to tell? Think again. Over the years at the library, we have seen so many book marks or objects used as book marks that we can get a pretty good idea of the habits of the book mark user. Book marks (that we have found at our library, tucked within the pages of a book) range from ornately designed pieces of art to dental floss to used tissues (and everything in between). Yes, you read that right. We, library workers, wash our hands more frequently than perhaps you do so one of the most popular gifts that we give to each other is hand lotion to show some love to our rough, red. well washed and well sanitized hands. I am telling you, library work is not for the faint of heart 🙂 .

A friend gave me a hand embroidered book mark. She is a whiz at embroidery and anything she creates is beautiful. As I held the book mark in my hand, I decided this one will only go into books that I will love and cherish. I live in a world of books. I touch books through out my work day. I bring home an inordinate number of books too. So much so that I fear I have a problem of hoarding. Fortunately, I am also very conscientious so I never keep the books beyond their due date and diligently return them on time. As you can imagine, many of those books get returned unread. There are only finite number of waking hours and within those hours, I must work, eat, be present with family, do some mindless phone surfing and read. At this ripe old age, I have realized that life is too short to continue to read books that don’t hold my interest. I start a lot of books, read about 50 pages and then abandon them if they don’t keep me engaged. My beautiful book mark never goes into those abandoned books. I only use that particular book mark for books that I know I will finish. You can say, my piece of art book mark is my love language to the books that capture my heart. Authors have to earn that book mark in their books. Here is a short list of books that have earned this honor:

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver

The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery

How to Say Babylon by Safiya Sinclair

Poverty, by America by Matthew Desmond

Master Slave Husband Wife: An Epic Journey from Slavery to Freedom by Ilyon Woo

Finally Seen by Kelly Yang

The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride

Rough Sleepers by Tacy Kidder

Lady Tan’s Circle of Women by Lisa See

Not Quite Not White: Losing and Finding Race in America by Sharmila Sen

I find this book mark to be a perfect gift. My beautiful friend and colleague who embroidered it by hand knows my love for books. And her gift of love nestles within the pages where I lose myself and find myself too. This is one of those gifts, along with her love, that keeps on giving.

What is your idea of a perfect gift?

Thank you, whoever you are…


I lazily opened the email from WordPress about my February stats. Generally I delete them since I have shown no love to whatmamathinks for many, many months. When I get the monthly emails about stats, I simply delete them without opening. I was in a phone surfing mood (read waste my time mood) and I thought let me see the flatline of my blog. I opened it and frowned. The stats were quite good. Some folks from all over the world had read my blogs. WordPress users, you know how the chart gives you fingers when they show your stats. The short bars, then a long bar, followed by a short bar. I always chuckled at the image – my blog post is showing me the finger. This February, the bars were all on the higher side. No flatline!

Who are you? How did you find my blog? What do you find interesting? I am thrilled that you took the time. Thank you!

I have a hard time opening this site now. I poured my grief here after my parents died. Writing here helped my broken heart. I consider this a vessel which carries my sorrow. Once upon a time, opening the blog site was joyful. I wrote about my children’s childhood, I wrote about some stories from my past, my romance, my newly married years, little joys, little sorrows, my adventures, my travels. Then after that awful May of 2021, this blog site became my sounding board (writing board). So this site is truly a tapestry of my life – it holds sunshine and rain.

Thank you for reading about my life. In this crazy world of ours where humans are intent on killing each other, I hope you read my blogs and found something relatable. I hope you smiled at some of them. I hope you found comfort in some. If I could reach you in any way, even in a miniscule way, I will feel grateful, fulfilled.

Lately, I have been thinking of writing again. We shall see. The February stats energized me a little bit. But even if the stats flat line, it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, I really write the blogs for myself and my children. My hope is they will have this site to look back on and find their childhood. I hope this will be their treasure chest of memories and I am the archivist like my parents were for my childhood.

I am writing one about book marks. Doesn’t the subject make you so curious? Aren’t you chomping at the bit to read about book marks? I thought so! 🙂

Patience, readers. I have to take baby steps back into it. For today, this is it.