Author: nihshabdblog

** What’s Your Favorite Thing to Cook (And do women ever truly have one?)**

What’s your favorite thing to cook?

People often ask me,

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?”

It sounds so simple.

But every married woman I know

gives that tiny one-second pause

before answering.

Because slowly, gently, without any drama,

her favourites start blending

with the needs, moods, and cravings

of the people she loves.

Mornings begin with

“What goes in my husband’s tiffin today?”

“Kids want something crispy?”

“Someone needs something light?”

And in those everyday moments,

our own choices quietly step back.

Not out of sadness…

just out of love.

We women are a little like salt 🧂

We dissolve.

We balance.

We blend into every flavour.

And sometimes forget

what our own flavour feels like.

But still

cooking remains our calm corner,

our comfort,

our softest way of caring.

My kitchen is where my heart breathes ❤️

Some mornings, I make

idli–vada–sambar,

with both onion chutney and groundnut chutney

simple food,

but so full of warmth.

Vadas and dahi vadas rarely betray me.

They turn out good most days,

so for a few minutes

I proudly behave like a mini MasterChef.

(My kids already call me “Chef Mumma”

especially when they want extra.)

Then there are the special-effort days

chole bhature with imli chutney,

crispy soulful parathas,

and of course,

the slow-cooked love of

rajma-rice.

Each dish fits a mood,

and somehow my heart knows

which day needs which plate.

South Indian meals — my whole kind of comfort 🌿

My everyday favourites:

modda pappu, rasam, poriyal, papad,

and an entire universe of chutneys (pachadi)

tomato, onion, okra, cabbage, Kandi pachadi, gongura, palak,

bottlegourd,sesame and so on…

Simple flavours.

But deeply soothing.

Banana Leaf — tradition, health, and a warm kind of love 🍃

South Indian food truly feels complete

only when served on a banana leaf.

When hot food touches the leaf,

a gentle natural aroma rises

a fragrance that makes the meal feel

a little more comforting.

But there’s more to it.

Banana leaves are rich in polyphenols

(the same antioxidants as green tea),

and when warm dishes are placed on them,

a tiny bit of that goodness

infuses into the food.

A full meal

rice, rasam, sambar, poriyal, chutneys, papad,

and a spoon of warm kheer at the end

feels like a small festival

even on an ordinary day.

Soft. Simple. Beautiful.

Winter… and my Masala Bhat ritual ❄️🍚

Winter in our home begins

the day I cook

Masala Bhat.

Fresh seasonal vegetables,

lightly fried,

mixed with rice

and my special secret masala,

finished with a gentle drizzle of ghee

that fills the whole house

with a warm, cosy fragrance.

And always

spicy tomato–hing chutney on the side.

It’s the kind of meal

that wraps you in comfort…

that makes you pause,

smile softly,

and feel a quiet happiness inside.

A winter hug.

A family ritual.

A little moment of joy.

Food and life… they taste similar 🍽️

A little sweet,

a little tangy,

a little salty,

a little comforting.

Never just one flavour.

And that’s what makes them beautiful.

Maybe we women are like that too

balancing everything

with a soft, steady heart.

So what’s my favourite thing to cook?

Honestly?

Anything that fits the moment.

Anything that suits the season.

Anything that makes the people I love

feel cared for.

And slowly, gently,

I’m learning to keep a small plate

just for myself too.

Because food like life

tastes complete

only when there’s a little bit of my own heart in it. 🌿

“Warm rice, soft dal, crisp papad… and the quiet comfort only a banana leaf can hold.”

February 2, 2026
My First Computer (Actually, My First Laptop)

Write about your first computer.

I never had a computer growing up.

No bulky monitor in the corner of the room, no keyboard clicks, no late-night curiosity glowing on a screen.

What I had instead was distance.

Distance from technology, from access, and from the quiet belief that computers were meant for other people.

My first laptop came much later during my fashion designing days.

Not in childhood, not out of curiosity, but out of need, courage, and a growing dream.

And oh, it was beautiful.

A touchscreen.

Smooth.

Shiny.

Mine.😍

The kind of happiness you don’t post about immediately

because you’re too busy opening and closing it like,

“Yes… it’s still mine.”😍

By the time it arrived, the world had already moved fast.

People spoke in shortcuts, updates, and “it’s so easy.”

I smiled, nodded… and secretly Googled, “What is Ctrl+C?”😎

But maybe that delay was a blessing.🙏🏻

This laptop wasn’t about games or fun experiments.

It became my creative partner helping me design, learn, fail, retry, and grow.

Every file saved felt like a small win.

Every new skill learned felt earned

sometimes after asking Google the same question three times.

I didn’t grow up with a computer.

I grew into one.

And sometimes, starting late doesn’t mean starting behind.

It just means you start with intention, clarity,

and a browser permanently open for help 😄

—Rajeshwari 💕🧿

February 1, 2026
NIHSHABD (Beginnings Moving with Fear, Choosing to Begin)

What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?

What’s the thing I’m most scared to do?

Almost… everything.

I’m an introvert.

Fear isn’t a rare emotion for me

it’s a regular visitor.

Doesn’t knock. Just walks in.

Speaking up? Scary.

Starting something new? Terrifying.

“What will people think?”

That fear comes with a lifetime subscription.

I’m like a pretty little plant

that flinches even in sunlight,

yet somehow keeps growing

because not growing was never really an option.

The funny part?

The very things I try to run from,

life places right in front of me

no warning, no choice.

“Here. You have to do this.”

And every time I think,

Should I run?

Hide?

Disappear into a corner where nobody will find me?

And I ask myself,

What would it take to get me to do it?

But then… something happens.

A tiny initiative.

The smallest beginning.

Hands shaking, heart racing

yet one step forward anyway.

Yes, people judge.

And yes, I judge myself even more.

But somewhere inside that fear

lives something rare

like a diamond hidden inside a difficult stone.

Quiet. Precious. Real.

I’m not fearless.

I’m just moving

with fear beside me,

with love in my pocket,

and a little sense of humour to survive.

Maybe courage isn’t about being brave at all.

Maybe it’s about existing,

and still choosing to begin.

“Courage doesn’t shout; it moves anyway”

—Rajeshwari 💕

January 31, 2026
What Do I Complain About the Most?

What do you complain about the most?

“Me vs. my expectations… guess who wins every time?”

What Do I Complain About the Most?

I complain.
A lot.
About everything.
Sometimes even about things
I secretly enjoy complaining about.

I complain about life
because it doesn’t follow my plans,
my timelines,
or my very detailed imaginary scripts.

I complain about people
when they talk too much,
when they talk too little,
and especially
when they don’t read my mind
after knowing me for years.

I complain about love
when it’s late,
when it’s confusing,
and even when it’s peaceful
because peace, honestly,
feels suspicious.

I complain about small things
“Why didn’t they reply?”
“Why did they reply like that?”
“Why did they forget?”
And sometimes
“Why do I remember everything?”

Funny thing is
most people I complain about
are already doing their best.
But their best comes
in a language
my expectations refuse to learn.

So I call it less.
Life calls it different.

I say,
“You didn’t do enough,”
when what I really mean is,
“You didn’t do it the way
I wanted…
and on time…
and with a little magic.”

And let’s be honest
even if life gave me everything,
I’d still complain about
the delivery system.

But somewhere between
all this complaining,
I laugh.
I realise.
I soften.

Because most complaints
are not anger
they’re love without instructions.

They’re expectations
wearing humour,
frustration,
and a little drama.

So yes
I complain about almost everything.

But if I look closely,
behind every complaint
is someone I care about,
something I value,
or a life I’m still deeply involved in.

And maybe…
complaining is just proof
that I haven’t checked out yet.

That I’m still here.
Feeling.
Living.
Trying.

And honestly?
That’s not such a bad thing. 🙂

—Rajeshwari 💕

January 30, 2026
My Favorite Sports (A Love Story with Interruptions)

What are your favorite sports to watch and play?

People ask,

“What are your favorite sports to watch and play?”

I smile.

I think.

I sigh.

Because the answer is simple,

but life very complicated.

I love watching cricket.

Especially when India is playing.

The excitement begins with hope,

ends with overthinking,

and somewhere in between

my blood pressure joins the match.

I sit.

I watch.

I believe.

But the moment

the Indian team looks slightly weak

just one dropped catch,

one confused over,

one dramatic zoom on a worried player

I quietly exit the match.

No rage.

No shouting.

Just self-care.

I stop watching.

I open the news.

I refresh the score every two minutes

like a responsible adult

who cannot handle live disappointment.

If the score improves,

I pretend I never left.

If it doesn’t,

I say,

“I knew it.”

Cricket is not just a sport.

It’s an emotional roller coaster

that I ride only when the safety belt feels secure.

“Watching with hope. Exiting with dignity.”

Now badminton

ah, badminton.

The sport I actually play.

Or… used to play.

Or… plan to play.

Or… think about playing

while lying on the bed.

love badminton.

I really do.

The movement,

the smash,

the feeling of being energetic,

healthy,

sporty,

for exactly twenty minutes.

But badminton has its own drama.

You need a partner.

And as a woman,

matching time with your partner

is the real tournament.

We don’t play badminton.

We try to match schedules.

Morning doesn’t work.

Evening is too tiring.

Weekends disappear mysteriously.

Responsibilities enter the court without invitation.

By the time our timings finally match,

the match is already over

without being played.

So we sit.

We talk about playing badminton.

We feel motivated.

We promise “next time, pakka.”

And life watches us with quiet amusement.

My badminton racket now rests

peacefully in the corner of my room

not unused,

just waiting for alignment of planets,

calendars,

and energy levels.

“Matching schedules is harder than smashing the shuttle.”

I don’t play anymore.

I remember playing.

Sometimes I tell myself,

“Tomorrow, I’ll start again.”

Tomorrow smiles,

nods politely,

and never shows up.

Still, the love is there.

In the heart.

In the intention.

In the fantasy version of me

who wakes up early,

plays badminton daily,

and drinks warm water afterwards.

So yes

I watch cricket with conditions.

I play badminton in theory.

I am sporty in spirit,

active in imagination,

and honest in confession.

And maybe that’s okay.

Because loving sports

doesn’t always mean playing or watching till the end.

Sometimes,

it just means caring deeply,

laughing at yourself,

and knowing exactly

when to switch to the news.

January 29, 2026
What Would I Do If I Won the Lottery? A Dream That Touches Hearts

What would you do if you won the lottery?

What Would I Do If I Won the Lottery?

Let’s be honest when someone asks, “What would you do if you won the lottery?”

Most people instantly think: big houses, luxury cars, vacations, and a life with zero worries.

But if I really listen to my heart, the answer is… different.

It’s not about things.

It’s about life, freedom, and joy the kind that tickles your heart, not your ego.

A Home That Feels Like Magic 🏡

I don’t dream of palaces or marble floors.

I dream of a small, cozy home that hugs you.

A little courtyard where I can plant flowers.

A tree with a swing tied to it

where I can sit, swing gently, and let my stress disappear in a blink.

Mornings filled with birdsong,

the soft hum of bees,

and a space where I can play, laugh, and just exist with my children and my Kiwi.

The house may be small, but it’s alive.

Full of peace.

Full of love.

Full of life.

Living With Ease, Not Luxury 🌿

I don’t need things to feel happy.

Life has already wrapped me in enough safety, comfort, and the quiet joy of being loved.

It would give me the quiet freedom to shape my days the way my heart wants to.

A life where joy comes from moments, not possessions.

Where comfort quietly supports life, not shows off.

Empowering Women—The Dream That’s Always Been Mine 💛

Since I was a child, I’ve seen women work endlessly

carrying homes, children, and sacrifices on their shoulders.

Yet, they never earn enough to stand tall.

If I won the lottery, I would:

Create skill-based opportunities for women

Help them earn with dignity

Let them care for their children and homes confidently

Restore their self-worth

Because when a woman earns:

Families rise Children grow brave Homes feel stable

This is not charity.

This is empowerment from the heart.

Education That Changes Everything📚

Temporary help isn’t enough.

I want roots, not patches.

Skill programs.

Women-led small businesses.

Education for underprivileged children.

Because education doesn’t just change income it changes mindsets, confidence, and futures.

The Simple Joys I’d Treasure 🌸

Even with all comforts, I’d still want the small, silly, magical things:

Swinging on the tree in my courtyard

Watching Kiwi chase butterflies

Playing with my kids and laughing until we cry Feeling the wind, smelling fresh earth after rain

Small moments, but so alive.

This is the dream I’ve carried for years.

Not for show. Not for grandeur.

Just for me, my heart, and the people I love.

Final Thoughts: Dreams With Heart 💖

Winning the lottery wouldn’t make me important.

It would make me responsible to my family, my children, my dreams, and the women I want to uplift.

It’s not about wealth.

It’s about peace, joy, and impact.

Because real richness isn’t in crores it’s in lives touched, hearts lifted, and moments cherished.

And if one day this dream comes true, I hope I remember why I wished for it in the first place:

A quiet home, laughter echoing, little feet running, Kiwi barking happily, and a life full of love, freedom, and purpose.

“Dreams don’t need luxury just moments that feel like home.”

January 28, 2026
Women Who Start Late Are Not Weak, They Are Wiser

Starting late is still starting. And wisdom has no deadline.

Starting Late Is Still Starting .A Woman’s Story of Survival and Courage

“They say you’re late.”

Late to begin. Late to dream. Late to become.

But nobody talks about how much living happens before “late” arrives.

I Didn’t Start Late. I Was Busy Surviving.

I didn’t delay my dreams because I was lazy.

I delayed them because I was busy holding everyone together.

Busy choosing responsibility over desire.

Busy being the strong one even when I was quietly breaking inside.

There were days I felt left out. Watching others move ahead while I stood still.

Not because I didn’t want to move

but because life tied my feet with invisible ropes.

Love.

Expectations.

Fear.

Pain.

Responsibilities.

They don’t come with warning labels.

The Quiet Places Where Women Break

I loved deeply. I hurt silently.

I broke down in bathrooms, in empty rooms, in the middle of sleepless nights.

I wiped my tears before anyone noticed and smiled like nothing happened.

Because that’s what women are taught:

Endure. Adjust. Move on.

But somewhere inside, a soft voice kept whispering:

This can’t be all.

The Guilt of Starting Late

Starting late comes with guilt.

Guilt of wasted time.

Guilt of lost years.

Guilt of not being “ahead enough.”

And the hardest battle?

Fighting your own emotions.

The voice that says:

“What’s the point now?” “Who will care?” “You should’ve started earlier.”

That voice is cruel.

And often, it sounds a lot like society.

What No One Tells Women About Late Beginnings

Starting late doesn’t mean starting weak.

It means you start wiser.

With scars that taught you strength.

With pain that sharpened your empathy.

With love that made you deeply human.

You don’t start empty.

You start full of stories.

I Am Starting Again

Not because life became easy.

But because I finally chose myself.

I am standing

Sometimes shaking.

Sometimes confident.

Sometimes exhausted.

But still standing.

Some days I fight my emotions and win.

Some days I simply survive.

And that counts.

Redefining Success as a Woman

Success isn’t loud anymore.

It isn’t instant.

It isn’t perfect.

For me, success is:

showing up even when fear sits beside me believing in myself after years of doubt choosing growth over comfort beginning again without apology

If You Feel Behind, Read This Slowly

If you’re reading this and feel behind

You are not late.

You are on time for your life.

Your pace is valid.

Your journey is real.

Your restart matters.

Because starting late is still starting.

And startingin any form

is an act of courage.

Have you ever felt like life delayed your dreams? You’re not alone.

January 27, 2026
Just Me, a Book, and the Sky

What books do you want to read?

As a child, I believed books were alive.

Some slept quietly on shelves,

some waited restlessly to be opened,

and a few followed me

even after I shut them tight.

I read under tables, behind curtains,

in the lazy corners of afternoons.

I thought the sun slowed down for me,

and the moon stayed awake

just to see how the story ends.

I grew up, but that belief didn’t.

It only learned new words.

I want books that don’t behave.

That start in the middle,

end too soon,

and make me shout,

“One more page!”

Books where characters climb out of stories,

sit beside me,

steal my snacks,

and refuse to leave.

I want pages that smell like rain holidays,

sound like bicycle bells,

and feel like scraped knees

that somehow never hurt.

Give me suns that shine for no reason,

moons that listen without interrupting,

and stars that fall asleep

before finishing their lines.

I want stories that wander everywhere,

ponder silly things,

laugh loudly,

cry suddenly,

and forget why they started

just like we did.

Books that turn grown-ups into children again,

make time lose count,

and remind the heart

that magic was never lost

it was just waiting to be read. ✨

And maybe that’s why I still look for such books

not to escape life,

but to meet that little version of me

who believed stories could pause the sun,

wake the moon,

and make ordinary days

feel wonderfully endless. 🌙✨

Meeting my childhood between pages, under the same sky. ✨

January 27, 2026
A Tradition Woven With Love: Our Tirupati Story

Write about a few of your favorite family traditions.

Some traditions are not just customs.

They are memories.

They are roots.

They are the threads that tie a family together, year after year, moment after moment.

For us a South Indian family our yearly visit to Tirupati is one such sacred thread.

Every year, without fail, we pack our bags, gather our laughter in and begin the journey toward Tirumala.

There is a special kind of excitement in the air

the kind that children feel before a festival,

the kind adults feel when their hearts remember something sacred.

It’s not just a trip.

It is our tradition.

The moment we see the hills of Tirumala rising in the distance, something within us settles.

A calmness.

A familiarity.

A happiness that words will always fail to explain.

Walking into the temple with the entire family beside me…

it feels like stepping into a memory that never grows old.

The crowd, the chants, the bells, the fragrance of laddu prasad

everything feels like home.

And the moment we get Darshan, even if it’s for a few seconds,

time stops.

That single glimpse of Lord Venkateswara carries enough peace to last an entire year.

And then comes the prasad, soft laddus that somehow taste like blessings.

That joy… that sweetness… you cannot describe it;

you can only feel it.

But what makes this tradition magical isn’t just faith

it’s family.

The playful teasing on the way,

the children’s endless questions,

the little fights for window seats,

the shared snacks,

the sudden bursts of laughter,

the elders repeating stories we heard a hundred times

all of this becomes a treasure we carry home.

There’s always someone cracking jokes,

someone asking for extra prasad,

someone buying toys secretly for the kids,

someone complaining about walking too much

and all of it together becomes a beautiful chaos

that we lovingly call family.

And of course, no Tirupati visit is complete without the meals.

Steaming idlis, crispy vadas, golden dosas,

fluffy upma, rice drenched in ghee,

comforting sambhar,

and the variety of chutneys

coconut, tomato, ginger

each carrying the soul of South Indian food.

Because truly,

if you haven’t eaten in Tirupati…

have you really experienced Tirupati?

But beyond the food, beyond the darshan, beyond the rituals

something deeper happens every year.

We don’t just travel to see God;

we travel to see each other.

In the laughter, the mischief, the shared plates,

the sleepy children on our shoulders,

the elders smiling silently

our family becomes whole again.

When we return home with tired feet and peaceful hearts,

one feeling always remains:

This annual trip is not just a habit

it is our heritage, our unity, our pride, and our favourite way of remembering who we are.

Tirupati is where our devotion finds its voice,

our happiness finds its meaning,

and our family finds its togetherness all over again.

Every single year.

Without fail.

This is the moment when the heart knows… Tirumala is near.

January 26, 2026
🌙 “The Day I Lost My Daydream”🌙

What do you enjoy doing most in your leisure time?

Daydreaming🌙

I was quietly daydreaming,

like every normal kid does

building castles in my mind

with doors that never shut.

But suddenly, that day,

my daydream ran away.

It slipped out of my head

like a naughty child at play.

I chased it through my classroom,

past math and geography,

through whispers, chalk dust, sunlight

all shouting, “Dream’s running free!”

It hid behind the teacher’s book,

then jumped onto a cloud,

waved at me dramatically

like heroes in a crowd.

I almost caught it near my desk

but it giggled “Not today!”

Then it somersaulted mid-air

and drifted far away.

I stood there, half-confused,

half-laughing at its style

like seriously, my own dream

just left me with a smile?

But then things turned emotional;

my chest felt strangely tight

I missed the soft imagination

that tucked me in at night.

I whispered, “Come back, little dream…

I still need you to grow.”

And just then, like a magic trick,

a warm wind started to blow.

My dream returned quietly,

like a shy kid after school,

sitting back inside my mind

like it always knew the rules.

It said, “I left you for a second

just checking if you care.

Your heart still kept me safe,

so I knew I’d find you there.”

And since that day, I realised

something beautiful and true

dreams may wander far away,

but they always come home to you.

—Rajeshwari 💕🧿

January 25, 2026