Lavenderosy

  • A Peaceful Evening I Still Carry Within Me

    A Peaceful Evening I Still Carry Within Me

    There was a time when summers felt alive — not rushed, not heavy, just full of quiet energy.
    From March to August, the climate itself felt different: clear skies, warm sunlight, calm winds, and a softness that touched the heart before the skin.

    I would return from school around 2 p.m.
    My mother would already be waiting, food warm, made with love — the kind of food that doesn’t just fill your stomach, it comforts you. After that, if there was any homework, I finished it quickly. And then, exactly at 4 p.m., without delay, my feet would carry me to my favourite place — the rooftop.

    Up there, the sky felt closer.

    The blue was deep and honest, the clouds pure white, floating freely. I would sit calmly, always facing the east direction, letting the environment sink into me. There was no overthinking then. No stress. No tension. No desires running in my mind.
    It felt as if nature itself had invited me — calling me gently, making me feel that I belong.

    clear blue sky with white clouds during summer evening

    I enjoyed the evening deeply, but interestingly, I never liked watching the sunset.
    Maybe because sunset indicates endings. And being an emotional soul, I never liked the idea of something ending. I always wanted moments to stay… just a little longer.
    So while others looked west, my face stayed east, absorbing the softness of the evening without witnessing the sun disappear.

    That time of day had a magic of its own.

    By 6 p.m., the neighbourhood would come alive. Children would start gathering — laughter echoing, footsteps running, voices calling each other’s names. That was our signal: playtime had begun.
    We played so many games, danced without music, talked endlessly, laughed loudly. That phase of the evening was filled with togetherness — so pure that none of us wanted it to ever change.

    By 8 p.m., one by one, everyone returned home.
    And the evening — my evening — would gently come to rest.

    Those evenings were the best part of my life.
    A time when I was connected to nature, free with friends, present without trying. Just being.

    Now that I’ve grown up, I realise something quietly painful — no matter how much I want to, I cannot fully recreate that feeling. Life has become faster, noisier, heavier. Responsibilities exist where innocence once lived.
    Yet, somewhere deep inside me, that little version of myself still wants to play.

    I still love to play.
    Maybe not with the same games, not in the same lanes — but the desire is alive.
    Because some evenings don’t leave us.
    They become a part of who we are.

    And whenever life feels overwhelming, I close my eyes and return there —
    to the rooftop,
    the blue sky,
    the white clouds,
    and the calm east-facing breeze of a summer evening that never truly ended.

    — Written with love,
    Dolly

    I write about life, healing, beauty, and quiet moments.
    If my words bring you calm, you can subscribe and walk this journey with me.

  • A Mother’s Smile Was My First Understanding of Love

    A Mother’s Smile Was My First Understanding of Love

    When I was a young child, around five or six years old, being the middle child often made me crave love and attention. That need, however, was never left unfulfilled—because my mother wrapped me in her love in ways that felt quiet, constant, and real.

    I spent much of my childhood helping her with household work. Somehow, even at that age, I wished I could free her from the weight of it all. I wanted her to rest, to breathe, to live without tiredness. When the work was done, she would sit in the corridor with her neighbour friends, holding a cup of tea. Whenever she smiled in those moments, it filled me with a happiness I still can’t fully put into words.

    There were days when I even took leave from school simply because there was too much work at home. I would think—there are so many clothes to wash, how will my mother manage all this alone? She will get exhausted.
    So I stayed back to help her. Yet, by her blessings, none of this ever affected my studies. I still ranked first or second in my class. The peace I felt while working beside her back then is something I have never found again in adulthood, no matter what I do.

    When our housework finished before everyone else’s—especially during cleaning days—my mother would become free early. She would sit comfortably on a chair in the balcony, calmly sipping her tea, and smiling at her neighbours. In her Garhwali words, she would say lovingly,
    “Rakhi ki maa, timñ apnu gharu ko kaam kari liyā ?”– (Rakhi’s mother, have you finished your household work?)

    The sense of calm on her face in those moments is something I cannot explain. And when someone asked her, “Kiran’s mother, how did you finish your work so quickly?”
    She would proudly reply,
    “Yes, my Dolly did all the work.”

    The words “meri dolly” (my dolly)—spoken by her—made me feel so deeply loved, as if someone had gathered all the affection in the world and given it to me at once.

    A child finding comfort and love in her mother’s presence

    I was always an emotional child, sensitive to people’s feelings, able to sense emotions and vibes easily. When I looked at my mother, I saw no greed in her heart—not for possessions, not for wealth. She owned no jewellery, wore no expensive clothes, had no savings. Yet the peace and smile that lived on her face felt like her greatest ornament. That happiness was her true wealth.

    She believed deeply in giving. She used to say, “I thank God that my hands are always above—able to give to others, able to help those in need.”
    Her thoughts inspired me more than she ever knew.

    Whenever life presented her with problems, she handled them on her own. She was never afraid of taking risks. She trusted herself completely—believing that the decisions she made were right. And most of the time, they were.

    If I were asked who my role model was during my childhood, my answer would be simple.
    It was my mother.

    And it still is.

    I love her—always.

    I write about life, healing, beauty, and quiet moments.
    If my words bring you calm, you can subscribe and walk this journey with me.