Monsoon Meditations: When Silence Replaces Panic

Between incense smoke and monsoon traffic, she carved a spiritual practice that finally felt like hers.

The Trigger

Her father’s sudden health scare in Pune turned her into the family’s emergency contact, driver, nurse, and breadwinner overnight.

She spent her days in hospital corridors and her nights answering anxious relatives on video calls. Traditional advice poured in—recite this mantra, fast on that day, do an online puja. None of it quieted the panic rising in her chest.

Reclaiming Ritual

One evening, drenched by the monsoon, she paused outside Dagdusheth Ganpati temple. The aarti drums were thunderous, the umbrellas jostled, yet she noticed an elderly woman simply breathing with closed eyes—unbothered by the chaos.

That image sparked a decision: If the rituals were going to stay, they had to nourish her, not just impress the elders.

Her Three-Minute Practice

She started carving tiny islands of peace:

• Lighting camphor after midnight hospital runs, not because she "had to," but because the flicker steadied her thoughts.
• Repeating a single Marathi line her grandmother loved, letting it sync with her heartbeat.
• Journaling one honest sentence—rage, grief, gratitude, anything real—before she slept.

Conversations with the Divine

Her prayers shifted from formal Sanskrit shlokas to blunt Marathi-English whispers:

*"I’m exhausted. Please make sure the next test result is boring. Also, let me sleep without replaying every possible disaster."*

For the first time, spirituality felt like a conversation instead of a performance.

What Stayed, What Left

She still attends aartis with her family, but she no longer apologises for stepping outside when the noise overwhelms her. She still keeps fasts, but only when her body can handle it.

Most importantly, she now guards the quiet she fought for. Peace, she realised, can be DIY—even when the entire clan insists there’s only one sanctioned way to reach it.