Weekly diary : Week 4
30 June 2025 (Monday) : Missed Lectures, Made Memories
I woke up late. It was already 6:45 am, and I was supposed to leave by 7. In that rushed moment, I made a choice—one that felt easy but not exactly right. Instead of scrambling to get ready, I decided to bunk all my lectures and spend the day in the library. I messaged Tissue to let her know, expecting her usual “no problem” kind of response.
But this time, her reply was different. Disappointment.
She told me her mom had prepared kheer, especially for me. A small gesture from someone who’s never met me but still thinks of me with such warmth. And just like that, the guilt hit me. Skipping class was one thing—but missing out on that kind of love?
To make up for it, I suggested we eat our tiffin together later at the stairs near the engineering department. She agreed, and I was glad. I spent my morning in the library working on my Weekly Diary blog, but my mind kept going back to the kheer, to Tissue’s message, to the way our decisions—however small—can affect someone else.
When lunchtime came, we finally sat together. And when I took the first bite of that kheer, I swear, it was one of the best. Sweet, creamy, and full of care. I don’t know if Aunty will ever read this, but still—thank you, Aunty, for the love that came in the form of kheer.
01 July 2025 (Tuesday) : A Shift in Routine, A Step into Responsibility
My college routine was the usual—practical, break, and then lectures. I attended everything. There was nothing special about the day… until I came home. The moment I stepped inside, I sensed something different. No one was home, and within a few minutes, I got a call from my mother. Her voice sounded tense yet controlled. She told me that my Bhabhi had been admitted to the hospital.
She’s in her ninth month of pregnancy. The expected delivery date was 9th July, but today is only the 1st. I blinked for a second.
She said Bhabhi’s water broke around midnight. So, they rushed her to the hospital immediately. And the doctor told them the delivery could happen anytime.
As soon as she hung up, I looked around the house and realized—it’s on me now. Until they return, this home is my responsibility.
I didn’t panic. I didn’t hesitate. I just changed into comfortable clothes, freshened up, had a quick bite, and got to work.
I washed the dishes, did the laundry, and took care of whatever else needed to be done. My younger sister handled sweeping and mopping. We didn’t need to say much—we just worked in sync.
Later in the evening, I got another call from my mother. She asked me to prepare something light for dinner and also to pack tiffin for those in the hospital. I nodded, said “okay,” and got started. I followed her instructions carefully.
02 July 2025 (Wednesday) : The Day I Became a Bua
I woke up early today and began the day as usual. I prepared breakfast and lunch tiffin for Papa. Since our college lectures were online today, I had some flexibility, but that didn’t mean it was going to be an easy day.
Our first lecture was Fermentation Technology. I stayed focused, taking screenshots of all the slides ma’am said were important for exams. During the second lecture, a message from Tissue popped up:
“When did ma’am take attendance for the first lecture?”
I was confused. We were almost at the end of the second lecture, and now she was asking about the first? Her next message made me laugh:
“I fell asleep and missed it.”
Somehow, even in these small moments, life finds a way to bring lightness into the day.
Once lectures were done, I went straight into my chores—cleaning, mopping, washing dishes and clothes, and watering the plants. These tasks aren’t exciting, but there’s a silent satisfaction in doing them well. In between, I received a message from Tissue about our internship. We had to arrange coconut coir and banana leaf and keep it in oven at 70°C. I told her about Bhabhi’s condition and how I was handling the household for a few days. Her response was warm and immediate—she said not to worry, she’d ask her father to help.
In the evening, I was preparing dinner when my phone rang. It was my mother. My heart skipped. I was scared—was everything okay with Bhabhi?
I answered, holding my breath.
“Congratulations, Aarti,” she said. “You’re a Bua. It’s a baby boy.”
That one sentence washed away all my fear. I froze for a moment, letting the joy sink in—and then I screamed. A real, loud, happy scream. My sister and Gaajar came rushing out of their room, and I just hugged her tightly, unable to contain my excitement. Nine months of waiting, and now—he was here. Baby boy was here.
I texted Tissue immediately. She celebrated with me through the screen, and her joy made mine feel even bigger.
Later, I found out that my elder brother and my mother would stay in the hospital while my sister, father, and Gaajar returned home. I wrapped up the rest of the household chores with a happy heart.
But the joy didn’t end there. Something unexpected—and beautiful—happened.
My parents, who had been distant and cold for days… talked. No shouting. No silence. Just… words. Normal, simple, necessary words. They became grandparents.
A new life came into our family today. Rabba thank you so much for this day. Thank you.
03 July 2025 (Thursday) : Balancing Acts and Small Promises
Have you ever felt like your entire day was built around making sure everyone else is okay?
Today was one of those days.
I didn’t attend college lectures, but I made sure to inform Tissue early in the morning that I’d be there for our internship work by 1 PM. Skipping lectures wasn’t an easy choice, but I had my reasons. The house needed me.
I woke up early and stepped right into the rhythm of responsibility—prepared breakfast, packed lunch tiffins for both Mummy and Papa, and began the never-ending list of chores. Dishes, clothes, sweeping, kitchen… one by one, I checked them all off. By the time I finished everything, it was already 11:45 AM. I barely had time to catch my breath before rushing to college for the lab work.
In the lab, we followed the teacher’s instructions as planned. It was simple, systematic—but my mind kept drifting toward something else I was excited for.
I had made up my mind to prepare Gajar ka Halwa for Tissue. Just a small gesture to show her how much I appreciate her support and presence in my life. So after college, I went to the market and bought everything I needed—carrots, milk, dry fruits.
Evening came, and I was back into my second shift—home chores. As I was making rotis, I got a message from Tissue. She said our teacher instructed us to keep the membrane in the autoclave tomorrow. I replied that once again, I’d miss lectures, but I would definitely be there for the internship work. She didn’t complain—just as always, she understood.
Later that night, I called Papa. He told me that Mummy, my elder brother, and my sister were staying at the hospital while he and Gaajar had returned home. Things were slowly falling into place—everyone doing their part in their own way.
I felt tired but happy. There’s something deeply fulfilling about giving your time and energy to those you care about. I don’t know if I’m always doing things perfectly—but I try.
04 July 2025 (Friday) : A Taste of Sweetness and the Bittersweet Truth of Life
Isn’t it strange how life can make you laugh one moment and fall silent the next?
I didn’t attend college today, but I did go for the internship, just like I promised. As always, we followed ma’am’s instructions in the lab. Once our work was done, Tissue and I found our usual spot—on the stairs near the Engineering Department—and finally sat down to enjoy the Gajar ka Halwa I had made for her. She took one bite and her eyes lit up.
“This is so tasty.” she said.
I smiled and replied honestly, “Maybe it is… but it’s nothing compared to what my mother makes.”
And we both laughed, because we knew it was true—no matter how hard we try, nothing beats our mothers’ cooking. There’s something in it that recipes. Love, maybe. Or magic.
After our small meal, I told Tissue that my mother had asked me to visit the hospital. So, instead of heading home with her like we usually do, I left for the hospital by auto. She understood, as always, without a single complaint.
When I reached the hospital and saw the baby boy—my nephew—for the first time, I couldn’t find words. I felt something so deep and layered that I couldn’t even name it. It was excitement, joy, peace, emotion—all mixed together. He was so tiny. Tiny hands, tiny fingers, tiny toes… everything so small and delicate. And he was pink. Not just baby-pink, but truly pinky pinky.
Mummy asked if I wanted to hold him, but I shook my head. I was scared. What if I hurt him, even by mistake? I had just come from college and didn’t want to risk anything. So instead, I admired him from afar, silently praying for his well-being.
Then I looked at Bhabhi. And oh Rabba… the glow on her face. It was motherly glow. It was real. A kind of glow I’d only ever read about before. Nine months of carrying a life inside her, and now, with a gentle smile on her tired face, she looked nothing short of powerful. Strong.
I sat beside her, and we started talking—about her journey, her emotions during those nine months, the delivery, her C-section. And once again, I found myself in awe. Mothers are truly warriors. They go through so much pain, but still smile when they hold their babies. That’s strength in its purest form.
But then the conversation took a turn.
She softly mentioned something that made my heart sink—the baby in the ward next to hers had died. It happened just two or three days ago during delivery. I froze. That mother was still in the hospital, but her room was quiet. No baby cries, no family members rushing in, no joy. Just silence.
It broke my heart.
I couldn’t stop imagining how she must feel every time she hears a baby cry in the other rooms. I was both overwhelmed with gratitude for our happiness and deeply sad by her loss. Life really is strange, isn’t it? On one side, a new life is celebrated. On the other, a life is mourned.
That’s the thing about life. It holds both joy and pain in the same breath.
Takeaway:
In the middle of happiness, never forget there’s someone silently holding pain. Be gentle—with others, with yourself, and with the life that constantly surprises us.
05 July 2025 (Saturday) : Simple Routines
Today was one of those quiet, ordinary days. No college, no outings, no surprises. Just the same routine. But somewhere in that repetition, I found something that felt meaningful.
I woke up early—before the rest of the house came alive. There’s a certain peace in those first few moments of the day, when everything is still and quiet. I used that time to prepare breakfast, pack the lunch box for my father, and get the tiffin ready for my family at the hospital. One by one, I crossed off each household chore from my mental checklist—cleaning, dishes, laundry, watering the plants.
I knew I was doing all this not because someone told me to, but because I knew it needed to be done. It’s a strange kind of satisfaction—to do the work silently, without recognition, and still feel good about it inside. That, I think, is responsibility in its purest form.
06 July 2025 (Sunday) : The Calm Before Tomorrow
Today felt like one of those quiet pauses. A day without rush, without noise—just simple responsibilities carried out one by one. I didn’t attend college, not because I was careless, but because I chose to take care of things at home. That’s been my priority lately—and honestly, I’ve grown into it.
I woke up early and began my day in silence. I prepared breakfast, packed the lunch boxes, and made sure the house was in order. The chores didn’t feel heavy. Maybe it’s because I’ve stopped seeing them as burdens, and started seeing them as acts of love and care.
Later, I received a call. A small message, but it lit up my entire day—Bhabhi is getting discharged tomorrow. The baby is doing well. She’s doing well. And this house, which has felt slightly incomplete without them, will be whole again.
It’s funny how something as routine as folding laundry or chopping vegetables can feel different when your heart is full of hope. Today wasn’t just another day of chores—it was a day of waiting. Of preparing. Of silently getting everything ready for the joy that’s coming tomorrow.
This week has been a turning point for me—not in some dramatic, movie-like way, but in the quiet, everyday choices I made. From juggling college and internship work to managing the house almost entirely on my own. Also with little understanding by Tissue.
Each morning began with a sense of duty, not pressure. I didn’t complain—not because everything was easy, but because I understood that this was my time to step up. While my mother stayed at the hospital, I took care of the chores at home, cooked meals, packed tiffins, cleaned, and tried to stay on top of my internship too. It wasn’t perfect—but it was sincere. And that matters.
Amid the routine and responsibility, something beautiful happened—I became a Bua. The moment I heard the words, “It’s a baby boy,” my heart felt like it grew ten sizes bigger. Seeing the baby for the first time, watching my Bhabhi’s motherly glow, and noticing how my parents had started speaking again—these weren’t just moments, they were emotions stitched into memories I’ll carry for life.
Of course, not everything went as planned. I missed lectures, skipped college, and felt more tired.
This week wasn’t ordinary—it was a mix of quiet strength and deep emotions.