Author: Priyanka Murarka

Chartered Accountant I Company Secretary I Personal blogger I Mudra Therapist I Wellness & Transformational Healing Coach I Spiritual Seeker

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Personal Triumph

Watching You Fade, Loving You More Deeply

I realise you’ve been going through so much — more than I can ever imagine. I still remember how active you once were, walking with such energy that as a child, I felt I was running just to keep up.

You gave your heart and soul to your business, and when life took that away, it also took a piece of your spirit. You had dreams of studying further, of growing and learning more, but life demanded otherwise. Then it took your parents, your beloved brother, and finally, Mum.

There are days when I feel shattered… as if my world has crumbled into pieces.
When Mum left, a part of me went silent forever — and now, watching you fade in your own way, that silence deepens.

It’s like watching the pillars of my world slowly dissolve, one after another — the ones who gave me strength, belief, and unconditional love.

I try to remind myself that perhaps, beneath this pain, life is teaching me the art of surrender — to love without holding, to serve without expecting, to accept without breaking.

Yet still… my heart aches.
I miss her deeply, and I fear losing you too.

My heart aches when I see you walking slowly now, with pain and effort. When you raise your voice, I understand — it’s not anger, it’s the echo of a silent cry within.

I feel helpless at times, unsure how to ease your suffering. Watching our parents grow old and weary is one of the hardest truths to accept. I silently pray for your peace, happiness, good health, and joy.

I try, beyond my responsibilities, to be there for you — yet it often feels like I fail, like I’m not doing enough for my own dad.

Maybe this pain is a lesson — something life is trying to teach me, a truth I haven’t yet understood but deeply need to.
I just wish I could take away all your suffering.

I love you, Dad.  ❤

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Personal Triumph

A Generation of Less, Yet More

I belong to a generation…

A generation that knew life without mobile phones or the internet.
Where homes often ran on DC current,
and days or nights without electricity were common.
We prayed instead of complaining,
and resilience was not taught—it was natural.

A generation where play was pure—
Hide and seek, lock and key, cricket, book cricket, carom, seven stones, ludo, corner-corner, kitchen set, skipping rope/jump rope, Antakshari, kho-kho, kabaddi, paper boats/paper planes, stock exchange, playing cards, and WWF cards and even cricket on the roads during strikes——innocence ruled our games, and mischief ended in laughter, not hurt.

A generation where I joined a local activity club, the only girl among the boys, yet ran, played, and laughed with unfiltered joy, my mother’s gentle nod opening the way.

A generation where spirituality was nurtured since childhood. Every Tuesday, we did devotional singing together. Everyone worked as a team to prepare, and everyone got a turn to sing. Even when we didn’t understand the meaning, we sang with full heart, from start to finish, just out of innocence.

A generation that didn’t demand everything we desired.
We understood our parents’ hearts,
and quietly let go of wishes
that could weigh heavy on them.
Gratitude wasn’t taught—it was lived.

A generation where silence spoke volumes.
A glance, a smile, a gesture
carried more than words ever could.

Simple. Innocent. Content.
We found beauty in less,
and meaning in the smallest moments.

And though the world has changed,
the roots of that generation live in me—
reminding me always
that less can still mean more.

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Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy Personal Triumph

Her Light

There were many moments in my life when my belief system was shaken, and hope seemed like a distant flicker. In those moments, I always turned to Mumma. I would sit with my thoughts, reflecting on how she imparted so much strength to me—how she could find even a single ray of hope in the darkest of times, where I saw none.

Her unwavering faith in my potential carried me further than I could have imagined. Without it, I might have landed nowhere. Today, as I look at where I stand, I realize that it is because of her blessings and belief that my mind has been trained, my spirit strengthened, and my path illuminated.

I am still on my journey—far from the heights the universe envisions for me—but with every step, I strive not just for myself, but to honor her. Every achievement, every milestone, every small victory is a way to lift her higher, to make her pride and blessings shine even brighter through me.

A mother is a guiding light, and we are never too old to share our challenges and struggles with her. She is a ray of hope in the darkest moments, where everything else seems impossible. I once wondered if sharing more might have spared me some pain—but now I trust it was part of a larger plan, God’s way of preparing me and carrying forward what her presence had already begun in me.

This is my journey, and it is hers too. Through her faith, I have learned that even in darkness, there is light. And that light carries the power to shape our destiny—one step at a time.

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Healing and Spirituality Personal Triumph

From the Curve of C to the Circle of Life

I’d been deliberately chasing my purpose when, unexpectedly, a childhood moment of pure awareness came rushing back. I must have been about three years old. Until then, I remember almost nothing — as if my awareness was still asleep. One day, while learning my letters, I wrote the letter C. First correctly, then incorrectly. My mother corrected me with a slap.

It was the first and the last time she ever raised her hand at me.

For me, as a little child, it wasn’t pain that stayed — it was the sudden shock, the imprint. That shock startled me awake; it became the first clear memory etched in my life.

Sometimes awareness begins not in understanding, but in surprise.

Looking back now, I see it wasn’t just about a letter. It was a spiritual initiation, a signal that my soul’s journey had begun.

Every beginning hides itself in an ordinary moment.

The C itself holds a deeper meaning. It is a semi-circle, incomplete. That curve became a symbol of longing, of incompleteness, and of the search for wholeness. What looks incomplete may be pointing us toward wholeness.

For years, I looked outward for the missing half, believing that only someone else could turn my “C” into a circle.

This longing for meaning is not new. Across time, seekers have found depth even in the simplest of things. It reminds me of Arjuna’s story:

It is said that Lord Krishna once gave Arjuna a set of precious gemstones. For Arjuna, anything that came from his Lord was divine. So he held the gems with reverence and began to reflect. Each stone, he thought, must symbolize a truth of life, a hidden lesson.

When he shared his interpretations, Krishna burst into laughter. With his playful smile, He said: “Arjuna, I only gave you gemstones. I never meant them to carry such depth. But you — with your sincerity — have drawn out meanings even I did not place there.”

Meaning is not always in what is given, but in how we choose to receive it.

In the same way, my childhood “C” — a moment of correction, a moment of awakening — became a lifelong gem. What was only a letter turned into a spiritual mirror, teaching me. Wholeness does not come from another. Completion is discovered within.

When we connect with the universal energy, we become a full circle in ourselves. And only then can we meet another — not from lack, but from fullness.

The earliest wound may be a hidden key; what once broke us open might have been the very curve guiding us toward our circle of wholeness.

The circle was never missing — it was waiting to be drawn from within.

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Healing and Spirituality Personal Triumph

In the Embrace of Blessings

In the sacred observance of my mother’s Pitrpaksa ritual, I bowed to the Brahmin’s feet, not with hands but by placing my forehead upon them.

As her hands moved over me to bless, I felt something beyond the ordinary. It was as if my mother herself was caressing me – a warmth, a love, a presence filled every fibre of my being. My body trembled with the vibration of that touch, a connection so deep that words cannot capture it. In that moment, I realized that love transcends form, touch, and time.

Previously, during the Shraadh, as I served food and applied a tilak with red sacred powder, my hand trembled. The gentle touch of my ring finger carried a vibration—a subtle current that spread through me.  In that sacred instant, I felt her presence merge with mine, transcending mourning, joy, and every other emotion. It was rapture, as if my soul dissolved in her presence

Sometimes devotion is not in action but in surrender — in feeling, receiving, and recognizing the unseen energy of those who came before us.

The heart remembers what the mind can’t explain. The soul recognizes what the eyes can’t see.  Bodily emotions cannot fully convey the essence of feelings.

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Personal Triumph

Anandam 2.0 – A Miss Beyond Words

Missing Anandam 2.0 feels like a wound beyond words. Yesterday, I was deeply engaged in austerities at home — hosting guests, fulfilling duties, and keeping my mind steady. And yet, even amidst all of that, a part of me was constantly mindful of what was unfolding in Pune. At a subtle level, I was connecting with the Panchatattva, almost as though my spirit was there in Nandu Hall while my body remained here.

This morning, when I woke up to the glimpses of videos and images shared by a dear friend, and when a few therapists reached out saying they missed my presence, emotions surged within me. My teacher and a few senior therapists too had asked me to come, and when they learned the reason for my absence, they understood the pain I carried within. That acknowledgment itself felt like a blessing — as though my longing and sincerity were also a tribute to my study, a silent offering in their own way.

Still, a question lingers within — what mistake did I make that I couldn’t attend this gathering? Did I not put in the honest efforts these past two years? Was I selfish somewhere that the five elements withheld their grace? These thoughts keep arising, pricking my heart with a quiet ache.

And yet, life weaves its own design. Coincidentally, we have a family function today — another form of austerity through kirtan. Perhaps this too is divine arrangement. Somewhere, the Lord and the Panchatattva are blessing me in ways unseen, preparing me to step into another dimension in my journey, at a more subtle and inward level.

Even from afar, Anandam 2.0 stirred something in me. Just thinking of the energy that must have filled Nandu Hall makes my heart throb with both sadness and reverence. Perhaps this longing itself is my offering, my invisible bridge to what I missed.

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Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy

A Daughter’s Farewell – Heart, Love, Soul, and Devotion

A few months before her departure, during a conversation about death, she had told me something profound. She said that if one writes Ram with sandalwood 108 times on the body after death, the soul attains moksha and reaches Baikunth Lok. She shared that people in olden times believed and practiced this, but in today’s world, no one has the time or devotion to do it anymore. Her words etched themselves into my heart without me knowing why. I did not utter anything to her then but I made up my mind quite do that when time comes. But I had no hint that it would come so soon then.

Despite her critical illness, I prayed with every breath, but destiny had already written a different script. When I saw her body in the ICU, I couldn’t believe she was no longer there. For the first time in my life, I stood so close to death. It felt as if the ground beneath me collapsed, and my whole universe crumpled into pieces. In that moment, it felt as though the Lord had taken away my very reason for living in this realm. Also, it didn’t feel like a body—it felt like the remnant of a soul, her divinity—like a calm, an aura, or a sense of stillness.

I remembered her words and thought of arranging sandalwood to write Ram 108 times on her body. But my emotions, my love, and my devotion could not wait for hours. Instead of waiting for hours for her body to be discharged by the hospital, I longed to write with the depth of my soul—the purity of love I held for her—using the very fingers she once held, with the same love with which she had nurtured me. So, with trembling hands, I wrote Ram 108 times on her body—each stroke filled with love, prayers, and devotion, even as my heart shattered into pieces. Every ‘Ram’ was a prayer, every stroke a tear, every letter a surrender.

I stood firm, determined to perform all her rituals—even those traditionally reserved for a son in Hindu tradition—and my family, too, agreed, recognizing the depth of my love for her. In their acceptance, I felt the world acknowledging my bond and devotion towards her.

Later in the afternoon, while we were waiting for the insurance formalities to be cleared so we could take her body for the rituals, I got my cycle. I never believed in this tradition—in fact, I have always seen the cycle as purely biological. But for my Mumma’s upliftment and for her soul to rest in peace, I did not want to become an obstacle from the perspective of tradition.

Her body was fragile, covered with wounds and water was oozing out from her skin. Even in that fragile, wounded body, I saw the strength with which she had lived and loved. The hospital authorities did bandage most her body before releasing. I had witnessed her suffering so closely, but most people must have lost their senses—it was unbearable to see her in such a terrible condition.

As per Hindu tradition, I was not allowed to perform the ceremony, and in that moment, I realized something deeper: the Lord and my Mumma had already accepted my pure devotion and love.

In that moment, I knew, irrespective of my cycle, it was impossible to write with sandalwood on her body and with certainty: what I had done earlier—writing Ram 108 times with my own fingers, with love and prayer was accepted and truest of rituals already performed through these hands.

In that truth, I found peace—knowing the Lord and my Mumma had already accepted my devotion, that her soul had reached where it was meant to be, and that our bond would remain unbroken for eternity.

With every breath, I know—I’m on my way to the eternal Home, where Mumma waits, and love lives forever.

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Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy

Mother – The Highest Manifestation of the Divine

When my mother was ill, I picked up the Bhagavad Gita for the very first time and read it from beginning to end. The strongest message it gave me was this: the soul never dies. At that time, I did not know it was part of her plan — Krishna’s plan — to prepare me for what was to come.

Without warning, at an unexpected moment, she left this world. Looking back, I realize her departure was not just an ending but a divine teaching. Through her, Krishna made me live the truth of the Gita — that while the body perishes, the soul remains eternal.

She carried the weight of suffering her whole life, and even in her final weeks, it intensified to an unimaginable level. Only later did I understand — her suffering was not just hers. It was a lesson for me: to let go, to surrender, and to accept the eternal journey of the soul.

In those moments, I prayed that all the punya (merit) of my Gita reading be offered to her. My only wish on her departure was that she never returns to this realm again, for she deserves liberation forever. If it takes me countless births to balance her share of suffering, I am ready. Her story, if ever written, must be told as the story of a Goddess — for she was nothing less.

And then a deeper realization arises within me: perhaps it was Krishna Himself who had taken form as my mother, untouched by the bonds of this earthly plane. She must already be liberated, already merged into Krishna — the all-pervading, eternal presence.

Today, I breathe with this prayer: My breath is to her, from her, and for her. I ask the Almighty — give me pain, give me suffering beyond imagination if needed, but never let her endure another life of struggle.

Her life was my scripture. It taught me that while the body perishes, love does not. While grief shatters us, surrender heals us. And while we mourn loss, the soul journeys onward — free, eternal, untouched.

Every mother is that divine manifestation — higher than the Lord Himself, as even the scriptures remind us. Through her, I have seen the eternal truth: Mother is the purest form of God, and her love is the closest reflection of eternity.

Her liberation is my prayer.
And every breath I take is her legacy.

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Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy Krishna's Devotee!!! Personal Triumph

The Last Scene I Wish to Carry in My Heart

As I journey deeper into awareness, I realize one eternal truth — everything in this world is an illusion. All relationships are fleeting shadows. Yet, amidst this great illusion, there is one bond in human form that shines with unmatched love and light, guiding us unfailingly towards the Divine — the bond with Mother.

Even the father’s love is profound, but it is the mother’s embrace, her sacrifices, her unconditional grace that is supreme. In her, I see the living altar of divinity.

Before I leave this world — before I transcend this illusion — the last scene I wish to hold in my heart is this:

My mother as Anjani Mata, myself as Hanuman Ji, and before her stands Lord Ram. As per the sacred katha, Lord Ram, the very embodiment of dharma, bows before Anjani Mata with folded hands and says:

“Dhanya, dhanya ho Anjani Mata,
jinhone aise Lal ko janm diya.”

Blessed indeed is Anjani Mata, who gave birth to such a son.

For me, Krishna is everything — the all-pervading presence. But in my heart, when I live this scene, I see Him not just as the Creator, but as the Lord of love, the eternal guide of the soul. In that divine vision, the Lord Himself bows at my mother’s lotus feet, honoring her love, her sacrifices, and her nurturing presence that shaped me into who I am.

Sometimes, I even meditate on this very scene — as if rehearsing my final moment as a human. Each time, it draws me into a transcendent state, where tears of gratitude and devotion flow. In that stillness, I feel an immense motivation: to be good, to do good, and to live in service.

And so, in my final breath, I pray that the last image I carry is of this divine scene:

My mother, radiant as Anjani Mata.

Myself, ever her Hanuman, forever in her service.

And the Lord Himself — as Krishna, the Creator — bowing in reverence at her lotus feet.

For in truth, to be born of such a mother is itself God’s greatest blessing.
And the feet of the mother will forever remain the first temple where Divinity dwells.

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Personal Triumph

The Circle of Love and Light

Teachers are not always the ones we meet in classrooms. They appear in many forms—sometimes as parents, mentors, friends, or even as life itself. Each of them shapes us in their unique way, leaving behind imprints that guide our journey. Today, I feel deeply grateful as I write about the teachers and guides who have made me who I am.

The Guiding Light of My Life

My mother was my very first teacher, and her lessons began even before I was born. From the time I was in her womb, she nurtured me not just physically but at a subtle, spiritual level. She was the one who taught me my alphabets, and I still remember the one and only time she ever slapped me—when I wrote the letter “C” incorrectly after doing it correctly before.

But she was more than just a mother. She was my friend, my sibling, my companion who played with me after school, as my timing with my elder sisters often differed. She instilled discipline in me from a young age and emphasized the importance of independence. At the same time, she pampered me with love, care, and little joys that made my childhood so special.

Her contribution to my life cannot be measured in words—her sacrifices, her strength, and even the pain she endured shaped me into who I am today.

For me, she was not just my mother; she was, and will always remain, my Guru, my Krishna. Before I bow to any divine form, I bow to her—for the values she inculcated in me continue to serve as my eternal guide.

My Dad and Sisters

Alongside my mother, my father and sisters have also been my teachers. Their love and pampering added warmth to my journey, making me feel cared for and supported at every step. Being the youngest in the family, I often received the privileges of their sacrifices—things I did not notice as a child. It is only after growing up that I truly realized how much they gave up so that I could have a better life.

My family has been my strength, silently shaping me with their love, care, and values. Whatever I am today is not just because of me, but because of them. We have always moved together as a team, and my roots, my security, and my courage come from the foundation they built for me.

Abha Miss – My Maths Teacher

Abha Miss was my mathematics teacher both at school and in tuition, but my bond with her extended far beyond academics. Her presence, support, and guidance have played a beautiful role in my journey. I will always remain grateful for the impact she had on my life.

Nisha Mam – My Spiritual Guide

After losing my mother, I crossed paths with Nisha Mam—a teacher who entered my life almost as if she had been sent by my mother herself. Her presence, her wisdom, and her way of guiding have been significant in my journey. She doesn’t provide ready-made answers; instead, she lights the path and allows me to walk it with awareness. Her presence itself is a guiding force that I often refer back to in moments of reflection.

Tony – My Mentor at Work

In my professional journey, I have been fortunate to have Tony, a senior mentor whose role has been pivotal in shaping me. He has always believed in my potential, yet never handed me solutions directly. Instead, he challenges me with direction, trusts me to put in the effort, and helps me discover my own way forward. His faith has instilled confidence in me, and his mentorship has been a true blessing

Nikhil – My Fitness Coach

And then there is Nikhil, my fitness coach, who taught me that fitness is more about mindset than just the body. On days when I dragged myself, he pushed me beyond limits, entertained even my smallest doubts, and supported me with patience. What inspires me most is his toughness and inner strength—it reflects in the way he trains and motivates. Through him, I have learned that resilience of the mind can truly transform the body, and that with the right mindset, I can do it.

The Silent Teachers – Critics and Heartbreaks

Not all teachers enter our lives with affection. Some come in the form of critics, disappointments, and heartbreaks. At the time, their presence may feel harsh, but in hindsight, they too were vital teachers. They pushed me out of my comfort zone, tested my resilience, and forced me to widen my boundaries.

The pain they caused became the fire that shaped my strength. Their criticism made me introspect, and their absence made me value presence. In their own way, they taught me lessons no book could ever offer: to rise after falling, to trust my own worth, and to keep growing even when it hurts.

A Bow of Gratitude

Each of these people—whether they brought me love, guidance, challenges, or even heartbreak—have been my teachers. Some entered through birth, some through circumstance, and some by sheer divine blessing. To all of them, I bow with gratitude. They remind me that life is a continuous journey of learning, and teachers are the guiding stars who help us shine.