Author: Priyanka Murarka

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Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy

Ending the Inheritance of silence

I faintly remember a time when my mother’s jewellery was taken and invested in the family business—an investment that never returned and eventually dissolved. Perhaps I was too young to fully understand it then, but the memory stayed. Now, I understand that when the dignity of the women in a home is compromised, the cost is often far greater than what we see on the surface.

I silently worked harder, and key reason was to give my parents a better life and buy jewellery for my mother. When I finally felt I had saved enough to buy her something, she had no desire to wear such things. Perhaps she might have wanted them in the past—but in truth, she never really had a fascination for it. Somewhere, she only wanted it for her daughters, for our future, for our marriages.

When I was finally in a position to buy something for her, she had lost interest and instead insisted on buying things for me.

This brings me to what I’ve been reflecting on lately. For the past few years, I’ve wanted to travel to certain destinations, but due to several challenges, I couldn’t. Now that I finally have the freedom and approval at home to travel, it feels somewhat meaningless.

I feel that if I am to spend 5–6 days of my time, it should be meaningful. For the past 10 years, writing has been my inner calling, and it has deepened even more after everything with my mother. I now feel drawn toward a writing retreat—something that adds value, perhaps a workshop or program that contributes to my growth—rather than just travel.

Recently, I did go on a trip. When I reflect on it, I had an incredible time and entered a very introspective space. That journey gave me room to think about self-development, and perhaps I should travel for liesure once in a while. But right now, what feels like a priority is nurturing my growth, evolving, and building my skill set in this fast-changing world.

Is this why I feel these mixed emotions—that I was unable to have what I once longed for, and now, when it is within reach, it feels meaningless? Or is this a reflection of how I have evolved over time? Or perhaps, is this an opportunity for me to break the pattern of generational setbacks that my mother/grandmother and those before them may have experienced? A question worth pondering.

Categories
Eternal Love: A Mother's Legacy

Love in the Physical Realm

I had grown up seeing my parents’ critical illnesses. Dad had cerebral attacks twice, two years in a row, while I was in school, and later, during my CA Inter exams, he met with an accident. My mom had multiple health issues—her uterus was removed when I was in college, and she faced critical pre- and post-menopausal issues. She was seriously ill to the extent that she was on a ventilator for a couple of weeks before I got my job. Later, she was diagnosed with COPD and was admitted again due to another acute exacerbation of COPD.

Childhood, for me, was learning survival before learning life.

I worked with a multinational as a Chartered accountant that was highly demanding. I belonged to a generation that believed in hard work, respecting seniors, and staying silent even when something felt incorrect. On the few occasions when I did try to take a stand for myself, I saw the true nature of management.

In November 2015, almost seven years before her departure, my mother was diagnosed with COPD and became critically ill. One hospital even advised us to take her home, saying there were no chances of survival. However, we were not ready to give up on her and decided to try another hospital.

Hope became our only treatment when medicine gave up.

Thankfully, after more than a month of treatment, she was discharged. At that time, the doctor mentioned that her survival chances were minimal—perhaps a couple of years at most.

Due to her condition, my mother had to use a BiPAP machine—a mask covering the nose and mouth, connected to an oxygen supply, often referred to as a portable ventilator. When she was discharged, she had to use it 24 hours a day.

During the same period, my father also fell critically ill and was on bed rest. Both my support systems, my elder sisters, could not be around due to medical emergencies in their in-laws’ families. It was also my promotion year, and I was the family’s breadwinner. I arranged the BiPAP machine and oxygen machine, though I had no clue about these machines in the first place.

Every night felt like a nightmare. She developed rashes around her nose and head because of the mask, but she had no choice. Thankfully, with proper care and precautions, after six months the doctor advised that she could limit its use to nighttime only, which was the biggest achievement of my life, and my promotion at work felt meaningless. It was her willpower to get better for me that made this possible.

Even in her suffering, she chose me every day.

I remember that whenever she removed the BiPAP, it felt as if she had been freed from a cage. A few years later, I was once advised to use a nebulizer for a cough for just a few minutes. It only covered the nose, yet it felt as if death would be better than that feeling. She, however, had to use it for 24 hours, and later years, many times during the day as well. There were moments when I had to insist on her putting it on, but each time it would break and shatter me from within.

Her love was not expressed in words, but in how she managed pain silently while ensuring I was never affected by it.

One blood test was done every 2–3 months in which the needle was injected in arteries to assess her blood oxygen and co2 level and it caused intense pain for months and led to crazy blood clots. I often wondered how she mentally prepared herself for that test every single time. Why did she carry so much willpower just for me? Yet, throughout her life, she remained grateful, believing that I was responsible for giving her another life. I did not want to marry someone who would not support me in taking care of my parents after marriage or expect me to live only in the vicinity of my in-laws’ home. I was only a reflection of her love and sacrifice, not my own doing.

Her struggle was invisible, but it defined my entire existence.

My mother never gave up, perhaps especially since I was still unmarried. She continued leading a difficult life with artificial breathing for seven years, worrying about me and wanting to see me settled. To her, I was still a little child.

For her, my life was not separate from hers—it was her reason to endure.

She developed ulcers on her tongue, and even the taste of salt caused a burning sensation in her mouth, affecting her ability to taste. Yet she still cared so much about every minute detail for me. I remember how her hands would tremble due to multiple health issues, including a vitamin deficiency. Yet, with those same trembling hands, she would cut a plate full of fruits for me every day—tasting each piece first, because she knew I wouldn’t eat it if it was sour. She wanted me to stay healthy. She even cooked meals for me out of affection despite her sickness.

She was more alert to my smallest discomfort than her own severe pain.

Irrespective of our situation, she gave me the life of a princess. She was my shelter and support system at all times; even when I didn’t speak, she heard me. When I saw no hope, she assured me that better days were ahead, and they would unfold gradually, though her health kept deteriorating.

Even in her weakest physical state, she was my strongest emotional support.

I feared losing her, and I remember that in the middle of the night, I would wake up to check on her, to see if she was still breathing. I can’t even count how many nights I slept, soaked in tears, filled with the pain of seeing my mother suffer.

Her love was silent, but it filled every corner of my life more than words ever could. I never had to hear her love—I lived inside it every day.

Categories
Personal Triumph

Healing beyond the mind: My AMP experience

I believe this wasn’t just a program — it was a retreat to reset the subconscious mind.
When we seek change in life, we must return to the root cause. Our mind works like an iceberg — most of its patterns lie hidden beneath the surface. The subconscious, conditioned since birth, silently governs much of what we experience. What manifests in the physical world first takes form at a subtle level within us.

Before attending AMP, I was already in a natural state of silence. My lifestyle is mostly inward — I spend much of my time in self-reflection. We often think we consciously choose change, but many shifts arise from the depths of the subconscious.

I don’t know to what extent AMP has touched those deeper layers within me, but something certainly moved. Two moments, in particular, shook me emotionally and spiritually.

The first was the sound of the flute played by Amit Bhaiya — yet it felt as if Krishna Himself was playing it, just for me. Every morning before i start my day at work i chant this affirmation  which is stuck on my laptop for few months now – “Like the sound of Your flute, let me dissolve into the rhythm of Your devotion.” I always used to wonder why He never played the flute for me — but now I realize, this experience was not random. I call it a spiritual blessing; others may call it mystical — both are true in their own way.

The second was healing. I began my journey carrying a deep physical sickness (fever and allergic cough), one I consciously hid from my family, knowing they wouldn’t have let me travel otherwise. Yet after the sessions, a quiet calm replaced the suffering — as if I left all my pain behind in AMP.

The third was one of the processes where we cleansed the emotions stored in the meridians. It made me feel completely empty — inside out — as though something heavy was leaving my system.


Throughout the session, Divine spoke — not through words alone, but through silence, energy, and inner clarity. The direction and answers to countless questions came so naturally that it felt as if the Lord Himself had come down in human form to converse with me.

Could anyone ask for more?
These are only a few reflections at the physical level. What unfolds ahead in my life will reveal the deeper, subtle shifts that have taken root within.
The morning after returning, I woke up with a quiet feeling — “Why am I here?” — yet I chose to simply sit in silence. That silence now feels effortless, peaceful, and full of grace.

As a Mudra Therapist, I’ve been sincerely practicing the Life Changing Mudra and Therapeutic Mudra for nearly two and a half years now — they have been a constant source of balance and transformation in my journey. AMP, in its own divine way, felt like a continuation and deepening of that same inner work — as if both were guided by the same Higher Hand.

My deepest gratitude to my Guru, Divine and Amit Bhaiya.
I hold profound respect in my heart for you bhaiya — words fall short of expressing it. I bow down to your lotus feet. Jai Gurudev!

If the Lord wills, He will write Part 2 of this journey. For now, I rest in gratitude — and I know I will return for another AMP in a few months, to continue this beautiful inner unfolding.