In childhood, I witnessed and encountered many situations I never spoke about—not with friends, not even with family. I carried them quietly, like invisible weights on my young shoulders.
There were moments when I heard people badmouthing my parents and siblings—saying things no child should ever have to process. And I stayed silent. Maybe because I didn’t know how to speak up. Maybe because I feared being misunderstood.
My father sacrificed his life at work, and my mother gave her all at home. Both were deeply devoted, intellectually inclined souls. Yet, the world still found reasons to disrespect them. And I, as a child, didn’t know how to handle that dissonance—between the love I felt and the judgment I saw.
There was also an age gap between me and my elder sisters. While they were growing into their own worlds, I often found myself alone. Not unloved—but lonely.
I didn’t have a friend I could truly call my own.
Back then, that “best friend” label meant everything. It was what every classmate flaunted. It was the norm, and not having that made me feel like I was missing something fundamental.
Looking back now, I realise the root of my loneliness wasn’t just about not having someone to talk to.
It was about not feeling understood.
It was about the emotional burdens I carried silently.
It was about being surrounded, yet unseen.
And most of all—it was about my yearning for true connection, a quiet hunger to be met with presence and compassion.
I gave my all wherever I went—and yes, I expected in return. Because I’m human, not a saint. And human hearts crave mutuality.
But that giving often came with pain.
I was broken, shattered, betrayed, used.
And slowly, life taught me something essential:
That I was seeking at the wrong place.
Along the way, I met different people—friends who felt like answers, soulmates, companions.
Some stayed for a while. Others came and left like seasons.
And they taught nothing is permanent in life.
But with time and reflection, something shifted.
I now understand: it was never about having someone to share everything with.
It was about Being—
Being accepted.
Being seen.
Being held—not in performance, but in presence.
And my seeking ends here.
For I now seek everything in Krishna—
The friend I always dreamt of.
The one who was always there when I felt lonely.
The one I failed to recognise.
That divine presence within me—the quiet wisdom guiding me through the chaos—was Him.
He was assisting me in silence, watching over my broken moments, holding space in my solitude.
I thought I lacked a best friend.
But truly—I’ve always had the best one anyone could ever ask for.
My eternal companion. My Krishna.