Witty Bean

Back in 2005, I had an arranged-love marriage. We did the whole 3 day Jewelry-food-makeup-million guests thing.  and I was a delighted 22-year-old, madly in love and so happy to be having my dream wedding.My husband however was less than pleased. He has  been raised outside India so a lot of the customs and rituals didn’t hold the same allure for him. Plus, he felt the whole thing was more about the elders and Pandits than the two of us.   Last year, we were in Las Vegas for a week, with our two kids. One morning, I’m fixing breakfast in my yoga pants, when there’s a knock on the hotel room door. I open the door to see a large man dressed exactly like Michael Jackson (yes that Michael Jackson). Obviously some manner of performer and this being Vegas, I shrug and tell him he’s probably got the wrong room. He looks me up and down (my Yoga pants and crazy hair) and asks in a curiously soft voice,   “Mrs. Raman?”   I nod, surprised.   “Well, this i...

It doesn’t seem like much. There’s no leather chair inviting you to sit. No gilded tomes whispering wise secrets into your ears. Not a single glass of scotch - the author’s best friend. Instead there’s chaos. Princess stickers and bright colors. A shopping list crumpled in the corner. Wires and markers, paper clips and candles.   This is how I write. And this is how I live. Surrounded by ordinary moments, until they become something more on my screen.   ❤️ ❤️

I have been a storyteller  for as long as I remember. From my very first written story at age 5, to the endless evenings I spent regaling my (oft bored) younger sister with tales of monsters and maidens, the art of storytelling has held immense appeal to me. I have been blessed to get published multiple times this year, but to be featured in an actual book is a new honor! First Moms Club's Inaugural Ebook launched last weekend on Mother’s Day. I was privileged to contribute my own story and share space with so many talented writers. Smiles and tears, laughter and madness. The Mommy journey and the people we walk it with. This ebook is filled with heartfelt pieces about Motherhood and the unique love that blazes within all of us. Download here and please share : https://firstmomsclub.in/a-mothers-promise/ Grab your copy (it’s free!) and settle back with a hot cup of tea. This one is special! Here’s to all the rockstar moms in our lives!

I'm sorry I haven't been active lately. I got published in multiple places and that has been super exciting! I promise to share more here soon!  And if that doesn't win you over, bonus puppy picture!

So my 4-year-old, Reya has been showing a lot of interest in the local currency. Denominations, using coins instead of   notes, basic addition and subtraction, helping with paying at the store- she’s been really enjoying the concept of Money. We also use a reward system, wherein she can earn tokens for completing her chores or helping around the house. This is her “allowance” to access new books/fun activities at the end of the month. I’ve found it to to be a simple system, because she understands that everything has value and so she looks forward to earning fun stuff with no pressure.   Still with me? Ok. Now being the planner I am, I thought our natural, next step was a piggy bank. Hey, she likes money and this would be an interesting way for her to understand the basics of earning, saving and spending. I rushed to Amazon, found a kid friendly piggy Bank/money safe and ordered it, hoping to raise the next Narayana Murthy - a responsible, mindful spender. Prim...

As the needle hit my skin, I had an unpleasant thought. Does it really matter? Whether you live or die? People move on, don’t they? Sure, they’ll cry and mourn you. Some will even change their profile pictures for a few days.  “We miss you!”  “You were taken too soon!” “What a tragic end to such a beautiful soul!” A blur of green around me, as I rested my head on the bed. I could sense my toes flexing. before they suddenly went limp. A gentle woodenness crept up my body, pleasant and heavy.  (Dr.Raman, are you doing fine?) I tried to move my limbs, or perhaps I dreamed I did. Someone put a cold palm on my brow.  I drooled a little, then tried to sit up, but the cold palm patted my forehead. (Good job, Dr.Raman. We’re almost there.) Suddenly memories came gushing back, faster than I could keep up. The pain, the doctor’s assurance, the need for surgery.  Oh God, I was in the Operating Suite. The sedative was al...