My Substack is a space for reflection in the hours before the day begins.
I write about second acts; what happens after the roles that once defined us loosen their grip. About motherhood and identity, discipline and devotion, belonging and inheritance. About living between cultures, between obligations, between who we were and who we are still becoming.
Much of this writing emerges from early mornings, yoga studios, prayer rooms, and the quiet moments before the end of the day. It is shaped by a life lived across geographies and responsibilities—India and Silicon Valley, tradition and choice, structure and restlessness.
I don’t write with answers. I write to listen more carefully.
If you are navigating change, redefining purpose, or simply trying to stay present in the midst of a full life, you are warmly invited to walk alongside me.
Yoga, motherhood, and the long work of becoming The alarm goes off. It is 4:30 a.m. The familiar battle between mind and body begins. I think of my packed schedule and the only place I can squeeze in a yoga class—6 a.m. I am not a morning person. READ ON ...
I rush into the yoga studio with my mat and accoutrements—pink and purple mat cover, two small towels, two water bottles filled with filtered water, knee braces, and a lavender spray for my mat and towels. I sign in quickly and scan the room, looking for the best place: close enough to the bar for reassurance, but with a full view of myself in the mirror. READ ON ...
Last weekend, my cousin, who owns a hospital chain in India, told me he would spend two hours in prayer for a ceremony to move the Ganesh statue from one side of the hospital entrance to another. I couldn’t help wondering: how does he justify two hours in the middle of a life already too full? He was spending time he didn’t have, moving a statue originally placed there on a priest’s advice. “Well, Usha,” he said gently, “I believe in cosmic power.” His words stayed with me. READ ON ...
All my life, I’ve danced between two shores, The East, the West, both at my core. A journey both daunting and bright, In every moment, I sought the light. Do I eat with my hands, or use a fork’s grace? Speak of my faith, in a world out of place? How do I introduce my culture, so dear, To the world I live in, without fear? READ ON ...