LAMHE

In my counselling practice, I often meet women who confide their pain to me — stories of marital discord, loneliness, and emotional isolation. Again and again, I notice a familiar pattern: when the partner is absent, either emotionally or physically, the mother turns to her daughter. Slowly, the daughter becomes her confidant, her comforter, sometimes even her mediator. I cannot deny that I have lived this truth in my own home. I am a mother of two daughters, and there were times when they quietly slipped into that role between me and my husband. Whenever there was tension, he would sometimes ask them to step in, to mediate. And while I tried to avoid placing that weight on their shoulders, I could not always protect them from it. As a mother, I saw their maturity and wisdom; as a counsellor, I saw the danger. They were never meant to be our therapists. Psychologists have a name for this: parentification . It happens when children take on responsibilities that belong to adults. Sometim...

The Writer’s Reflection: Stories of the Mind Every story begins with a turn—एक करवट. Sometimes life turns towards joy, sometimes towards restlessness, sometimes towards silence. As a writer, I often find that the deepest stories don’t come from imagination, but from those unspoken turns of the mind. On this World Mental Health Day, I don’t want to give advice; I want to share a reminder: every emotion we carry is a story waiting to be honoured. Whether it is anxiety, grief, or hope—each deserves its space in our diary of life. The Artist’s Reflection: Healing Through Rhythm When I dance, I notice something strange—the same step feels different on different days. One day it releases anger, another day it releases tears. The taal, the raga, the brush of rhythm across the heart—they all remind me that art has always been humanity’s first therapy. Long before psychology found its language, we were already healing through music, colour, gesture, and movement. Perhaps that’s why mental healt...

 Every September, those three words appear everywhere: R U OK? Posters at train stations, badges at work, hashtags on social media. At first, it feels like just another campaign, but the story behind it makes you stop and think. The day was created in 2009 by Gavin Larkin, who lost his father, Barry, to suicide. Gavin believed that if someone had asked his dad that one simple question — “Are you OK?” — it might have opened the door to a different outcome. He turned his personal pain into a national movement, urging us all to check in on one another. It matters because the reality is confronting. In Australia, suicide is still the leading cause of death for people aged 15 to 44. On average, nine Australians die by suicide every single day, and many more attempt it. Behind each statistic are families, friends, colleagues, and communities left to pick up the pieces. It makes me wonder: how many lives could change if we reached out more often? I remember a colleague telling me once tha...

From the time I was little, I was fascinated by the unseen. I remember waiting for the Sunday newspaper, eager to flip to the horoscope column. Not because I believed it blindly, but because I was curious. I loved showing my palm to any roadside palmist who claimed to see something unusual. Later, I devoured books on numerology, palmistry, and astrology. Each prediction felt like a story waiting to unfold. But as I grew, so did my questions. If two people shared the same zodiac sign or numerological number, why did their lives unfold so differently? The answer I always heard was karma. “It is your past and present deeds that shape your destiny,” people said. Yet another puzzle arose: if karma and planetary positions were so powerful, how could a simple ritual — feeding the poor, chanting a mantra, or donating a cloth — really alter one’s fate? As a number 4 — ruled by Rahu — I recognised myself inl the descriptions: unconventional paths, mental restlessness, delays, and rebellion. But ...

The other evening, I found myself at a casual get-together with friends. The wine was flowing, the snacks were crisp, and the conversation… well, it took its usual ‘after-two-drinks’ detour into the dusty lanes of Indian politics. Suddenly, the room transformed from an air-conditioned lounge in Sydney into a live studio debate on Times Now. One friend was passionately bashing BJP, another passionately bashing Congress. In a few minutes, we had Modi compared to Hitler, and Nehru blamed for our clogged city drains. I, however, sipped my drink silently, offering only a smile here and there. That’s when a friend looked straight at me and smirked, “You’re awfully quiet. Don’t you like criticising Modi and his government? Or are you a Modi bhakt?” Ah! The trap had been set. I smiled again (the kind of smile that confuses even a seasoned debater) and replied, “I’m not a fan of any party. Time to time, I’ve admired some leaders. I liked Indira Gandhi. I liked Atal ji. I do respect Modi too. Bu...

  As a counsellor, and perhaps more keenly as a human observer, I often find myself reflecting on some patterns we see in digital spaces. One such pattern is hard to ignore: the chronic posters. You’ve seen them — people who post 10 to 15 updates a day about political drama, wars, global leaders, or social injustice. “Israel did this, Trump did that, Modi failed here…” And so on. Strangely, no one seems to respond. No likes. No comments. No debates. And yet — they keep going, day after day, as if they are reporting for a newsroom that doesn’t exist. I used to wonder — what do they get out of it? It’s not journalism. It’s not activism. Most of them aren’t even involved in social or political circles. So what is it? Over time, through counselling sessions and quiet contemplation, I’ve realized — it’s not about the  news . It’s about the  need . The Illusion of Activism In today’s world, where real action often feels far-fetched, clicking “Share” can momentarily feel like po...

Once upon a time, community work was humble. Quiet. It was led by those who believed in service, not in selfies. There were potlucks, prayers, fundraisers, and friendships. No titles, no trophies. But times have changed. Somewhere in the folds of global migration and local ambition, community service transformed into a spotlight sport. These days, in diaspora circles especially, starting an association has become the new social ladder. You don’t join a club anymore—you launch one, with a press release. You don’t serve the people—you gather them like a following. “Founding President,” “Convenor,” “Chairperson”—not so much roles as badges of importance, carefully stitched onto Facebook bios and WhatsApp groups. At first glance, these gatherings appear noble—forums for cultural preservation, youth empowerment, and social bonding. But peel the layers and often you’ll find an exhausting game of visibility, control, and ego management. What used to be a shared platform is now a stage for per...