Lamhe

 

Lamhe, meaning moments, is more than just a blog. It is a gentle unfolding of thoughts, reflections, and memories — a quiet place where I explore my evolving relationship with family, friends, society, and myself. Every post you’ll read here has been drawn from the living pages of my own life — from the ordinary to the extraordinary, from silent heartaches to surreal joys.

I consider myself blessed to have walked through life with individuals from a rich tapestry of cultures, mindsets, and temperaments. Their perspectives, intelligence, and contradictions have deeply shaped me. Through their presence — and sometimes their absence — I learned, unlearned, and learned again.

My journey has not been a straight road. It has had its share of sharp turns, thrilling highs, daunting lows, and a few detours that felt like they belonged in a fairytale. But I’ve come to believe that life is not meant to be understood all at once — it must be lived in chapters, moment by moment. Each Lamha has taught me something invaluable. This blog is my humble attempt to preserve them.

Educationally, I am what one might call encyclopaedic and eclectic. With degrees in Hindi Literature, Counselling, Indian Classical Dance & Music, and a doctorate in Music Therapy, my life has always been a bridge between the artistic and the analytical. I’ve worn many hats — stage performer, television and radio artist, dancer, announcer, teacher, counsellor, and even a marketing executive. I cherished each role deeply, and many of my writings here are drawn from those fascinating layers of professional experience.

At the heart of all this — of me — is one man.

My father, Shri Rajendra Pradeep, was not just my father. He was my first teacher, my strongest critic, my eternal well of inspiration. A scholar of English and Psychology, he served as a professor, registrar, and later vice-chancellor at MD University, Rohtak. But beyond the titles, he was a poet, a playwright, and a voice of reason and emotion — all at once. His Urdu literary contributions earned him the prestigious Khwaja Ahmad Abbas Award. He wrote extensively for radio, stage, and print — and his words became the rhythm of our home.

We are six siblings, all raised with equal doses of affection and expectation, of curiosity and courage. And in each of us, my father still lives — gently guiding, quietly correcting.

Today, I dedicate Lamhe to his memory.

With folded hands and an open heart, I offer this blog as a tribute — to the man who shaped my soul and fuelled my fire. His spirit glows in every thought I share, in every sentence I construct, in every story I dare to tell.
In his absence, I have found not emptiness — but voice.

Lamhe is that voice.
A voice that remembers. A voice that honors.
A voice that dares to feel.