That one smile of my child who trusts me for his existence, food and water. In that one shivering in my heart to somehow give him what he wants — that was not me till then. These small things — trust, belief, love and faith of the child — made me a mother, how many ever times I got proved as a bad human being. The beauty of motherhood is so pure. It is an opportunity to experience divinity within us.

In 7th standard, I wrote a story with everything I had. It was mine completely, joyfully mine. My teacher rewrote it. My tutor told me I didn't have the brains to feel proud. I submitted. I got good marks.The author in me died that day.What I didn't know was that the one who truly silenced her - wasn't them. It was me.

As a child, people loved my innocence. As I grew, that same innocence confused me - what is real? Can people be trusted? I spent years waiting for someone to bring me the answers. Until I realised — the answers were never outside. They were always within. The day I learnt to question myself… was the day I found my freedom.