You love writing letters, I know. And given a choice, you’d only accept letters instead of gifts on your birthday. Okay, maybe not. Maybe just the Jasmine and Cedarwood candles, Chamomile scrubs or Hibiscus teas.
They say thirties are the new twenties, but thank God they aren’t. I’m happy that you have grown and outgrown – phases, people, partners; borderline boring with your Geeta obsession, but that’s still better than going out with toxic men who wreak havoc with a good woman’s nervous system.
I’m sorry that your marriage doesn’t look anywhere close to ‘50 Shades of Grey’ or ‘Bridgerton’, but look you created your own bubble. I know it’s disappointing that you didn’t find a knight who’d wrap you in his armour and ride into the velvety midnight sky; but then nobody did, sweetie. You didn’t find a knight, but you did find a slew of wonder women who baby you and buy you stuff, without letting the undercurrents of their life touch you. And these are the times when you realise that your girlfriends are way more capable. I’m happy that you found the best ones.
They say that you learn to swim the moment you fall into a well, but why fall into a well when you can have margaritas by the pool in a tangerine swimsuit? The scooping-cat-litter-twice-a-day seems like something you can manage. Also, I wouldn’t want you to go through half a decade of breakdowns teaching math and physics. Why would anyone want to do that to themselves?
Congratulations on Laali, your new cherry red hatchback. Do you still drive barefeet because you need to ‘feel’ the accelerator and the clutch? I’m sure you do. Just don’t let those wedges come under your brake.
You need to stop buying books, lady. You neither have space in your home nor your head. Your new books and the handmade soaps are next to Gingy’s dry food, by the way. Just in case you forget.
I heard you’ve started putting your foot down. Oh, how I love watching the tables turn. What were you scared about anyway? It’s your life. It’s your money. It’s your rulebook. You’ve lately stopped taking risks and taking solo trips. Why, tell me why?
Stop impressing people. Stop being so nice, especially to selfish people, people who send one-word replies, people who send a ‘K’ and a ‘thumbs up’ emoji. Yes, I know you’re trying hard to be dvandva-free – but seriously, stop. They don’t deserve your sweet-smelling messages. Leave them on read. Them and people who make you feel old. Get out of that space, do something fun, something that involves movement and laughter.
Remember that social media is an anti-therapist, and it’s okay to not create content if you don’t feel like. It’s okay to disconnect and bake banana bread, scrub the bathroom or declutter the house. It’s okay to not be constantly available for your loved ones. Stop justifying why you slept or why you went to Bandra all by yourself to read a book and eat a good vegan meal. You don’t need constant company other than the books you read. Not for a coffee, not for a camp.
There will be times when the compass will give up, and you won’t know where to head out. But don’t let your internal alignment crumble. Be instinctive, be spontaneous, or simply invert for a few minutes. You made the decision to not sell your soul for money, and instead impact lives by teaching Yoga. I know it sucks when students don’t turn up for class or you don’t feel appreciated enough after teaching for hours. But you do you – roll that mat out, teach all you can, and don’t let this thought ever dampen your spirit.
Looks like you’ve stopped reading and writing. Let Yoga engulf you, but take some time off to ride the waves. It’s your meditation, and you must do it. Clear some space in your schedule. Skip that dinner with your friends, who aren’t friends anymore. They’re just people you see over weekends.
I know how hard you work. I know that the skin is changing. But I also know that you have bright eyes that are full of sparkle. May this year be about realising and reclaiming who you truly are.

Happy birthday, firefly.