On plans that unravelled, small joys that didn’t, and learning to hold both with grace.
I had a quiet feeling at the start of April that it would be an unsaid beginning. A soft reset. A second, fresh chance at the year. I held that intention gently, the way you hold something you’re not quite sure about.
Life, of course, had other ideas. And maybe that’s exactly the point. Maybe the beauty isn’t in how faithfully life follows our script, but in how it keeps surprising us, even when we wish it wouldn’t.
Showing up anyway
Motivation is genuinely hard when no one is watching. There’s no applause for showing up in an empty room. But yoga isn’t just asanas; it’s also a philosophy you slowly start to live by. One of the Niyamas, the personal observances in yoga, is tapas: self-discipline, inner fire, the persistent effort to burn away what no longer serves you. Showing up not for anyone else, but for your own dedication. That’s what moved me forward this month.
The quiet mornings. The mat rolled out before the day got loud. My yoga practice held steady.
I love the way yoga makes me feel my body. Not perform it. Feel it.
And teaching, watching my students settle into a pose, seeing something click in their expression, fills a space in me I didn’t know needed filling. Being a new teacher, these moments carry a weight I can’t easily put into words. They remind me of why I started.
What I’ve been reading
My reading goal is quietly humming along. This month I’ve been sitting with Milkman by Anna Burns, funny and serious in the same breath, strange and deeply human. Not everyone will love it, but I think everyone should read it. Some books ask something of you. This is one of them.
The unexpected joys
I fell down the MTV Splitsvilla rabbit hole. Season 16. I am not even a little embarrassed. My life is calm, intentional, largely drama-free, which is wonderful, and also apparently means I need somewhere to put my appetite for spectacle. Splitsvilla is that place. My mom is the other. Between the two of them, I am thoroughly entertained.
On being seen
I finally linked my yoga account to my personal one. It felt bigger than it sounds. Instagram is often the only window people have into your work, and opening that window, letting both parts of yourself exist in the same frame, takes something. I’m not sure I’m fully comfortable yet. But I’m here. That’s a beginning.
The hard parts
Work was heavy this month. Too many events, too many reports, proposals stacking up. April always carries this kind of pressure, and knowing that doesn’t make it lighter. It was exhausting. I’m allowing myself to say that plainly.
Then there was London, a work trip that almost happened. My visa was refused two days before I was supposed to leave. The strange thing? I felt more relieved than disappointed. I’m a planner. I like to arrive at things fully prepared. This one had been uncertain until the very last moment, and the not-knowing had been quietly eating at me. So in the end, the refusal felt almost like a kindness. Clarity — even uncomfortable clarity — has its own peace.
And one small, funny thing
My face made it into the local news. Not as the story, I was representing my organisation at TEDxHyderabad, but still, there I was. It made me laugh. Sometimes you just show up and do the thing in front of you, and life makes a small note of it. I genuinely do not know what I was smiling so hard about.
April wasn’t what I imagined it would be. It was messier, heavier, and somehow, quietly enough, still good.
Some months teach you through disruption. Others through steadiness. April did both, and I’m holding that with both hands.
Also, I won’t be writing one of these every month. This isn’t a series; it’s just what happens when a month sits heavy enough, or bright enough, to need somewhere to go.
Written with honesty & a lot of tea · April 2025
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