In Folds Of Smile

There’s something magical about this time of year—the world seems to shift gears, seamlessly blending nostalgia, festivity, and hope. In India, the air buzzes with the joy of Dussera and Diwali, while in the USA, it’s the spooky fun of Halloween, the gratitude of Thanksgiving, and the warmth of the Christmas season. Reflecting on these moments, I’m reminded of how life surprises us when we pause, reconnect, and embrace the harmonious chaos and calm of these ever-changing seasons.

October began with Dussera celebrations—and an unexpected ping from an old friend. You know, the kind of friend who once knew all your secrets, shared your dreams, and could convince you to do ridiculous things. Years had passed, life had moved on, but one hangout turned into hours of laughing, crying, and talking about whether the food we loved as kids still tasted the same. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t, but the nostalgia makes up for it. That week with my friend was a whirlwind of emotions. We celebrated her birthday, laughed, stayed up late solving the world’s problems, fought over silly things, made up, hugged it out, and ate more food than I’d like to admit. It reminded me how important it is to reconnect—not just with others but with the simple joy of living in the moment.

Then came Diwali, bringing light in more ways than one. A surprise visit from my cousin and uncle turned my home into a mini festival of hugs, laughter, and slightly passive-aggressive family debates. As we stood together during the puja, I found myself holding back tears. I saw the lines on my parents’ faces—not just from time but from years of love, sacrifice, and late-night worrying about their overly emotional daughter. It hit harder this year because we were missing someone. My aunt, who we lost a few months ago, wasn’t there to scold us for lighting crackers too close to the flower pots or to serve her legendary sweets. We cried together, my mom and I, as we arranged diyas in her honor. Grief has a way of sneaking up on you during the happiest moments. But somehow, between the hugs, the tears, and my dad’s terrible jokes, we found solace in each other. It was perfectly imperfect—just like family.

Amid all this, I took a step back toward something I’d long forgotten: dance. Returning to the stage after years felt like unearthing a rusty, old treasure chest—awkward at first but oh-so-worth it. My dance teacher refused to let me back out (thank God for stubborn people who love you), and as the music started, I felt a flicker of my old self returning. For those few minutes on stage, I wasn’t just Nidhi, the overthinking, stressed-out adult. I was Nidhi, the dancer, the dreamer, the girl who felt free.

And then there’s my car—Ladoo Rani. It hasn’t been an easy few months, and I won’t sugarcoat it. Recently, I discovered that a handful of people actually read my blogs, and almost everyone’s been asking about her. Don’t worry, she’ll get her moment to shine in a future post. Someone recently told me that life often gets tougher before it gets easier, and I’m holding onto that thought. Lately, I’ve been struggling mentally and emotionally, caught in a whirlwind of feelings I can’t always put into words. It’s not that I lack a support system; it’s just hard to express the depth of what I feel and the things I deeply miss.

Speaking of things I’ll miss: Black Friday shopping. The thrill of waking up at 6 a.m., armed with lists and caffeine, ready to battle for that extra 50% off. Spending the entire day (and most of the night) hopping from store to store with friends, calculating discounts, standing in lines, and making deals like a boss. And don’t even get me started on Cyber Monday—the chase for online discounts was an art form. But honestly, I think I’ve collected enough bags, books, and shoes for a lifetime. Maybe it’s time to embrace minimalism… or at least try. Baby steps, right? Especially since I have boxes of luggage still being shipped to me. Minimalism can wait until those arrive.

Through all this, I’ve been carrying what feels like a massive load of emotional baggage. A friend (who happens to be into astrology) told me Pluto’s doing its thing in Aquarius, which apparently means transformation and rebirth. Sounds fancy, but all I feel is stuck. Maybe I’m resisting the change. Maybe I’m scared of the unknown. Or maybe Pluto should just chill out for a second and let me catch my breath.

I’ve been crying a lot (my parents are officially done with my waterworks), struggling to sleep, and trying to make sense of it all. But in the middle of this chaos, there’s one thing I keep clinging to: faith. Whether it’s lighting a Diwali diya, whispering a prayer, or just believing that someday I’ll laugh about all this, faith has been my anchor. It’s like a Bollywood movie—messy, dramatic, and painfully slow at times, but you just know there’s a happy ending waiting.

This season has been bittersweet—full of reflection, celebration, and growth. It’s taught me to hold on to what’s precious while letting go of what no longer aligns. So here’s to old friends, new memories, family hugs, awkward dance rehearsals, and maybe even letting go of my car (but not my playlist).

And as I look ahead, I remind myself of a simple truth: life is about savoring the little moments that make it extraordinary. Until then, I’ll keep praying, walking, dancing, and trusting that one day, I’ll laugh, cry happy tears, and thank the universe for guiding me through.