This book was not planned.
It was born from a moment of absolute despair—a fall on the hard floor of a five star hotel room where I lay alone, unable to rise, my phone out of reach, my voice trapped within me, and my body refusing to obey my mind.
Those minutes felt like a lifetime. And yet, strangely, in that fragile space between fear and surrender, something shifted inside me.
As I lay flat on the floor, a flood of memories rushed back—the hills of Nainital where I was a frequent visitor, the lakes and temples that shaped my holidays, the laughter of my children in their grandmother’s home in Naukuchiatal, the warmth of family gatherings in Bhimtal, and the moments of my marriage in Nainital. My immobility opened a door to the deepest parts of my life, revealing everything that had truly mattered.
In those minutes, I was reminded of my granddaughter Dhriti—just a few months old—learning to roll, lift her head, fall, cry, rise again, and try once more. I thought of her perseverance, her tiny but mighty spirit, and I realised that even in my seventies, lying completely overwhelmed on the floor, I could learn from her. I began to move—inch by inch, breath by breath—crawling toward hope, toward life, toward that unreachable phone which eventually became my lifeline.
The compassionate rescue by the staff of Taj Naukuchia House, the arrival of my family, the relief in their eyes, the soothing words, and the silent tears—these moments reminded me that humanity and love are powerful forces that hold us up when our bodies fail.
This book is not merely about a fall.
It is about the mind that fights when the body cannot. It is about memory as medicine, family as strength, and faith as the quiet force that carries us through the darkest minutes.
I have lived a long life—rich with experiences, relationships, struggles, achievements, and lessons. But nothing prepared me for the sudden helplessness of that day. And nothing has strengthened me more than the journey that followed.
In sharing this story, I hope to reach others who have felt vulnerable, afraid, or alone. I hope to remind them that courage lives within us, often hidden until a moment of crisis calls it forth. And I hope that my reflections—supported by the timeless wisdom of the Gita and the Upanishads—offer comfort, clarity, or companionship to anyone facing their own fall, literal or metaphorical.
This book is a tribute to resilience, to the human spirit, and to the mysterious grace that surrounds us—even when we are left resting on a cold floor, unable to move.
May my story remind you that you, too, can rise. May it whisper to you, even in your weakest moments: You are stronger than you think. And remind you that the Self within you is unshaken, eternal, and unbroken.