The Little Whistle Blower

Back in 2000, I was working in a prestigious international organization on the outskirts of Hyderabad. My 3-year-old daughter was enrolled in the company’s childcare center, and every day we travelled together in the company bus  — a long 3-hour commute up and down.

 

One evening, like every day, my little one was standing on my lap during the return ride, holding onto the seat in front of me, her eyes sparkling as she enjoyed the bus journey. She had a habit of humming rhymes, saying random cheerful words, and making cute little sounds that amused my colleagues nearby.

 

That day, about half an hour into the ride, when the bus was speeding down the highway, a loud, crystal-clear whistle rang through the bus . The stunned driver immediately pulled the bus over to the side, assuming it was the emergency signal whistle  passengers used to stop for trouble. The entire bus fell silent.

 

Everyone looked around. My little one, sensing the drama, quickly sat down on my lap, folded her tiny hands, and put on the world’s most innocent face. But I could swear I saw the tiniest proud smirk on her face.  I was confused as to why we had stopped until one colleague pointed at her and announced, “It was her! She whistled!”

 

Within seconds, the bus roared with laughter — even the driver couldn’t help but smile before starting off again.

 

To this day, I can still see her tiny face trying to look innocent after causing a full-bus emergency stop.

 

It remains one of my sweetest, funniest memories — proof that even the smallest whistle can make the biggest noise  .

--Devi BS

The Empty Room, Full of Joy 😂😂

It was October 1998. My little cutie had turned one just a couple of months earlier. Tall, thin, and bursting with energy from day one, she had been ticking all the milestones — turning over, crawling, nodding — right on schedule. But walking? That one seemed to be taking its sweet time.

 

We were staying in a modest 1BHK rented flat — cozy but cramped. Wherever my daughter turned, there was something to hold onto — the cot , the teapoy table,, a chair, the wall. Every attempt to stand up led her to cling onto something. She had the strength, she had the charm, but just not the space or courage to take that first step independently.

 

As days passed, my concern grew. I took her to a couple of pediatricians, hoping to understand if something was wrong. Each time, the doctors gave her a clean bill of health. She would flash them her signature smile  — that "Mom, why are you embarrassing me?" kind of look — and I would return home just as confused, a little relieved, and a little more hopeful.

 

Then one day, a sudden idea struck me — a small shift that made a big difference. Why not give her the space she never had?

 

I cleared out the entire hall — chairs, teapoy table, cot — everything. The room looked bare, but to me, it was full of possibilities. I placed her at one corner of the room, and I stood at the other. I knelt down, stretched my arms out wide, and called her.

 

“Come to Amma…”

 

She looked at me, hesitant, curious.

 

And then — One step.

Another step.

And another!

 

 

Little feet, one after the other, finding balance on their own. Her face lit up as she clapped joyfully, moving toward me in tiny wobbly strides. When she finally reached me and fell into my arms, we both erupted in laughter. That hug — oh, that hug — was pure magic.

 

It wasn’t just about walking. It was about letting go of fear, about trust, about creating room — literally and emotionally — for growth.

 

Looking back, that day remains deep-rooted in my memory. The worry, the doubt, and then — one small idea that changed everything. The empty room had gifted us a moment of joy so full, so complete, I still carry it in my heart  and cherish it.

--Devi BS

🌸 A Bond I Never Knew — Yet Always Longed For

I’m the last child in a large family. As my father passed away at my two years, my mother and brothers shouldered responsibility. I’m proud of myself.

 

But I remember a certain day, deeply engraved in the corners of my heart.

 

I was ten years old. My eldest brother was packing for an outstation work to join. I was helping him, feeling grown-up and proud to be useful. As I opened his bag, my hand touched a photo frame. Black and white. A face I didn’t recognize.

 

“Brother, who is he?” I asked, holding it up.

 

His voice softened. “He is our father.”

 

And just like that—my little world paused. My eyes twinkled with the magic of discovering someone unknown yet mine. I was too young then to grasp the weight of it. But that moment stayed… quietly nestled in my heart.

 

As I grew older, the meaning grew with me.

 

There are times I feel content—grateful for the love I did receive. But some days, I feel slightly lost. Not with bitterness, but with a hollow longing. I often wonder how it feels to be with father's love and affection.

 

As a woman, I became a mother—loving, nurturing.  But I was never a father. That half of the parenting I could only imagine, never become.

 

Sometimes I close my eyes and ask God,

“If there is a next life… just once, let me be your daughter, let me feel your hand on my head, your pride in my smile, your silent love in every breath.”

 

 

Even now, that missing bond is a huge vacuum—a part of my soul that simply learned to live without what it never had.

 

But still, I smile…

Because my journey was held together by the unshakable love of my mother and the shoulders of my elder brothers and sisters.

 

If not a father’s love, I had many forms of it—spread across my family. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

--Devi BS

 

🎉 My little daughter’s Divine Surprise and Experience🙏

 It was a bright morning, and the divine hills of Tirumala were wrapped in mist and vibes of devotion. It was a special trip for our little daughter — just five years old and already on her second visit to seek the blessings of Lord Venkateswara. Her first darshan was as a tiny one-year-old, head tonsured and eyes blinking wide at a world she couldn’t yet make sense of. But this time, it was different.

 

Holding tightly to her grandfather’s hand and her tiny backpack bouncing with each step, she was brimming with curiosity. The long queue to the temple moved slowly, echoing with the sacred chant “Govinda... Govinda...”

Her grandfather and grandmother lovingly shared tales of the God, his greatness, his miracles — painting pictures so vivid that her little heart and big imagination believed every word.

 

As we got closer to the Lord Venkateswara, the inner sanctum, her father gently lifted her onto his shoulders so she could have a clear darshan. The golden aura, the glow of lamps, and the deep chants filled the air. I leaned close and softly whispered to her,

 

“dear cutie, pray to God... silently.”

 

What came next left me stunned.

 

In her soft but audible voice, filled with genuine surprise, she exclaimed:

 

“Here also the idol of God? Not the real-life God?”

 

Her words struck like a soft breeze in that divine space.

 

After the darshan was over, as we walked down the temple steps, I gently asked her what made her say that. With her bright eyes wide and honest, she replied:

“Amma, I thought there will be real Lord Venkateswara here. Because grandfather and grandmother told so many stories — and everyone was chanting with complete devotion ‘Govinda, Govinda’ with so much immersed themselves— I believed God would be really there… like alive.”

 

In that moment, I saw the purity of her imagination and the innocence of her devotion. For her, faith wasn’t just stories — it was magic she believed in, a truth her little heart held close.

 

--Devi BS