What Does Success Look Like To You On An Ordinary Day?

 

 

Success is generally measured by wealth amassed, milestones achieved, promotions, and trophies won.

Success on an ordinary day encompasses none of the above. It’s accomplishing the small, mundane tasks or routines that I have laid out for myself or experiencing small wins and joys. It is not loud and shiny but quiet and soft.

For me, success on an ordinary day would look like not hitting the snooze button or even waking up refreshed before the alarm goes off, all ready to take on the day. It would see me incorporating more movement into my day, getting some sunshine, pausing to savour that morning cuppa and going along with the flow of the day.

Success would be the way I choose to respond, rather than react to difficult situations and people. –That cheerful conversation with a friend that leaves me smiling is another kind of success.

When at the end of the day, I still have energy left to read a few pages or whisper a few words of prayer, I call it success.

Hence, success on an ordinary day is a far cry from what success is otherwise associated with. It’s balance, connection, joy, progress, and small wins. It’s about a life well lived.

 

This post is part of the Blogchatter #WAPAD challenge. 

Image credit : Pixabay. 

 

 WHAT DOES HOME MEAN TO YOU NOW?

 

I’ve realized that the definition of home for me has changed over the years. It no longer centres around a certain structure, an address.

The house I grew up in was a small cottage filled with love, laughter, stories, discipline, and routine. There was Mom, Dad, my brother, and me. The walls echoed the sounds of happy chatter or noise. These are now simply memories that I visit now and again.

At 61, home may have various connotations:

 

It’s a sanctuary of love for rest

Home is where I unmask and let go of the persona I present to the outside world. It’s my landing pad, where I kick off my shoes, turn on the music if the silence gets too loud and am my quirky best.

‘Home Sweet Home’ is a slightly disorganised space where plants wait to be watered, or a pile of books need to be arranged or furniture needs to be dusted. The kitchen in my home may not be the Cordon Bleu kind, but I enjoy rustling up meals for loved ones without really worrying too much about spilled gravy.

 

People can be home too. The ones who have stayed with me in storms and in sunshine, the ones who do not pass judgement or make hurtful comments, the few who understand and to whom I do not owe lengthy explanations, and the few who choose to listen.

 

The little rituals that I indulge in also feel like home

Listening to the birds outside my window as I sip my morning brew, practising chair yoga, or spending a quiet evening reading, sitting in my favourite spot.

Home can hence be defined in various ways. As one grows older, the definition of home being a bricks and mortar structure is rapidly replaced by places, people and moments that make us feel held, understood and at peace. 

This post is part of the Blogchatter #WAPAD2026 challenge.

Image: Pixabay

Convenience Store Woman

  Convenience Store Woman.

 

 Convenience Store Woman by Japanese author Sayaka Murata, despite being a slim novella of under 200 pages, is not a ‘light’ read.

“Society expects you to fit into a certain mould for it to accept you. What if you refuse to fit into that mould and are happy in your own little space?”

Keiko Furukawa is a 36-year-old woman who has been working at Smilemart, a convenience store in Tokyo, for 18 years.

Society wonders at her ‘single’ status and her lack of ambition for better prospects. Keiko couldn’t care less. She knows what she wants. She temporarily gives into the pressure and ultimately does as she pleases.

Her literal-minded brain doesn’t grasp emotions. While family and friends grieve the death of a bird, little Keiko feels no sadness and prefers to eat it.

The convenience store is Keiko’s world. She thrives on the routine and stability that she finds in the Convenience store.

Adopting a deadpan style of writing, Murata describes Keiko as a cog in the wheel of society who must clean, stock the shelves, and bid customers a good morning. Keiko breathes, eats, and sleeps  the convenience store. Murata describes her as a woman who doesn’t know how to be a normal person beyond the dos and don’ts of the convenience store manual.

Keiko doesn’t conform to the rules laid down by society and is pushed by the same to get a ‘real job’ and to get married. Keiko gets into a relationship with Shiraha, a despicable man and an outcast.

Their relationship is built not on love but on a mutual need to hide from a society hell-bent on ‘fixing’ them.

Murata thus exposes a society that refuses to ‘live and let live’ and would rather see a woman suffer in a toxic relationship, rather than be single, happy, and content in a low-paying job.

 The Convenience Store Woman is a short, brilliant, and quirky read. Without being preachy, it tells the tale of a woman who refuses to ‘fit into the box’ created by society and lives life as she pleases. 

If you're fond of Japanese literature, like short reads, quirky protagonists, and are not a fan of societal norms, then you should read the book. 

I was happy that Keiko did not succumb to societal pressure. Societal pressure can drive women insane. Kieko knew what she wanted and stood her ground. 

Have you ever chosen a path that people didn't understand? How did it feel? 

How I Kept My Creativity Alive This Year

 How I Kept Creativity Alive This Year

Creativity, I’ve learned, is like a houseplant—neglect it and it will wilt away, but nurturing it brings the most amazing results.

 Every human being is gifted with a creative streak, which shows up when we put our talents to use.  Creativity is an ongoing and ever-evolving process. Like an unused instrument or machine, your creative spark may gather rust if not tapped into regularly.

Tapping into your creativity gives you something to do rather than letting your brain idle away. Each time you create a painting or write even a single line, your skills improve.

As a writer, over the past ten months, I’ve tried to practice what I preach and have been fairly successful. No major literary award has come my way, but I continue to pound the keyboard for my own satisfaction and contentment.

There are a few writing apps, such as YourQuote and Sheroes, that I use quite regularly. I love creating reels but lack the technical expertise. However, I continue to dabble in creating them. 

Blogchatter challenges and challenges held by e-zines keep me stressed in a good way. 

Consistency is what counts is a lesson I learned in 2025. When you’re consistent, you’re practising, and practice keeps your creativity alive and kicking. 

How did you hone your creative skills in 2025? 

Image credit: Pixabay

December: Nostalgia, Reflection And Hope

 December

 

The countdown to December starts in October. In other words, the countdown to Christmas begins then. For the Christian community, December is synonymous with Christmas. It’s party time and a period for family reunions. The preparations for the festivities begin in October or even earlier. Many thus wrap up December on a joyful and hopeful note, looking forward to a brand new start in the new year. 

If I walk down memory lane, I’d find myself back in the little cottage that I lived in with Mom, Dad, and Brother. Mom prepared a fantastic array of Christmas sweets and savouries almost single-handedly. I so vividly recall dad stringing up the red and white streamers across the living room ceiling, the excitement of arranging the crib and decorating the Christmas tree and the can’t-wait-to-open presents.’ The best curtains and cushion covers were brought out, and little me faithfully penned a letter to Santa for quite a few years. I don’t remember attending the church midnight service, most likely because of the harsh Jamshedpur winters, but we did attend the Christmas morning services dressed in our brand-new, shiny Christmas clothes. I also recall the month-long school vacation and carolling as a teenager. Basking in the winter sunshine and downing cups of warm beverages, wearing thick sweaters—these are winter memories that I hold dear.

Post my marriage in 1995, I’ve been living in Mumbai, where Christmas is celebrated with great fervour, but winter remains just a nip in the air.

Well, December to me is not just about winter and Christmas. Personally, I view December as a bittersweet month that invites you to reflect on the year gone by, focus on the positives, and let go of the negatives. You express joy and gratitude for every blessing received during the year, while the month gently nudges you to clear out the clutter and chaos and move into a bright new year, hoping for the best! 

As I count my blessings, the high point would be the travelling that I was able to do, my health remained pretty stable, a few windows that I needed to desperately open have opened, and I know that life will not stop throwing curveballs. I hope and pray that I'm able to negotiate them in the New Year.

This is my entry to the Blogchatter Weekly prompt.  

What does December mean to you? How do you like to close your year? 

Ageing Gracefully: Embracing my Salt and Pepper years

 

The girl in the picture is seven years old, and the woman is 61. The years in between have been filled with learning and unlearning.

 I’ve started to age. It’s inevitable, and nothing truly prepared me for it. One day, you’re a lively adolescent, and the next, you wake up with stiff joints.

Now in my salt-and-pepper years, I’ve come to accept certain bitter and hard truths about life, especially regarding relationships. 

I no longer try to impress others. You’re free to like me or not.

My circle of friends has shrunk, and I’m okay with that. I cherish the few good friends who stay with me through thick and thin.

 

I’ve realised that judging others is unfair. Everyone lives through different and possibly tough situations. Showing empathy is the way forward.

 

Age brings wrinkles, aches, and nostalgia, but it also brings wisdom and mellowness. I try not to complain but focus on my blessings.

Good health is a blessing at any age, but as I grow older, it may be the only significant wealth I wish to have. I've had to deal with major and minor ailments, and so far, so good.

Physically, I’ve slowed down. It doesn’t matter; I’m not in a race. I do things at my own pace.

My hair has greyed, measurements have increased, lines have appeared, and still life continues. I try to stay disciplined most of the time, stay curious, move, read, write, travel, learn, enjoy treats without guilt, and most importantly, be a good human.

 

I’ve discovered that graceful ageing isn’t about covering the grey but about living life fully while acknowledging the changes and challenges that come with advancing age. 

Does advancing age bother you? How do you cope? 

This post is part of the blogchatterbloghop weekly prompt. 

Better A Late Bloomer than Never a Bloomer: My gardening journey

 

My excitement knew no bounds when I spotted the first bud on my hibiscus plant, and it was sheer joy that I felt when, a few days ago, I woke up to the beauty of a white hibiscus in full bloom. It’s been about 6 years since I became a plant parent, and I am enjoying every moment of the journey. My heart skips a beat every time I see a tiny new leaf or a plant I'd
given up bloom again. There is no destination here—it’s simply a process of learning, planting, enjoying, and growing.

Growing up, I watched my mother tend to her potted garden with so much love and care. It was her little world. Yes, I liked looking at pretty flowers, but I never took much interest in the gardening process. Mom retained her love for gardening until she passed away.

I was well into my fifties when I felt a stirring as I looked at pictures of the most beautiful gardens, plants, and flowers posted by friends and folk on social media. Friends encouraged me to give it a shot. “Growing plants is therapeutic.” “Getting your hands dirty helps your health.”

Slowly but surely, I took the plunge – I was eager to grow flowering plants but did not know the first thing about how to grow them. Hence, I started with a few crotons and succulents and added a few easy-to-grow flowering plants like hibiscus.

Some thrived and some died, but my enthusiasm began to grow by leaps and bounds. Even to this day, I do not know the nitty-gritty of gardening and rely on YouTube videos and tips and tricks from friends.

Currently, I’m a proud plant parent to a money plant, syngonium, jade, hibiscus, peace lily, Monstera deliciosa, and a coleus, or flame nettle.

There is something so satisfying and joyous in watching your plants grow, and so sad when they wilt away. I even feel a twinge of guilt when I have to trim them.

I don’t have many gardening tools, and my go-to plant tonic is soaked vegetable and fruit peelings, a kind of rudimentary compost (especially onion skins), and my plants are doing well.

I believe my plants are quietly teaching me patience, the joy of nurturing and consistency, staying firmly rooted, and learning to bloom wherever you're planted. I grow as I watch them grow.

What is your gardening journey like? Do you have a favourite plant or memory from your own garden?  

This prompt is part of the weekly Blogchatter blogprompt challenge.