Keerthi stormed into the room, cheeks flushed with frustration.
“Sita, look at this mess! How could you let it get this bad?” she shouted, her voice sharp and hurt. The pile in the corner seemed to grow bigger under her glare.
The Deccan Positive Mental Health Practitioners (DPMP) aims to serve as a shining example of unity, integrity, and national cohesion.
Keerthi stormed into the room, cheeks flushed with frustration.
“Sita, look at this mess! How could you let it get this bad?” she shouted, her voice sharp and hurt. The pile in the corner seemed to grow bigger under her glare.
Even when it feels like your world is falling apart, hope is often closer than you think. Think about South Africa’s dark days of apartheid. In 1964, Nelson Mandela and his brave friends were locked away for life on Robben Island a place so harsh, it was said no one ever came back. But instead of giving up, Mandela and the others held onto each other and made a promise: no matter how hard it got, they would not let the prison break their spirits. They’d keep believing, keep supporting one another, and survive so they could one day help tear down apartheid.
Manaswi was six when she learned that “See you soon” doesn’t always come true.
Her elder sister, Riya, would sling her school bag, pinch Manaswi’s cheeks, and say, “Be good. I’ll bring you something.” Manaswi would stand at the doorway of their small flat, waving until Riya disappeared down the stairs.
That evening, the house felt wrong—too quiet, too many footsteps in the corridor. Neighbours gathered. Her mother’s phone kept ringing and ringing. Then her father came in with a face Manaswi had never seen before—blank, cracked, frightened.
There had been a road accident. Riya died before she reached the hospital.
No one sat Manaswi down and explained it clearly. The adults were busy with rituals, relatives, paperwork, and their own shock. When Manaswi asked, “When is Riya coming back?” people said, “Don’t talk like that,” or “God took her,” or they just cried. Manaswi stopped asking.
Instead, she started watching.
Every day after school, she’d stand near the window with her chin on the grill, scanning the lane for a familiar braid and that quick, confident walk. Her body stayed ready like if she watched hard enough, she could undo what happened.
Manaswi grew up, but the “watching” didn’t leave. In college and later in relationships, if someone didn’t reply, her chest tightened. If a partner said, “I need space,” her mind jumped to one thought: They’re gone. She would text again, over-explain, apologise, cling trying to prevent another sudden loss.
In therapy, she finally named it: not “neediness,” but a frightened protector built by grief. She learned to say, “This fear is old. I’m safe right now.” Slowly, she practised waiting, asking directly, and letting people return without chasing them.
Moral 1: When children aren’t given clear truths, they create scary stories to survive.
Moral 2: Anxiety often begins as love trying to prevent loss.
Moral 3: Healing means updating old alarms—so you can trust the present.
Ravi, 28, a junior accountant, sat across from me and spoke quietly.
“I’m lazy. Everyone else is ahead.”
His eyes showed embarrassment, a pain made worse by years of comparing himself to others. As the middle of three brothers, Ravi felt overshadowed by his oldest sibling, a doctor praised at every family event. The youngest was always called “the baby” and never blamed for anything.
πThe threat of family separation and
π The daily burden of harsh labour made her early life extraordinarily painful, but her spirit stayed strong.
Tubman’s life is more than a story of survival; it shows true psychological resilience.
From her earliest memories, Suma carried a quiet, insistent question in her heart: Was she truly enough? Each story she heard of those who reached the summit stirred both longing and doubt within her. Could conquering the mountain finally prove her worth to herself?
That night, Tom thought about what his mom said. The next day, the same thing happened. His mom asked him to clean his room again. But this time, Tom took a deep breath. Instead of yelling, he calmly said, “I don’t want to clean now, but I will do it after I finish my homework.” His mom smiled and agreed. Tom felt proud of himself.
A few days later, his younger sister borrowed his favourite game without asking. Tom felt his anger building up. But he remembered his mom’s words. He took a deep breath and said, “Please ask me next time before taking my things.” To his surprise, his sister apologised and promised to ask in the future.
Moral:
Anger can make you feel worse, but staying calm helps you feel in control.
Talking kindly helps fix problems and keeps relationships strong.
Sara had always believed in the power of respect and understanding in her marriage with Khan. But recently, she felt something changing. During their conversations, Khan often interrupted her, preventing her from finishing her thoughts. It wasn't just frustrating - it HURTS.
One evening, as Khan interrupted her again, something inside Sara shifted. Instead of getting angry, she remembered a piece of advice she had read:
Calmly, she said those words, hoping Khan would realise the weight behind them. But when didn'tn’t, Sara made a choice. She continued speaking, ignoring his interruptions, determined to hold onto her worth.
Later, she sat down with Khan and shared how his actions had been affecting her. She spoke from the heart, saying, "When you interrupt me, it makes me feel like my word doesn't matter." Khan, realising the impact of his behaviour, apologised sincerely. He promised to be more mindful.
The moral of Sara's story is simple:
In a relationship, it's crucial to stand up for yourself, not out of anger, but out of self-respect. Sometimes, all it takes is one calm moment to change the course of things. Respectful communication isn't just about talking,it's about
π listening,
π valuing, and
π honouring each other's words.
And when you do, relationships grow stronger.
Nina lived with her parents and her big brother, Ram. Ram was usually cheerful until the day their neighbour, Uncle Venkat, visited with Nina’s father. Everyone laughed in the living room, but Ram’s smile disappeared. His chest felt tight. Quietly, he slipped away to his room, wishing someone would notice.
The next morning, Nina’s father became unwell. To help, Uncle Venkat offered to take the kids to school for a few days. Nina’s mother agreed, relieved.
But Ram’s fear grew louder inside him.
“Mama,” he whispered, fingers twisting his shirt, “I don’t want to go with Uncle Venkat.”
His mother frowned kindly. “Why, Ram?”
Ram swallowed hard. “My stomach feels… bad. Like something isn’t safe.”
His mother paused. She looked at Ram’s eyesworried, watery, honest. She pulled him close. Thank you for informing me. I am listening.
That afternoon, Nina came home, smiling, holding an ice cream wrapper. Then she said something small that felt big: “Uncle Venkat told me to keep a secret… or no treats.”
Ram froze. Nina’s mother’s heart thumped. She knelt to Nina’s level. “Sweetheart, secrets about bodies are never okay. You can always tell me.”
That evening, both parents sat with Nina and Ram. They spoke gently:
“Your body belongs to you. Private parts are private. If anyone asks you to hide something, touches you, or makes you feel scared - " say " NO, move away, and tell a trusted adult. Even if they promise treats. Even if they say you’ll get in trouble.”
Ram finally let his tears fall - relief, not fear.
And Nina hugged him tight. “Thank you, Ram,” she said.
Because one brave voice can keep a whole family safe.
In the quiet village nestled beneath the towering mountains, where sunlight was a rare guest, lived Mala, a young woman whose smile was a quiet testament to her resilience.
Orphaned at a tender age, she bore the weight of caring for her ailing grandmother. Her life was a battle, marked by sleepless nights, endless toil, and the relentless worry over the future.
But Mala had one secret
-her smile.
One winter, a merciless storm ravaged the village. Homes were destroyed, crops buried in the snow, and Mala’s own cottage lay in ruins. Yet, as the village crumbled around her, Mala didn’t falter. With unwavering resolve, she gathered the villagers, offering what little she had left. “Together, we will rebuild, T.E.A.M = TOGETHER EVERYONE ACHIEVE MORE” she said, her words as warm as the fire that flickered in their hearts. “Happiness comes not in avoiding the storm, but in embracing it with each other.”
Inspired by her strength, the villagers came together to rebuild their homes from the ashes. They learned that true happiness doesn’t lie in escaping pain, but in the courage to smile despite it. Mala’s smile became the village’s quiet strength, a reminder that in the face of life’s storms, we have the power to choose our response.
Happiness isn’t a life free of challenges it’s the strength to smile through them.
Keerthi stormed into the room, cheeks flushed with frustration. “Sita, look at this mess! How could you let it get this bad?” she shouted,...