ABHISHEK's VIEW

 It’s a moment no one prepares you for. Not the pujaris, not the elders, not even time itself. You’re standing in a house that smells faintly of incense and tears. A fan whirs above. Someone brings water for the elders. A distant cousin is on the phone, giving directions. Someone is trying to locate the white bedsheet. Everything is moving, yet nothing feels real. And then… you hear it. "Body ko yahan le aao." You blink. Who are they talking about? A second ago, that was Uncle . He had a name. A voice. A stubborn way of folding his newspaper. Just this morning, someone was hoping he’d get better. Someone had faith. Someone had prayed. And now, in a heartbeat, he is no longer he . He is the body . Just like that. It doesn’t come with warning. One moment, the person is wrapped in concern and love. The next, the world strips them of their identity. Conversations turn mechanical. “Doctor ne confirm kar diya.” “Body ko jaldi shift karna padega.” “Body ready hai?” How c...

If you've ever watched Piku , you know it’s not just a film - it’s a feeling. A reflection. A soft mirror that shows what many of us quietly begin to experience as we near our 40s. There’s something deeply emotional, yet incredibly real, about this phase of life. You're no longer just someone’s child- you’re now also a caregiver, a decision-maker, a silent anchor in the family. And in this beautifully tangled emotional space, one truth becomes clear: the roles begin to reverse. As we inch closer to 40, we start seeing our parents not as the superheroes of our childhood, but as aging humans - with vulnerabilities, moods, and needs. They rely on us for guidance now: for doctor visits, online payments, setting up a new phone, understanding insurance papers, or just navigating life’s increasing complexities. And somewhere deep inside, they know it. They feel that shift. It makes them a little hesitant, sometimes even a little afraid - afraid of being scolded, corrected, or misunder...