Wandering into Old Words and New Healing

This morning, during my walk, a childhood memory rose quietly within me. One of those soft whispers the soul sends when it wants to teach you something. I found myself thinking about how my favorite uncle used to express irritation or annoyance. He loved all the children, and his moments of frustration were rare. But even when he did get irritated, it was never sharp and never wounding. His annoyance came wrapped in blessings, disguised as sarcasm, spoken in Telugu with so much warmth.

He never used negative words toward children or loved ones. Instead, he chose positive “curses” that felt like little offerings to the Universe—words that made it smile.

He’d say things like “Nī kadupu challagundā,”
“May your stomach always stay cool and comfortable.”
A mock-blessing tossed at a mischievous child.

Or “Nī nōṭlō ambali paḍa,”
“May sweet porridge fall straight into your mouth.”
A playful way of telling a demanding or overly talkative child, “Enough!”

And then there was “Nī illu bangāram gānu,”
“May your home turn into gold.”
Said with mild frustration, yet wrapped in prosperity and affection.

Direct translations don’t capture the charm because these words were never about literal meaning. They were about intention. About a cultural wisdom that quietly taught:
Speak only what you are willing to manifest.

Maybe they believed the Universe was always listening, ready to say, “Tathāstu… so be it.”
So even in anger, they chose words that would not damage the child or the energy around them.

Now, as a mother, I catch myself slipping into negative words in moments of frustration. But then an inner voice reminds me of those gentle sarcastic blessings. And I shift.
I choose words that don’t scar, even inside my own thoughts.

It’s a small memory, a simple tradition…
but the more I think about it, the more amazing it feels.
How our elders took something as natural as anger and turned it into blessings.

Back then, I never understood it.
Now, as an adult, I can see the deeper meaning. Their words were filled with intention. They spoke knowing the Universe is always listening.

It makes sense to me now.
It’s the same idea we talk about today—manifestation, energy, intention.
They were practicing it long before we had names for it.

And yet, as I put these thoughts into writing, something hit me.
When it comes to myself, I don’t offer the same grace.
I am very harsh to myself, and I curse myself with words I wouldn’t wish even on an enemy.
I realized today that I don’t speak to myself with the patience, humor, or softness I offer to my loved ones.

So today, on this blog, I am making a promise to be compassionate to myself,
to treat myself the way I treat the people I love.

After all, she is the only one who has been carrying me, bearing me, and staying with me through everything.
She has walked with me through every mistake, every fear, every version of me I no longer am.

And as I write this, I see her clearly. She was once my uncle’s favorite niece. She was the little Munni he adored and teased with those loving sarcastic blessings.
Somewhere along the way, I forgot to protect her the same way.

It’s time I speak to her with kindness too.
It’s time I bless her the way he blessed me.
It’s time I look at her—Munni—and tell her she deserves gentleness,
especially from me.