Of friends who tip-toe into our lives…….
Some afternoons do not announce their importance in advance. They arrive quietly, unassuming, almost ordinary in planning – only to reveal, in retrospect, that they were anything but. This was one such afternoon.
My Wandering Dreamers were to meet. Not all could make it, and that itself felt like a reminder of how life constantly reshuffles its priorities. The flu kept a few at home, a bereavement weighed heavily on one heart, others were travelling – brief pauses from routine that were well deserved. In the end, only five of us gathered. And yet, nothing felt lacking. If anything, the day felt complete in a way that numbers rarely guarantee.
What made this group special from the very beginning was the way it was created. Each of them knew me well, but they did not know one another. There were no shared histories, no overlapping circles, no social familiarity to lean on. I brought them together simply because I sensed common threads – curiosity, kindness, depth, a willingness to reflect and to listen. That, I have come to believe, is often a stronger foundation than long acquaintance.
As the afternoon unfolded, conversation flowed without effort. There was laughter, yes, but also something richer – meaningful talk that didn’t skim the surface. We spoke of ideas, of work, of personal journeys, of the many roles we play and the ones we quietly grow into. There were differences in viewpoints, but no urgency to convince or compete. Just the ease of being heard and the generosity of listening. In a world increasingly addicted to speed and spectacle, this felt like a small, precious rebellion.
I had organised a few games – nothing elaborate, but thoughtfully designed to be both fun and gently challenging. They sparked curiosity, collaboration, and moments of unexpected insight. What moved me most came later, when a friend shared that she had adapted some of those games for the autistic children under her care. They had enjoyed them immensely. That knowledge turned a simple activity into something far more meaningful. It reminded me that ideas, when shared with intention, often travel further than we imagine – and sometimes into spaces where they are most needed.
At some point, conversation turned to my books. A friend had thoughtfully brought along copies for me to sign. That moment sat quietly with me – not loud, not performative, but deeply humbling. Writing is often a solitary act, filled with doubt and discipline in equal measure. To have one’s words valued enough to be carried, shared, and signed is an honour that never grows old. It reminded me why stories matter – not as products, but as bridges.
Food, of course, played its role – as it always does in good company. There was delicious, comforting fare, eaten slowly, with stories spilling across the table. And then there was the cheesecake – a homemade one, baked from scratch the day before. It was devoured with enthusiasm, accompanied by laughter and the kind of lightness that only shared meals can bring. Later, cups of hot ginger tea made their rounds, grounding the moment, offering warmth that felt both physical and emotional.
As the afternoon slipped gently towards evening, the Christmas tree drew us in. There is something about a tree adorned with lights that softens people, makes them pause. Gifts waited underneath – simple, thoughtful gestures rather than grand displays. Exchanging them felt less like tradition and more like acknowledgement: of presence, of effort, of connection. Festivals, after all, are not about excess. They are about creating spaces where people feel seen.
Just when it seemed the day had already given us enough, a close and dear friend offered something unexpected – a poem written for us. Words crafted with care, capturing the spirit of the gathering, the shared warmth, the unspoken bonds. As she wrote it and sent it to us, I felt as if she was reading it for us and the room had fallen into that rare, attentive silence where nothing else matters. It was a moment of collective stillness, followed by smiles, reflections, and the quiet recognition that something beautiful had just been shared – I am sure all of us felt it thus.
We took pictures – not for perfection, but for memory. The kind you look back on later and remember not how you looked, but how you felt. Content. Light. Connected.
What stayed with me most, long after the day ended, was the simplicity of it all. No grand agenda. No need to impress. Just people showing up as they were, bringing their stories, their laughter, their openness. In an age where connection is often mediated through screens and schedules, this afternoon felt like a gentle return to something essential.
The Wandering Dreamers, even in their partial presence, reminded me of the quiet power of intentional community. Of what can happen when we slow down, when we create spaces that allow for conversation instead of noise, for meaning instead of performance. Some days do not need to be productive in the conventional sense. They simply need to be lived fully.
This was one such day. And for that, I remain deeply grateful.
Of friends….who have become family!
Dear all ek choti si Kavita
Pesh hai
Just baithe baithe likha hai hope you will like 😊
ना उम्र की सीमा हो
ना स्टेटस का हो बंधन
जब हम मिल जाए तो
तो खुश हो जाए सब
नये खेल खेलाये अंजलीजी
और मस्ती भरा जाए दिन
अंजलि का आगत स्वागत
क्या कहेना उनका तो..
क्या खाना और पीना (Not 🍻)
दिन कब ढल जाए वो भी
घर याद ना आए हमे
ऐसे हम वेंडरार्स सभी
एक दूजे के है हम
रहे खुशहाल ऐसेही
ये दुआ है भगवान से
Happy New Year to dearies 🎉(From my dear friend – Pragati)
Wickedlyours 