Celebrating 15 Years of Marriage and a Lifetime of Lessons

Last month, I turned 44.

Today, I’m celebrating my 15th wedding anniversary.

Fifteen years married—wow.

It still feels surreal that we’ve been together this long and yet, somehow, it still feels new.

Our love story isn’t your typical fairytale. It’s full of twists, heartbreak, and serendipity—and it started in a way no one would have predicted.

Growing Up in a Sheltered Home

I grew up in a very traditional, sheltered household where talking to boys was a complete no-no.

An all-girls school, strict parents, and zero exposure to dating meant I had no idea what relationships even looked like.

So when I got my first desktop computer (yes, I’m older than the internet!) and discovered Yahoo Messenger… let’s just say I went a little wild.

Suddenly, I had attention—from people who loved the way I talked, not the way I looked. For a girl who grew up feeling invisible, that attention was addictive.

But in my house, dating was forbidden. Meeting anyone in person was out of the question. I waited until university to truly explore the dating world.

The Wild Dating Years

Once I started dating, I really started dating.

Let’s just say I stopped counting after 50 first dates… in one year.

Over the next decade, I met every kind of man imaginable—corporate guys, creatives, rich property developers, and even a few heartbreakers. Each one taught me something about love, boundaries, and self-worth.

Some dates were hilarious, some were disastrous, and a few were genuinely heartbreaking.

But through it all, I held on to one belief: that my Mr. Right was out there.

The Ones That Shaped Me

There were six men I’d actually call “relationships.”

Each one played a role in shaping the woman I became.

• The Online Connection: He was my first “real” love, even if we never met in person. Losing him remains one of my biggest regrets.
• The Long-Distance Love: A Yahoo Messenger romance turned real when I flew to the U.S. to meet him. He vanished suddenly, leaving a hole that took years to heal.
• The Charmer: Handsome, generous—and deeply toxic. He manipulated me until I lost myself. Walking away was my rock-bottom and my rebirth.
• The Freebie Guy: Lovely but stingy. Every date was a “buy one, get one free.” I realized I deserved someone who valued me more than a coupon deal.
• The Silent One: A sweet computer tech guy who barely spoke. Our last date was two hours of silence. I ended it right there.

Each heartbreak brought me closer to clarity. I knew what I would compromise on—and what I never would again.

The Flight That Changed Everything

My love story truly began on a flight to India.

I was heading to a family wedding with my parents, and by accident, the airline seated me two rows away from them.

Next to me sat a charming young Indian guy. We chatted the whole flight, exchanged numbers, and promised to meet up back in the UK.

But life had other plans. When we returned, the “plane guy” ghosted both me and his flatmate. Gone. No explanation.

His flatmate reached out to check if I’d heard anything—and that’s how I met Nitin.

At first, I wasn’t interested. He was outgoing, loved to party, and didn’t seem like “my type.” But as Valentine’s Day approached, I gave in and agreed to one date.

An hour into that date, I knew.

This was my person.

And eight months later, I married him.

15 Years Later: Still Us

Fifteen years, countless memories, and one incredible journey later—Nitin is still my soulmate.

He’s the reason I’m the confident woman I am today—the girl who bought a property at auction, went on TV, wrote a book, launched a blog, and recently appeared on a podcast streaming on over 20 platforms.

We’ve faced every high and low together.

And through it all, we’ve held strong.

Here’s to love that lasts.

To the man who still makes me laugh.

And to a story that started online—but was always written in the stars.

One of my most endearing qualities is my kind heart and my willingness to go the extra mile for others. I’ve always been the type of person who helps out without expecting anything in return.

Sadly, this is a trait my family either never noticed—or if they did, they never appreciated. But the world outside my family? They’ve always seen it. And that makes me proud.

How My Work Team Made Me Feel Valued

I currently work as an administrative caseworker in the Civil Service. My job is fairly simple on paper: checking application forms, ensuring the information matches our scanned system records, and fixing small errors like spelling mistakes or missing sections. It might sound basic, but I love what I do—and more importantly, I love my team.

We’re a team of ten, and honestly, it feels more like family than colleagues. We chat, share gossip, enjoy team meals (under the excuse of “team meetings”), and help each other out when things get tough. That support is what makes us so great together.

One key part of our role is keeping our task lists up to date. These include cases where information is missing or a scanned page didn’t come through. We have to chase missing details by contacting customers or checking physical files. Any incomplete work goes onto a priority task list, which gets flagged as deadlines approach.

Usually, I clear 4–8 high-priority tasks a day, but some days are impossible—like after a bank holiday when we’re swamped with calls.

The Day I Needed Help (and Got It)

Last week, our main manager was off, and one of my colleagues stepped in as acting manager. He sent a message reminding us to update our task lists because he’d be checking them.

When I looked at mine, my jaw dropped. Two and a half pages of high-priority tasks—about 50 cases. And I had only 2–3 hours to work on them before my early Friday finish. Plus, I was still taking calls.

I messaged him straight away, saying, “There’s no way I can get through all this, but I’ve started working on them.” He told me to do my best and ask for help if needed. Without hesitation, I replied, “I need help.”

I worked through about 10 cases before getting stuck on a 25-minute call. When I refreshed my list, I was stunned—my priority list was down to half a page. My acting manager had jumped in and cleared most of it for me!

Then he messaged me: “Your task list is up to date, but please review one case—I think there’s an error.” Turns out, I hadn’t made a mistake; I was just waiting on a filing department response. He even emailed the head of that department to chase it up, cc’ing me so I could see the progress.

He didn’t have to do that. He could have told me, “It’s your responsibility—do what you can.” But he didn’t, because we’re that kind of team. And maybe because he knows that I’m always the first to help others when they need it.

Where This Helpful Nature Comes From

This isn’t new for me. I’ve been like this since my first proper job at a bank in London.

I still remember November that year when my branch manager asked me to organize Secret Santa. She probably expected something basic like slips of paper in a bowl. Instead, she got beautifully designed name cards in sealed envelopes. She was so impressed that I became the official Secret Santa organizer every year after that.

I did eight Secret Santas in ten years (I was on maternity leave twice—one for each of my daughters). Every year, I outdid myself. My last Secret Santa even included mini origami Santas as gift tags. Word spread across North London branches, and three other branches asked me to make them too! They even covered the material costs.

After that first Christmas, my reputation was set—I was “the helpful one.” If something needed doing that didn’t involve tills, I volunteered. Whether it was loading ATMs, handling money deliveries, or even testing ATMs’ audio systems with headphones (yes, that’s a real thing!), I did it.

And when it came to the dreaded annual tests, I helped everyone—cashiers, personal bankers, even managers—because after failing twice early on, I memorized all the answers!

How It Shows Up in My Current Job

This helpful, friendly attitude has followed me to the Civil Service.

At first, our team had a rule: your birthday month meant organizing the next person’s birthday. When my birthday came, I organized the next one—and then volunteered for the next…and the next.

By November, I had also volunteered for Secret Santa (of course!). Just like at the bank, I wowed everyone with creative name tags and envelopes. From that moment on, I became the unofficial social events organizer—team birthdays, festive events, team-building activities—you name it.

I’ve organized almost every single birthday since joining the team in February last year. (Except for one person whose birthday is in September—my month. I draw the line there!)

Even when I try to take a break, I get roped in—like now. I was supposed to be event-free this September, but guess who’s booking the venue for the team meeting? Yep, me.

Why This Means So Much to Me

I have a great reputation in my team and even among other managers as someone who is always willing to help. And honestly? I love that.

My family may never have appreciated my caring, helpful nature—but my colleagues do. And that’s something I’m incredibly proud of.

Judging people before truly knowing them is something I know all too well. I’ve been judged my entire life—my surname, my looks, my weight, even the smallest things. The harshest judgments didn’t come from strangers, though; they came from my own family. But we’ll get to that later.

Judgment isn’t unique to one culture—it exists everywhere—but in Indian culture, it often feels like a family affair. When someone judges you, they usually drag your parents into it too.

Take this example: I can’t cook Indian food. My mum tried teaching me, but I wasn’t interested—I never loved Indian food. When my extended family discovered this, they didn’t just judge me; they judged my parents for “failing” to teach me. The same thing happened when I became a parent.

When Maanvi wasn’t potty trained by the age of three, the comments started:

“My child was out of nappies by two.”

“Still in nappies? Does she want to stay a baby forever?”

And then came the judgment aimed at me:

“You’re lazy. You’re not putting in the effort.”

The truth? I started potty training at two and a half. But Maanvi began forcing herself to pee every 20 minutes because she thought that’s what was expected. So I stopped. I waited until she was ready. At four, she trained in a week—with only three accidents.

Everyone learns at their own pace. There’s no universal deadline for milestones. Yet, as parents, we feel pressured, compared, and judged. And as individuals, we’re often judged for things beyond our control—like our skin or our weight—or for choices we make for our own well-being.

When Judgment Crosses the Line

I once read a post on an Indian parenting forum. A new mum asked if she could extend her parents’ visa to stay longer after helping her with the baby. Most responses were helpful—except one.

This one commenter accused her of using her parents as babysitters, saying things like:

“If you can’t handle your baby, hire a nanny.”

“Parents shouldn’t be called over—they have a better life in India.”

That comment hit a nerve. Why? Because I had done exactly what she was criticizing. My in-laws came to the UK after both my girls were born, and I’m not ashamed of it. They were my lifeline during those early months when I battled postnatal depression—twice. They encouraged me, supported me, and gave me the strength to be the mother I wanted to be.

Their visits didn’t steal their freedom—they still had the life they loved in India. They now enjoy the best of both worlds: quality time with us via regular video calls and their community back home. Everyone wins.

The Nosy Neighbour Syndrome

Indian communities take “it takes a village” to the next level. Growing up, I saw how connected everyone was. Back in my dad’s village, I could roof-jump from one house to another, wander into strangers’ homes, and no one blinked an eye—because my dad was part of the community. They even looked out for me.

But the same people who once cared later judged me harshly when I developed eczema as a teen. Suddenly, I wasn’t welcome. They feared they’d “catch” my condition.

It didn’t hurt much when strangers judged me. Their opinions didn’t matter. But when it came from people I knew—my own family—that was different.

Family Judgment Hurts the Most

I’ve written before about my sisters-in-law—especially my youngest brother’s wife—who seemed to despise me. Most of the judgment I faced was because of my skin. Severe eczema since I was 14 left dark patches on my face and arms. People assumed it was contagious.

Then there was my weight. Many assumed I was lazy or addicted to junk food. The truth? As a child, I was given cod liver oil tablets, and my body reacted by piling on weight rapidly—tripling in size in six months. No diet or exercise worked long-term.

The only time I lost significant weight was during a four-month trip to India for herbal treatment in my 20s. The “diet” was so strict I survived on powdered medicine and one chapati a day—no dairy, no proper meals. I dropped 10 kg in two months but was so weak I could barely function. And yes, the weight crept back when normal life resumed.

Judgment from non-Indians often came as backhanded compliments or subtle digs. Indians? Brutally direct. “What happened to your skin? You used to be so pretty.” Those comments cut deep.

The Bright Side: Kindness Exists Too

Not everyone judges. My husband’s family has been nothing short of amazing. My in-laws treat me with love, respect, and zero criticism. They compliment me, encourage me, and make me feel valued—something I rarely experienced growing up. Their words build me up instead of tearing me down.

The other day, they told me, “You light up a room wherever you go.” I carried that compliment with me all day. I wish my own parents had said things like that.

Breaking the Cycle for My Daughters

Because I grew up in an environment where compliments were rare and judgment was constant, I vowed my daughters would never feel “less than.” I make it a point to praise their efforts and celebrate their strengths.

Maanvi: Becoming Her Own Person

Maanvi is no longer the little girl people judged for being “late” with potty training. She’s on the edge of a whole new chapter—starting Year 7, moving into secondary school, and slowly stepping into her teenage years.

She’s curious about her appearance now, experimenting with hairstyles and dabbling in makeup, which makes me smile because it reminds me of my own growing-up years—but with a lot more confidence than I had. Her taste in TV shows has matured too; she’s all about series like Wednesday and Doctor Who, which spark conversations about independence, identity, and what it means to be different.

Of course, with growing independence comes growing emotions. She has her moody days (don’t we all?) and moments where she wants her space. And as much as it tugs at my heart, I know this is healthy—it means she’s finding her voice. My job is to guide her, especially when it comes to big things like mobile phone safety and understanding the digital world.

We’ve also started teaching her basic life skills, like cooking simple meals, because independence isn’t just about having a phone or walking to school alone—it’s about knowing how to take care of yourself. It’s a balance between letting go and holding on just enough to keep her safe.

Jiya: The Free Spirit

Jiya is thriving as she gets ready to start Year 3. She’s my social butterfly—always chatting, making friends, and charming her teachers at every parents’ evening. She’s fiercely independent in her own way and loves trying to do everything by herself (even when she needs help).

She’s creative, playful, and full of energy—the kind of child who turns the simplest day into an adventure. And though she and Maanvi still have their epic sibling squabbles, they also share moments that melt my heart, like teaming up to put on an impromptu dance show or giggling together over a silly joke.

Watching Jiya grow reminds me that confidence starts young, and I want her to hold on to that fearless spark for as long as possible.

Final Thoughts: Judgment Is Inevitable—But It Doesn’t Define You

Life will always have judgmental people. I can’t change that. But I can raise my daughters to be confident, resilient, and unapologetically themselves. That’s the best defense against judgment—and the greatest gift I can give them.