She lit every diya with care,
never rushing the flame.
To the world, it was tradition.
To me, it was how she prayed my name.
She never preached.
She just did.
Folded hands, closed eyes,
And a strength that quietly hid.
While I chased the world outside,
She built temples within.
Not of stone — but of belief,
Where silence always wins.
So I carved this havan kund,
Not from metal alone —
But from every memory,
She made sacred at home.
For the woman whose faith
became my quiet guide,
For the first guru
who always stood by my side.
Happy Mother's day Maa <3