Today was Dhriti’s first Bengali New Year—but she had no idea.
All she noticed was that Mumma got ready unusually early and left. That was strange. Stranger still, Mumma didn’t come home at lunch.
So Dhriti carried on in her own way—crawling around, shouting at her nannies, running her tiny world like she always does.
By evening, boredom crept in. Mumma was late again. The day felt longer than usual.
But the moment Mumma walked in, nothing else mattered. Dhriti went straight to her, held on with all her little strength, ignored Baba completely, and drifted off to sleep—finally at peace.
Her first New Year, marked not by rituals or celebrations, but by waiting, missing, and the comfort of being back in Mumma’s arms.