I feel I got gold medal 🥇

Thank you for sharing such deeply personal reflections, Jessy Jacob. Your experiences are rich with emotion, compassion, and the quiet strength of human connection. I've shaped your stories into a prose narrative that flows gently while preserving your voice and the heartfelt essence of each moment:

Beautiful Stories, Etched in My Heart
By Jessy Jacob

We meet many kinds of people in this world, each leaving behind a trace in our lives�"some through kindness, some through pain, and some through moments that become unforgettable memories.

One day, while traveling on a bus, I offered a mirchi bajji to an elderly man. I had asked someone to give up their seat for him, and once seated, he looked at me and asked for another bajji. I gave it gladly. When his stop arrived, he turned to me with gratitude, saying I had filled his stomach and eased his hunger. He told me I had the heart of an elder woman�"someone who understands suffering�"and yet I was still young. His words touched me deeply. I felt I had done something meaningful. Before leaving, he offered his seat to a girl beside me, showing his appreciation in his own quiet way.

Then there was an 84-year-old woman who welcomed me into her home. She helped me settle in, and sometimes I would bring to her samosas or juice. Living far from her children, she was lonely but generous. Yet she had a short temper and often monitored my room to see if I kept it clean. One day, she invited me into her temple room and asked my caste. I told her I wasn’t Brahmin or Vysya�"I didn’t know where I belonged. Her pride in being Brahmin made me uncomfortable, and though she invited me to sit for Ganapathy’s pooja, I chose to keep my distance. Her thoughts about caste had created a quiet wall between us.

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Later, she fell ill. One day, she slipped while passing feces and called out my name. Her voice was faint, like a little girl’s cry. I rushed to her, lifted her gently, and cleaned her bed. Though I cared for her, she never seemed happy with me. Her anger lingered, and I knew it was time to find a new place to live�"closer to my husband’s home.

And then, there was my mother-in-law. Though I never married her son, I always felt she was my Atthamma. I didn’t believe marriage was necessary to call her that. I prayed to God to let me see her again, and through a few kind people, I got the chance. I held her hand and cried, feeling sorrow for her illness. I watched her being fed by a nurse, wishing I had been the one to feed her. I helped change her clothes and felt joy in doing so�"just once, in this life. She looked at me, as if testing whether I was a good person. I didn’t mind. She didn’t get angry with me. Instead, she gave me a selfie with her�"a treasure I’ve kept safe on my Facebook, preserving every memory we shared.

These are the stories that shaped me. They live in my heart and mind, quietly reminding me of the beauty and complexity of human connection.

jessy jacob