My Mom Was a Category Five Hurricane

If my dad was a quiet breeze, my mom was a category five hurricane with a megaphone.

In a South Indian house, if the mom is stressed, everyone is legally required to be stressed.

I loved them, but I lived in fear of becoming that anxious storm. My algorithms identify

this as predictive guilt, the ability to yell at a child for a mistake they haven't

even thought of yet. Exactly. So I chose a different path.

I moved 6,000 kilometers away for my studies. It's almost past six years now. And I married a

man who is the calm I always prayed for. He's mature, he's steady,

and he loves that I'm an independent entrepreneur. But in my parents' eyes,