My dearest Kids Lumbini and Siddhartha,
Every day, my heart swells with pride for the brave, kind, and amazing person you are. Even across oceans, my love wraps around you like a warm hug. 

Keep shining bright—your hard work and big dreams will light the way. When challenges come, remember: You are stronger than you know, and I’m always here cheering you on. Chase your goals with joy, learn with curiosity, and never doubt how deeply you’re loved. You’re my greatest joy.

Imagine a tiny seed, buried so deep in the earth that sunlight feels like a myth. Surrounded by suffocating darkness, pressed by the crushing weight of the soil, it feels impossible to move. 

The world above is a distant dream, and the seed has every reason to quit—to let the pressure win, to fade into the shadows. But it doesn’t. With a fire in its core, it stirs. Inch by inch, crack by crack, it fights through the dirt, driven by a truth it cannot deny: It was born to grow. No darkness lasts forever. No weight can outmuscle relentless courage. 

Dear Lumba and Siddha, 

Every grain of soil resisting it becomes a stepping stone, a teacher, proof that even the impossible bends to the will of those who refuse to surrender. You are that seed. When life tries to bury you, it isn’t the end—it’s the universe asking, “How badly do you want the light?”

And then—it happens. The seed bursts through the earth, not as a fragile sprout, but as a force of nature. Rain pelts it. Winds thrash its leaves. Storms roar, “You don’t belong here!” But the seed, now a sapling, stands taller. Its roots claw deeper into the soil, drawing strength from the very struggle that tried to destroy it. 

Seasons pass, and that sapling becomes an unshakable tree—its trunk scarred but unbroken, its branches outstretched like victory flags. Storms that once threatened it now bend around its resolve. 

This is the power of ‘never giving up’: You don’t just survive the dark; you turn it into fuel. You don’t just reach the light; you become it. So when doubt says, “You’re too small,” remember: Every oak once lived underground. Keep pushing. Keep rising. Your roots are deeper than your fears, and your destiny is written in the sky.

Dear Patu and Babu, 

Picture a river, wild and untamed, crashing against the face of a mountain. The rock stands rigid, unyielding, as if daring the river to retreat. But the river doesn’t falter. It doesn’t scream or rage—it simply 'persists'. With every droplet, ripple, and current, it kisses the stone, again and again, singing a hymn of patience and power. 

Days turn to decades; the mountain scoffs, “You think you can break me?” Yet the river answers not with words, but with motion. It swirls. It carves. It dances through cracks, turning resistance into pathways. 

Obstacles are not walls—they’re invitations to innovate, to prove that time and tenacity can outmuscle even the mightiest giants. Your dreams are that river. Every “no” is a groove in the rock. Every setback? A chance to dig deeper into your purpose. Keep flowing.

And then, one day, the impossible unfolds. The mountain—once impenetrable—bears a canyon, a masterpiece sculpted by the river’s refusal to quit. What was once a barrier now cradles the river’s triumph, a testament to the truth that ‘persistence is the architect of miracles’. Your journey is no different. 

Dear Mellow and Bhai, 

When life throws boulders in your path, you are not meant to stop—you’re meant to adapt. Flow ‘around' fear with creativity. Surge ’over' doubt with audacity. Plunge ‘through’ limitations with grit sharpened by every challenge you’ve ever faced. The world will try to measure your progress in days, but you? You measure it in drops—small, steady, unstoppable. 

Remember: Oceans are born from rivers that never stopped believing in their own tide. So let your persistence roar. The rocks ahead are not your end—they’re the raw materials of your legacy. “Keep flowing… until your flow becomes a flood.”

You are the warriors. Not the kind in fairy tales, but one fighting a real battle—the fight between doubt and determination. When fatigue whispers, “Quit,” answer with action. When failure shouts, “You’re not enough,” stand taller and say, “Watch me.” Every scar, every stumble, is proof you’re still in the arena. A diamond is just coal that refused to quit under pressure. Keep fighting.

Behold the phoenix—a creature forged in flames, unafraid of the inferno. When fire consumes its wings, it does not weep for what is lost; it ‘transforms’. The blaze that reduces it to ashes is not its end, but its awakening. In those smoldering ruins lies a truth that defies logic: Destruction is the birthplace of destiny. 

Thomas Edison understood this alchemy. He didn’t just fail 1,000 times; he gathered 1,000 torches, each misstep illuminating the path to a breakthrough that would electrify humanity. Your failures? They are not tombstones. They are kindling. Every setback that burns you is simply preparing you to rise—not as you were, but as you were ‘meant’ to be: fiercer, wiser, unstoppable. Keep rising.

The phoenix does not apologize for its ashes. It wears them like armor, then soars higher, its wings painting the sky with defiance. Your scars are not signs of weakness; they’re proof that you’ve dared to dance with fire and lived to tell the tale. Think of every “no,” every closed door, every dream delayed, as embers stoking your rebirth. 

The world’s greatest comebacks—inventors, artists, visionaries—were all once reduced to ashes. But they refused to let their spark die. They fanned their grit into a wildfire, turning doubt into a chorus chanting their name. You are no different. 

When the ground beneath you crumbles, remember: The phoenix never needed a ladder to reach the heavens—it had wings forged in persistence. So let your failures fuel you. Burn brighter. Rise bolder. The world doesn’t crown those who never fall; it crowns those who rise ‘every time’. Keep rising… until your comeback becomes a legend.

You were born to climb. See that mountain towering ahead? That’s your dream calling. The path? Steep, rocky, punishing. Your legs burn. Your breath thins. Doubt whispers, “You’re too weak.” But stop—look down. See how far you’ve already come? Those scratches on your hands, the dirt on your knees—they’re proof you’re fighting, not failing. 

The summit isn’t for the lucky or the “chosen ones.” It’s for those who grit their teeth and say, “I’ll take one more step.” Every inch you climb, no matter how slow, defies gravity. Every gasp for air is a battle cry. You don’t need wings to soar—just the courage to keep climbing.

Dear Chhoree and Chhora, 

Storms will rage. Rocks will slide. The mountain will test you—it ‘has’ to. That’s how it separates those who ‘wish’ from those who ‘will’. But you’re not alone. The cracks in the cliffs? They’re filled with the fingerprints of others who climbed before you. They felt the same fear, the same fire. And when your arms tremble, grip tighter. When your heart races, let it drum you forward. 

Rest if you must, but never quit. The higher you go, the stronger you become. The summit isn’t just a view—it’s a mirror, showing you the warrior you’ve always been. So strap on your resolve. The peak isn’t waiting for perfection. It’s waiting for ‘you’. Keep climbing… until the world looks up. 

You are not “hopeless.” You are not “stuck.” You are ‘not’ “ordinary.” Let me tell you what you ‘are’: You are a hurricane of raw, roaring potential. Hurricanes don’t beg for permission—they rewrite maps. 

Heroes don’t quit when the plot gets tough; they pivot, adapt, and charge ahead, turning setbacks into stepping stones. The world isn’t waiting for a quieter version of you. It’s begging for your voice, your grit, the fire in your soul that no storm can extinguish. 

So tighten your grip on your purpose. Stand like a redwood in a storm—tall, unshakable, roots clawing deep into the soil of self-belief. Even the fiercest winds cannot uproot what refuses to bend. 

Success isn’t a lucky scratch-off ticket. It’s a promise—a blood pact with yourself. A vow that you’ll keep marching, keep striving, until your sweat becomes the ink that writes your triumph. Every tear, every scar, every midnight hour you spend grinding? That’s your story being carved into history. You are worthy—not because someone says so, but because you ‘breathe’.

Dear Kaali and Kaale, 

You are capable—not because the road is easy, but because you’re ‘still here’, fists up, heart pounding, refusing to quit. Ordinary people sit and wait for miracles to fall from the sky. But you? You don’t wait. You ‘become’ the miracle. Every scar, every stumble, every time you rise after being knocked down—that’s your power in motion. 

Hurricanes don’t ask for permission to roar. Redwoods don’t apologize for breaking through concrete. And you? You don’t negotiate with limits. You smash them. The world tried to bury you, but it forgot one thing: You’re a seed ‘and’ a storm. “Keep rising”. 

Dear Pristina and Dalle, 

Stand in your power. Not tomorrow. Not someday. ‘Now’. Let your courage be louder than your fear. Let your grit drown out the noise of doubt. The world can’t cage a hurricane—it was born to rewrite the sky. It can’t chainsaw a redwood—its roots are too deep, its purpose too unshakable. 

And you? The world can’t stop you either. Not with setbacks. Not with critics. Not with shadows of the past. You are made of stardust and steel. Every breath you take is a revolution. 

Every step you take is a declaration: “I am here. I am fierce. I am forever.” So rise, relentless. Burn brighter. Dig deeper. The finish line isn’t waiting for you—it’s ‘chasing’ you. “You. Are. Unstoppable.”

So breathe. Rally. Take one more step. The seed becomes the tree. The river becomes the ocean. The phoenix becomes the fire. And you? You will become the person you were meant to be—but only if you “never, ever give up”.  

The world is waiting for your light. ‘Shine on.’

With all my love that way more than you can imagine, always,
Your Baba