In the Quiet Tremble of Everyday Chaos

They say confidence is silent and insecurities are loud. But let me tell you—nerves? Nerves have their own drum set and throw surprise concerts at the worst possible times.

Generally, I’m a confident speaker. Hand me a mic and a stage with some prep, and I’ll talk like I was born with a microphone in my mouth. But ask me to speak on a topic without warning, and my brain performs a disappearing act Houdini would applaud. I suddenly forget my name, the topic, and whether I had breakfast. As Mark Twain once said, “It usually takes me more than three weeks to prepare a good impromptu speech.” Now I know why.

Take parent-teacher meetings for example. The moment I enter my daughter’s school, I feel like a student walking into the principal’s office. My smile is wide, but my stomach is doing somersaults. I know what’s coming: a sweet sandwich of praise with a generous filling of “but she needs to focus more.” It’s always a mixed platter—just like the tiffin I pack, half-eaten and fully judged.

And then there’s the unexpected horror: guests. Lovely people. Kind faces. But when they walk in unannounced and I walk into the kitchen, my brain switches to panic mode. Cooking for one is manageable. Cooking for many? It’s like preparing for MasterChef in a war zone—with zero prep time and only YouTube as my sous-chef. I once made rasam so watery that even the rice asked, “Are we swimming today?”

But the real nerve-wracking moments come from my pre-teen daughter’s random questions. She’s at that delightful age where curiosity blossoms faster than my ability to Google answers. “Mamma, how are babies made?” “Why do people fall in love?” “Why can’t I have my own Phone or Tab?” My mind goes into overdrive—should I be honest, vague, or simply pretend to choke on my tea?

Nervousness isn’t always about fear. It’s sometimes about care. I get nervous because I care about giving the right answers, serving edible food, raising a kind human, and not fainting during PTMs. It’s a sign of responsibility wrapped in a little bit of self-doubt and a whole lot of love.

As someone wise once said (okay, it was me talking to myself during a cooking disaster): “The day you stop feeling nervous is the day you’ve stopped growing.”

So I’ve learned to embrace my nerves. They keep me real. They remind me I’m human. And sometimes, they even give me great stories to tell.

Thought to Ponder: “What if the things that make you nervous are just the universe’s way of saying, ‘You care. Now go do it anyway.’”

And if that fails… just breathe, smile, and maybe keep some Maggi in stock—because not all heroes cook from scratch.