The Reason I Get Anything Done
A rare personal note
Most weeks I use this space to share one idea. Something small but meaningful. A thought I’ve been sitting with, a book that sparked something, or just an interesting article that made me pause.
But this week is different. This week, I want to share something personal.
On April 28th, my wife and I will complete 17 years of marriage. And while I don’t usually talk much about my personal life here, I think this story still fits. Because it's about the one thing that makes everything else possible.
The real reason I get anything done
People often ask how I manage to do so much. I work full-time in a Bank. I’m a husband. A father to a thoughtful 13-year-old girl. I run a podcast, make music, and write this newsletter. From the outside, it probably looks like a lot of careful planning or some secret productivity hack.
But there’s really just one reason any of this works.
My wife.
She’s the steady center of it all. Not in a quiet, background kind of way. But in the way a house has a foundation, you might not see it, but it holds everything up.
She runs her own company with full focus.
And still, she plays the role of a full-time homemaker too. She manages the house with my mum, who lives with us, making sure everything flows. She visits her parents almost daily, always ready to help with whatever they need.
And through all of that, she’s deeply present for our daughter, tuned in to what she wants, what she’s going through, how her day’s been. She listens to her, coordinates with her friends’ parents so she can meet up with them, takes her shopping when she needs something new, shows up for her in a way that’s consistent, caring, and full of quiet joy.
And she does all this with a kind of high-energy enthusiasm that’s hard to describe but easy to feel. You can’t help but be lifted by it.
Her energy fills the room.
When I get back home from work, she welcomes me. Every single day. It’s not just a habit. It feels like a warm reset. No matter how the day’s been, I step into something softer. We also have this one small thing we’ve done since the beginning of our marriage.
A morning hug.
It doesn’t matter how busy we are or how different our schedules have become. I’m up early. She stays up later. But at some point in the morning, when we first see each other, we pause and hug. It’s a small ritual, but it says everything. We’re here. Still showing up.
We’re different in most ways.
I love Bollywood. She doesn’t.
I can rewatch things endlessly. She gets bored after ten minutes.
I spend. She saves.
We’ve never tried to make the other one more like us. And I think that’s why it works.
We also parent the way we live, by listening. We treat our daughter’s thoughts and feelings with respect. We don’t lead with control, but with conversation. It’s not always smooth. But it’s honest. And seeing the way my wife parents with patience, attention, and so much presence, it makes me love her in a way that’s hard to explain.
17 years in, I don’t have a perfect formula for marriage. But I do know what it feels like to come home to someone who sees you fully. Someone who believes in your dreams, even when they pull you in ten directions.
Someone who’s different from you in every possible way and still meets you, right in the middle.
That’s what we have.
I still remember one of our earliest nights after getting married. We were in a tiny one bedroom house. The fan squeaked. The neighbour’s noisy. The windows rattled. We stayed up talking about nothing. She fell asleep mid-sentence, with that easy trust that you only give to someone who feels like home.
I lay there, wide awake. Thinking this is it. This is the life I want. Real. Unfiltered. Ours.
Seventeen years later, that’s exactly what we’ve built.
And I’m so grateful it’s her.
Thanks for reading something a little more personal this week. If it brought someone to mind, maybe reach out to them. Or just take a quiet moment to remember the people who help you hold it all together.
Manoj
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This got me tearing up at a coffee shop right now. This is beautiful, Manoj.