Not for the grandness or the shine, but for what they stood for. To her, a watch meant art, discipline, dignity, class, quiet perseverance and arriving all woven into one. It was about showing up—tick by tick—no matter how heavy the day. As a girl, she’d pause at store windows just to admire them. Steady. Certain. Unshaken.
She grew up in Pune, India, in a modest home where money was tight but values ran deep. Her father, a banker. Her mother, a homemaker. They didn’t have luxuries—but they gave her something far greater: belief in effort, and pride in simplicity.
She loved art, music, languages, writing. But she chose sciences—because back then in India, dreams could wait, financial stability couldn’t. She moved through life with quiet grit. Earned her way into rooms no one had saved a seat for. Always striving, always grounded.
And then came motherhood. Joyful, but heavy.
After her son was born, something shifted. The exhaustion lingered. The sparkle faded. Postnatal depression arrived without a name. She smiled for photos. Met deadlines. Showed up. But inside, she felt… gone.
No one noticed. But she did.
And through the fog, she wondered if she would ever be able to find her way back..
She did.
Slowly. Gently. With late-night tears, early-morning courage, and a fire that refused to go out.
When her son turned one, she resumed her traveling for business and took her first work trip since becoming a mother. Switzerland.
On her day off, walking through Winterthur’s quiet streets, she paused in front of a watch boutique. Inside, above the display of watches,
it read ..Tissot..
The watch that she had once kept a picture of at thirteen. Simple. Elegant. Unshaken.
…She walked in and bought it.
That night, in her hotel room, she slipped the watch onto her wrist. It didn’t sparkle loudly—but it held something far more precious.
It held her.
Every version she had ever been.
The girl who used to dream.
The woman who had quietly broken.
The mother who almost lost herself.
And the soul who fought—silently, gently—to come back home to who she really was.
It wasn’t just a watch.
It was her reminder.
That she had survived what no one saw.
That she had kept walking—one small step at a time.
