Amma Brewmala stirs her tea like she’s rearranging the cosmos. The leaves float, sulk, and finally settle, as if conceding that the truth, like caffeine, cannot be rushed. “November begins,” she says, “and the first lesson is simple—drop your shoulds before you drop dead.”
Across the table, FutureSwamy adjusts his twelve gemstone rings and clears his throat. “It’s not that simple, Amma. The stars are… unsettled. Mercury’s sneezing retrograde again, Jupiter’s bloated with opinions, and Venus is refusing to text Mars back. It’s a fragile celestial balance.”
Amma smirks. “Fragile balance? That’s humanity’s job description. Everyone’s waiting for the planets to behave when they themselves are walking full-time contradictions.”
FutureSwamy looks wounded but persists. “Numerologically, November 2025 is an eight—power, karma, transformation.”
“Ah yes,” Amma replies, “infinity lying down, exhausted from chasing meaning. You people love your symbols but hate your mirrors. Power without presence is just decorative ego.”
He sighs. “Then what do you suggest?”
“I suggest a cup of tea,” she says. “And a little less pretending. November 1st is the cosmic reset button—time to stop living by obligation and start living by alignment. Every ‘should’ is a leash; every truth you swallow ferments into resentment.” She takes a sip. “Drop the shoulds. They’re expired.”
FutureSwamy nods reluctantly, doodling planetary positions like excuses. “So, no new resolutions?”
“Resolutions are recycled regrets,” Amma says. “November doesn’t want your promises—it wants your presence.”
Outside, the air smells of post-Diwali smoke and second thoughts. Everyone’s cleaned their homes, yet their heads remain storage units of guilt and comparison. Amma glances out the window. “People declutter their cupboards, not their consciences. And then they wonder why the air still feels heavy.”
She leans in, conspiratorial. “That’s where my service, Chaiphany, comes in. I’m not Marie Kondo; I don’t ask if it sparks joy—I ask if it still pays rent in your soul. If you missed decluttering during Diwali, don’t worry—I’m still making house calls for emotional junkyards.”
FutureSwamy chuckles. “You’re turning spirituality into subscription therapy.”
“I’m turning awareness into habit,” she corrects. “People keep saying they should meditate, should forgive, should eat better—so much should that they forget to simply be. November 1st arrives as the great unshoulding. A cosmic permission slip to drop the script.”
He checks his chart again. “Still, Saturn’s influence warns of—”
“Saturn’s been warning since the Stone Age,” Amma interrupts. “He’s the universe’s grumpy uncle. Let him rant. The real astrology this month isn’t in the skies—it’s in your schedule. Check where you spend your hours; that’s your real horoscope.”
The kettle hisses softly, as if agreeing.
Amma pours another round. “This month asks for lightness,” she says. “Not the toxic kind of ‘good vibes only’ lightness, but the kind that comes when you stop performing sanity and start sipping it.”
FutureSwamy laughs. “So November is for surrender?”
“It’s for simplification,” she replies. “For making peace with the half-done, the not-yet, the could-have. The universe isn’t grading your productivity. It’s just watching, patiently, waiting for you to stop pretending the noise is music.”
She finishes her tea, tips the last few leaves onto her palm, and squints. “Ah, look—the pattern says clarity by mid-month. Or maybe it’s just time to refill the pot. Same difference.”
FutureSwamy gathers his charts, muttering something about lunar drama and human denial. Amma Brewmala only smiles, serene in her chaos. “Let the astrologers forecast storms,” she says. “I’ll just carry an umbrella of awareness.”
Outside, the day folds gently into itself. The first of November hums—a quiet invitation to exhale, to loosen the grip, to unclutter the self. Because dropping the shoulds, as Amma says, is the only way to stop life from feeling like an unpaid internship with destiny.
The kettle whistles again, somewhere between prophecy and punchline.
Footnotes:
- Begin the journey to drop the clutter — Join us for a retreat in Goa/Sawantwadi on December 6th, where we’ll sip, shed, and simplify.
- This post is written for the Blogchatter Half Marathon.
Parwatisingari's Weblog 
Leave a comment