Life Is Messy, And Here's How It Becomes Beautiful

Haapu Gaadi. That’s what he calls his cement mixer. Not just any toy,  it’s his favourite. We spot one on the road, and the world stops. “Mumma! Haapu gaadi dekho!” That moment, that joy, that squeal — that’s the universe for him. And that’s the world I’ve grown into.

From drawing comics about the environment at 19 to now navigating through trucks and tantrums — I grew. Not in a straight line. Not with a clear plan. But with layers. As a creator, as a founder, as a woman, and now, as Kaveer’s mother.

Kaveer was born in September 2022. My son. My mirror. My biggest teacher. By then, Gemius — the agency I started in 2014 — had grown into a full-blown business. A decade in, I was already leading teams, building brands, and flying for pitches. And then came this tiny human who brought everything back to basics.

In 2024, I launched Tiramisu, my third baby. A demi-fine jewellery brand rooted in heritage and stories — much like my own. Between feeding schedules and photo shoots, I stitched together fragments of focus to build something new again. Tiramisu wasn’t born out of convenience — it was born out of craving. Craving something mine. Something that sparked me. Something I could hold onto when the days got heavy with motherhood and the guilt that trails behind every working mom.

Kaveer has never really been “left behind”. He’s been there — since he was 3 months old — tucked into carriers at meetings, bundled up in shoots, laughing with team members at the office by 2.5 months. He’s not a distraction — he’s part of the narrative. He’s grown up hearing brainstorming, watching edits, and sleeping through client calls.

Of course, the calendar’s not mine anymore. My meetings shift depending on nap times and moods. Sometimes I get through the day with two productive hours and a heart full of worry. Other times, he naps like a saint, and I take on the world before he wakes up demanding his “orange waali story”.

There’s judgement. There’s always judgement. When I flew to the US for work while he was 9 months old, the questions came in loud: How could you leave him? Doesn’t he need you? And the quieter ones: do you think you’ll regret it?

What I don’t often say out loud is that my heart was breaking too. But I also knew I needed that trip — not just for work, but to feel like myself again. To remember that I’m more than milk bottles and lullabies. That I’m allowed to have ambition and love, that choosing me sometimes is also choosing him. Because a full mother is a better mother.

There have been many pop-ups since then — Paris, Delhi, even Jaipur — and each one comes with that familiar ache. The tears mid-flight. The soft goodbyes. And then the voice on the other end of a video call — “Mumma, airport dikhao! Construction ho raha hai kya?” His world, through my screen. He isn’t just watching; he’s with me — eyes wide, curious, present. And I live for those moments.

Life Is Messy, And Here's How It Becomes Beautiful

And I’m not doing it alone. Saurabh, my husband, is what I’d call an anchor in all of this. My mom often jokes that he’s Kaveer’s “real mom” — because of how hands-on and intuitive he is. He always replies, “I’m not his mom; I’m just his father.” And he means it. He’s not “helping me” — he’s parenting. With calm, with intention, with a kind of quiet strength that doesn’t announce itself. It’s not performative. It’s love — consistent and steady. That kind of partnership? It changes everything.

Some days, I still feel like I’m winging it. I walk into meetings with food stains on my shirt. I plan launches with a toddler hanging off my arm. I’ve packed Tiramisu orders while he built block towers beside me. It’s not always efficient, but it’s always real.

I’ve stopped trying to be perfect. I’m not chasing clean lines anymore. I’m drawing something messier — a life with love scribbled in between work calls, with joy in the chaos, with late-night exhaustion and morning cuddles.

If you’re reading this while hiding in the bathroom for a moment of quiet, while planning your next dream in between feeding sessions, while wondering if you’re doing enough — you are. You’re choosing to show up. For them. For yourself.

And that’s everything.

We don’t need balance. We need grace. And maybe a "haapu gaadi" or two to remind us to slow down, look around, and remember — this life? It’s a work of art in progress.

Authored by Anushree Pacheriwal, Founder of Tiramisu. Views expressed by the author are their own.