The Geometry of My Name

I am writing this from a small corner in Norway, where the blue light of winter settles early on the rooftops. For eighteen years, I have navigated a life that felt like a garment two sizes too small. I moved here from India, carrying the traditions of my father and the quiet strength of my mother, only to find myself lost in a sea of silence.

Today, that silence is shared. I live here with my husband and my daughter, navigating the delicate balance of being a wife and a mother in a land that is not my own. My daughter is my greatest motivation; when I look at her, I realize I don’t want her to grow up seeing a mother who is silenced by her past. I want her to see a woman who knows her own name.

Building a life in a new country is never a simple sketch; it is a complex architecture. I think of my husband and the years we have spent side-by-side, weathering the transition from the warmth of our roots to the sharp, clear air of the North. He has been the provider, the one holding the structure of our daily lives together while I focused on the home and our daughter. But even in a sturdy house, a soul needs its own window to look out of.

My journey into poetry and design is my way of adding light to that house. I want to show my husband, and our daughter, that the traditions we carry from India are not just weights from the past, but tools for the future. By finding my success as a designer and a writer, I am not turning away from my family—I am honoring them. I am becoming a version of Anuroop that can contribute more than just silence; I am bringing the "harmony" of my name into our financial and spiritual reality.

The Geometry of My Name
For eighteen winters, I have been a guest
In a land where the sun forgets to rise.
In the silence of a Norwegian house,
I learned to speak with my hands,
Designing shapes to fill the holes
That words : heavy and unspoken—left behind.

They call me Anuroop.
A word that means "harmony,"
A word that means "compatible."
But how can I be in harmony
When my heart is a map of two distant worlds?
One side is the dust of an Indian village,
The warmth of my mother’s lap—lost in December.
The other is this frost on the windowpane,
The blue light of the North, the single penny I do not have.

I used to think my name was a cage,
A promise to fit into a life that didn’t fit me.
But now, I see the design.
Like a logo drawn with a steady hand,
I am the bridge between the fire and the ice.
I am the listener, the one who hears
The secret song inside the struggle.

I am no longer just "suitable" for someone else’s world.
I am finally becoming compatible with my own soul.

A Reflection on Healing and Design
Healing is not a straight line; it is a series of circles and spirals. As a spiritual seeker, I’ve learned that we often have to break our old "logos"—the old images of who we thought we were—to find the truth. My father’s house had rules, and my husband’s house has its own rhythms, but in this creative space, I am building a house of my own.

After losing my mother this past December, the grief became a mirror. It forced me to look at the woman standing in this Norwegian kitchen and ask: Who is Anuroop when she isn’t just a daughter or a wife? I realized that if I wanted peace for my family and for my own heart, I had to create it myself—through the words I write and the symbols I design.

To me, spirituality and design are the same thing. They are both about finding balance (the true meaning of Anuroop). When I design a logo, I am looking for the perfect compatibility between a soul and its symbol. I am currently beginning my journey as a freelance designer, specializing in spiritual and holistic branding. I want to help others find the visual language for their own healing. Even if I am starting with a single penny, I am rich in stories.

The Shift from Within
For too long, I have worn the tags that others placed upon me. I have been "the daughter who must obey," "the wife who must remain silent," and "the mistake" that lived in the shadows of my father’s expectations. I have carried these labels like heavy stones in a land that was already too cold. But my mother’s death this December changed everything. Standing in the wake of her loss, I realized a terrifying and beautiful truth: we all have an end. We are all walking toward a day when our breath will stop, and when I meet that day, I do not want to be a collection of other people’s tags.

I am tired of being who I was. I am shifting.

To my father, I want to say: I am still your daughter, but I am also a woman of worth who has found her own ground. I want you to be proud of the name you gave me—not because I followed every rule, but because I had the strength to make that name mean something in the world.

To my husband: I am your partner, but I cannot be a shadow. A shadow has no identity, and a shadow cannot help you build a future. By becoming a designer, an author, and a healer, I am finally standing in the light so that I can be a real person beside you, not just a ghost in your house.

If others are allowed to have an identity, why not me? I am worthy of a name. I am worthy of a career. I am worthy of being heard. The shift has happened from within, and there is no going back. I am Anuroop—not as a daughter or a wife, but as a soul that has finally decided to live.