My Nine Days of Navratras: A Different Kind of Devotion
My heart is content. My body is tired. My mind is at peace.
Navratras are traditionally associated with nine days of devotion, prayers, fasting, reflection and seeking the blessings of the divine. Nine days of discipline, faith and spiritual renewal.
But I had Navratras of my own kind. They looked a little different.
Mine came with nine full days of work shifts, that required a rather different kind of discipline, and had lessons of their own.
It began with the usual day shifts alongside my team, carrying on with business as usual while knowing that our little world at work was changing. Familiar faces would remain, but not all of them.
Then came training. Time spent refining, practising, and building the skills needed for a role focused on managing emergencies we all hope never happen. Preparing for the worst while relying on the processes and controls in place to support the best possible outcomes.
And finally, the gradual transition into a new organisational structure and a new role. One step at a time, one role at a time, finding our place in what comes next.
This was a period of change that brought with it many goodbyes and several welcomes. New people to onboard on to not-their-usual teams, new ways-of-working to establish, processes to set, practices to put in place, and gaps to identify and closed.
Presenting a lot to absorb, understand, question and, eventually, improve.
And somewhere in the middle of all this, life continued unfolding outside of work.
After a morning packed with meetings, I finally picked up my phone to find several missed calls from family. At that hour, those calls are unusual. You immediately know something isn’t right. Your heart sinks while your pulse races, both somehow arriving at the same conclusion before your mind is ready to accept it.
I had lost someone near and dear to me.
The loss wasn’t entirely unexpected, yet acceptance had always seemed like something that could wait for another day. Grief, however, rarely waits for a convenient moment. It arrives when it arrives, regardless of deadlines, responsibilities, or how much emotional space you have available to carry it.
There was no quiet place to retreat to and let the tears come. No real opportunity to sit with the memories, the people, the moments from childhood. Just a brief pause here and there to acknowledge the loss, feel its weight, and then keep moving until there was time to truly process it.
And alongside that grief was another kind of waiting.
The quiet anticipation of a response from someone who was once very close, but who had chosen not to remain so. A reluctance to engage with the process that would make things final, leaving the story lingering in its last chapter, unable to quite reach the words, The End.
Funny how life can keep you occupied with a hundred different things at once.
While on an endless scroll on Instagram one day, I came across a quote: “Currently, I don’t know whether I’m going through a lot or a lot is going through me, but something is definitely going on.”
It clearly resonated. It struck a chord because that’s exactly how this period has felt. A lot to navigate, a lot to process, and a lot to carry. Professionally and personally, it has been a season of change.
By the end of these nine days, I am exhausted. Not the usual tiredness that a good night’s sleep can fix, but the kind that settles into your entire being.
Today, I found myself feeling almost hungover. My brain felt foggy, my thoughts sluggish, and even simple words seemed reluctant to come out the right way. I actually looked up whether exhaustion could feel like a hangover. Apparently, it can.
Which explains why I somehow couldn’t even pronounce “Rocky Road” properly while ordering my morning coffee.
Perhaps that was my body’s gentle way of telling me it had finally reached its limit.
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But here is the interesting part. Despite the exhaustion, I don’t feel dissatisfied. Quite the opposite.
My heart is content. My body is tired. My mind is at peace. What else can one really ask for in life?
During my commute home these past few days, I’ve found myself thinking about commitment and how easily it can slip into overcommitment.
Not because we’re chasing recognition or appreciation, or because we’re expecting something in return. Sometimes it’s simply because we care. We see something that needs doing, and if we have the knowledge, experience, or opportunity to make a difference, we step in. Then we do it again. And again.
Until one day we realise we’ve been carrying far more than we ever intended to.
There is a certain satisfaction in getting things right from the start rather than allowing them to become habits and later spending twice the effort trying to correct them. Once a way of working becomes established, changing it is difficult. People naturally grow comfortable with what they know, even when it may not be the most effective approach.
The same principle applies to almost every form of development. A strong foundation matters.
Character development is no different.
The foundations laid during childhood, the emotional support a person receives, the values they are taught, and the environment in which they grow all play a significant role in shaping who they become. It is far easier to nurture healthy values and behaviours early on than to repair the consequences of their absence later in life.
Whether it is an organisation building its culture or an individual building their character, the impact extends beyond the entity itself.
Strong foundations create ripple effects. A person who grows up feeling secure, valued, considerate, and grounded tends to make life a little better for those around them. In much the same way, organisations built on sound principles create environments where people can thrive and contribute positively to others.
Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly about getting things right, whether it is a process, a team, a workplace or a relationship. The small things we establish today often become the culture, expectations, and experiences that someone else will inherit tomorrow.
Of course, there is a fine line between taking responsibility and taking on too much.
Between caring enough to make a positive difference and caring so much that everything begins to draw from the same limited reserves of time, energy, and emotional capacity.
Good intentions can quietly become obligations. Commitment can gradually become overcommitment. And because the shift happens so slowly, we often do not notice it until our minds or bodies force us to pay attention.
I am still learning where that line sits. Perhaps the lesson is not to care less, but to learn where my responsibility ends and where I need to let others take ownership.
And so, these nine days have felt like my own version of Navratri.
Not marked by prayer or fasting, but certainly in discipline, perseverance, reflection, letting go and embracing new beginnings.
There have been endings to acknowledge, beginnings to welcome, responsibilities to carry, grief to make room for and unanswered questions to leave unanswered, at least for now.
Maybe devotion isn’t always about what we give up for nine days. It can be about what we continue to give, despite everything life puts us through. The sincerity with which we work, the care with which we treat people, the responsibility we accept and the intention to leave things a little better than we found them.
Nine days later, I am ready for a slower morning, a proper coffee and perhaps a little less conversation until my brain finds its way back!
And tonight, I think the most appropriate form of devotion would simply be to get some sleep.
Heart full. Body exhausted. Mind peaceful. Grateful for all three.
