When Morning Chaos Met a Mother’s Heart: The Birth of Tales of Tanush

There were mornings when I felt I will lose my mind—Tanush’s tiny feet stomping in protest, his favourite trousers “too scratchy,” the third pair of tshirt flung across the room like confetti, and the clock ticking louder with each bargaining tear.

As a mother, I wanted him fed, dressed and off to school before I lose all the remaining braincell left post becoming a mother. (laughing right now while writing this thing)

But instead, I found myself wrestling with fabric, frustration mounting like an angry storm cloud over my bed.

I remember one morning: Tanush refused everything I pulled from his almirah.

“No blue. No stripes. No shirt with trucks,” he wailed, as though each refusal was a personal attack on his budding identity. My pulse raced, guilt knotting in one corner of my chest—was I forcing him too much? Was I not listening enough? The Montessori mother in me knew that independence blossoms only when we offer choice and respect, yet the tired mother in me wanted uniform compliance. (truth be told)

Montessori philosophy teaches us to prepare the environment and then step back—to offer children opportunities for self-expression within carefully crafted boundaries.

I tried laying out two shirts: one with soft florals, one plain white. “Choose, Tanush,” I coaxed. But he stood frozen, overwhelmed by my soft voice and racing heart.

That’s when I realized we were missing something vital: stories.

You see, stories have always been our safe harbor. When words failed, I told him tales of a chidiya and baheliya or a random story which had really no meaning.

His tears would dry, his shoulders would relax, and he’d laugh again. What if I could bring those tales into his daily routine? What if the very clothes he fought against became pages of his own unfolding story?

That afternoon, I traced a simple butterfly—onto his plain shirt. By evening, Tanush’s nani had hand-embroidered it.

The next morning, I nervously held it up: “Here’s your butterfly shirt. Will you wear it today?” His eyes widened. He ran to me, finger tracing the little butterfly and shouted, “Butterfly will come with me to school’.

In that moment, everything changed. I realized that by weaving story and choice into his clothes, I could transform the morning chaos into a dance of imagination. He wasn’t just wearing fabric—he was wearing a possibility. He wasn’t resisting; he was becoming part of the tale.

That simple butterfly became the seed for Tales of Tanush.

With all my stitches and stories,
Tanush ki Mumma