Remembering My Sister, Shanti: Telling the Story We Were Taught Not to Tell

This April (2026), my sister Shanti would have turned 50. It’s a milestone that feels both beautiful and heartbreaking, knowing she’s been gone for twenty years. I grieve the life she could have lived — the richness, the joy, the ordinary moments she deserved. Yet when I think of her, I also find myself smiling. I remember us making samosas from scratch in our tiny kitchen, the Snoopy‑themed greeting cards she gave me for every occasion, and singing Phoolon ka Taaron ka while we played in our garden. I think of our family trips — running around Amsterdam in matching frocks, hugging the massive stone pillars at Rameshwaram, reading Tinkle comics on long train rides, and watching foreign films in New York. These memories remind me not only of who she was, but of how far I’ve come in my own healing — and how hope never really disappears.

Losing Shanti to suicide reshaped my understanding of mental health and the silence that often surrounds it in our community. She lived with Bipolar Type II disorder — a mental illness shaped by a complex mix of genetic, biological, and environmental factors, never a single cause. Culture did not create her illness, but it did make seeking help harder. Growing up desi abroad comes with an invisible weight: honoring our parents’ sacrifices, excelling in every space we enter, carrying our heritage proudly while code‑switching effortlessly. In that world, struggle is whispered about, and judgment can feel close at hand. Shanti and I grew up with that tension — wanting honesty, yet conditioned to stay silent.

This is why I choose to share Shanti’s story. Because somewhere, someone might recognize a piece of themselves in it. Because sometimes, we don’t have the words for what we’re feeling until we hear it from someone else first. Because silence is still costing us too much.

If Shanti’s story stays with you, I hope it nudges you to start a conversation you may have been avoiding, or to check in on someone you care about. That’s how this begins to shift. Quietly, person by person. 

You can watch my full video story about Shanti here.