And just like that, you're SIX

 My Dear Dia,

It’s here. The day we celebrate you—our little firecracker, our in-house diva, the queen of chaos and sunshine. Happy 6th birthday, my darling girl. 💛

Now, let me tell you a little story. You’ve always been a great sister. But did you know you were already being the best little sister before you were even born?

Picture this: It’s June 17th, 2018. I’m in the middle of prepping for Ansh’s 4th birthday party. The balloons are blown, the cake is ready, the games are lined up... and suddenly, boom, labor pains. But you? You were like, “No worries, Mom. I’ll just hang tight in here while you finish up this party.” 😎 You didn't want Ansh to not have his moment.

I was 3 cm dilated, having contractions, playing musical chairs, and clenching my teeth while yelling, “Pass the parcel!” You were chillin’. Waiting. Respecting your brother’s big day like the absolute legend you are. 

And as soon as Ansh finished opening his gifts, we grabbed our hospital bag and rushed off to the hospital. And a few hours later, you waltz into this world! 

You’ve been lighting up our lives since Day 1. Literally. We named you Dia because the sky turned this fiery red-orange hue as you were born, like the universe dimmed the lights and spotlighted your entrance. And now? You reminding us of it everyday:

“I am the light of this house.”

We tell you to brush your teeth — “No, because I’m the light of this house.”

We ask you to go to bed — “I’ll go when I want. I am the light of this house.”

Ansh may be the big brother, but you? You are the boss. The self-appointed queen. I’m sorry! “The light of the house”

And yet… beneath that larger-than-life presence is the kindest heart. You care so deeply, give the warmest hugs and oh! That laughter of yours. So infectious! 

You love taking the bus with Ansh. One day, things got a little dramatic. Ansh came home all quiet and pouty. When I asked what happened, he mumbled, “Some girl said I have lice in my hair…”
Ugh. Rude.

But the best part? The next day, you marched back on that bus like a mini bodyguard. You found that girl, looked her straight in the eye, and said, “Be nice to my brother.”

Like a boss. No hesitation, no fluff. Just straight-up justice.

That’s who you are, Dia. Fierce. Protective. 

You love your brother fiercely. You cried at football camp because you couldn’t find Ansh. You refused to sleep in your room while he was away at camp. And when you don’t see him around, your whole face falls down. He is your safety blanket, like you are his

You also cried at school recently, and the nurse called me. “Dia isn’t sick,” she said, “but she’s very emotional.”
I got you on the phone: “Dia, what happened?”
You: “I miss you.”
So, I rush to school in panic-mode. Maybe someone was mean to you? Maybe something happened? Nope. Turns out your class was celebrating two birthdays, and yours wasn’t one of them.

All that drama? Because you wanted your party now. We had to have a serious talk about calendars, and it only took 1.5 hours to do that😅

You are also a big helper! You help me with dishes, laundry, everything—even if it takes twice as long and the house ends up more messy. 

During our showcase, you basically run the backstage like it’s your own personal kingdom. While everyone else is busy panicking over last-minute cues, there you are—strutting around like the tiny CEO. One minute you’re handing out flowers, the next you’re casually putting blush on someone’s forehead (not their cheeks—because who made those rules, right?).

You're playing games, cracking jokes, distracting stressed-out dancers, and somehow making everyone feel like they’ve got this. Honestly, I should be paying you for stage management. You’re not just a rockstar—you’re the whole manager, hype crew, glam squad, and comic relief rolled into one sparkly little human.

You're my goofball, my sunshine, my sass queen, and my soul’s biggest joy.

You make me laugh, you make me think, you make me question all my parenting strategies—sometimes all in one minute.

Oh! And hands down, one of my absolute favorite Dia moments ever—picture this: a room full of people at the studio, buzzing with energy. You're about to make your grand entrance. Naman, sweet Naman, is standing at the door, all smiles, ready to greet you with a big warm hug. He goes, “Hi Dia!” with open arms…

And what do you do?

You don’t even blink. You casually take off your jacket—like a queen disrobing after a long day of ruling kingdoms—and hand it over to him without saying a word. No hug, no eye contact, just a swift handoff like, “Telme how it was.” Total "Poo from Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham"

Still laughing. Still not over it.

You’ve officially entered that glorious age where… everything is my fault. I mean everything.

You didn’t like soccer. Hated it. Begged me with those dramatic eyes to take you out. So I did what any mom would—I told Dad to handle it. So, he got you out of soccer. And guess what? A few days later, out of nowhere, you go, “Mom, you didn’t even let me stay in soccer long enough!” Excuse me?? 

Then there was football camp. You insisted on not wearing a sweatshirt. “I’ll be fine, Mom!” Fast forward 30 minutes, you get there, see other kids in sweatshirts… and suddenly I’m the villain: “Moooommm! You didn’t give me a sweatshirt!”

I mean, I’m fully expecting you to trip over in your school and yell, “Thanks a lot, Mom!” 

But hey—if being blamed for everything means I’m always top of mind, I’ll take it. (Kind of.)

This year, you’ve taught me:

• That giggles are contagious
• That the best way to start your day is by calling your hotel neighbors (even if they’re next door)
• That “San Franskisko” is the best way to say it
• And that I should never, ever assume the nurse is calling about a real emergency

You live loud. You love hard. And you remind me every day to let go, laugh more, and dance like nobody’s watching (even though you prefer it when everyone’s watching).

Happy Birthday, Dia.
Thank you for turning our world upside down in the most beautiful, chaotic, hilarious way possible.
Keep shining. Keep ruling.

And yes, you are the light of this house—just maybe don’t use that as a legal argument in family court someday. 😂

Love you to the stars and back,
Mom