First month I 'earned' my own money in twenty years, I just held the cash and didn't know what to feel. Bought myself a small gold jhumka without asking anyone, and cried a little. It wasn't the amount, it was the freedom of not explaining the spend.

Standing in the kitchen all day wrecked my back, so at 41 I finally started morning yoga on the terrace. Ten minutes became forty, and now my knees and my mood both thank me. Never thought I'd be the aunty telling everyone to stretch, but here I am.

When the kids left for college the house went so quiet I could hear my own thoughts, and I didn't recognise many of them. Cooking for strangers gave me a reason to get up excited again. Turns out the empty nest just needed a new purpose, not just new curtains.

My best-seller is a simple gatte ki sabzi that my mother-in-law once said I'd never get right. Every dabba of it that goes out is a tiny sweet revenge and a bigger thank-you to her, because she did teach me eventually. Food carries whole family histories in it.

12 tiffins, big heart

Everyone thinks a startup needs an office and investors; mine started with 12 tiffins and my own pressure cooker. Four months in I'm at 40 daily and I keep the accounts in a hand-ruled notebook like my father taught me. Small, slow, and finally mine.