🎧 Becoming Destiny
Written and Narrated by Niyati Kadakia
The story goes that I was supposed to be named Namita. That was the name chosen and gently prepared for me. But just before the naming ceremony, at the very last moment, it was decided that the name I would carry was not Namita, but Niyati. I lay in my mother’s lap as chants were read and flowers were offered to God, when my name was written and declared.
And so I became Niyati - Destiny, in Sanskrit.
I was named after the stars, without knowing how deeply I would live their lessons.
I was born at 6:38 a.m. in Mumbai, on a hot, sticky summer day. As I left the safety of my mother’s body and entered the world, I cried—loudly, gallantly—as if announcing my mother’s quiet crossing through an invisible doorway into motherhood.
My birth marked more than just the beginning of my life. It was also an alignment. The planets, as if in quiet ceremony, cast their shadows across my birth chart—long and steady, like ancestral blessings. Jupiter, exalted in Cancer, stood strong. Jupiter: the planet of wisdom, expansion, and truth. They say it moves in 12-year cycles, and now, looking back, I see those moments clearly—when I was 12, 24, 36... Each phase a significant and clear tipping point.
Each one asking me: Are you ready now?
I wasn't.
Not at first.
For most of my life, I did not believe in this language. Not astrology. Not destiny. I believed in doing. In Plan As and Plan Bs. In surviving. In showing up and playing the part.
Daughter. Wife. Mother. Sister. Supporter. Stable. Soft. Smiling.
And yet, beneath even that - something else was stirring. Unseen, the planets were moving. The universe within me was unraveling, quietly rewriting stories in the sky that I didn’t yet know were mine. I couldn’t name the planetary transits or the cycles then, but I could feel it. In my body. In my bones. In the aching hollows of my soul.
A slow movement.
A subtle shifting.
When something shifts like that, inch by inch, under quiet pressure, it can feel like your life is slowly falling apart. But perhaps it’s just the stars pulling their invisible strings, aligning their rhythms with the beat of your heart, nudging you - gently at first, and then fiercely, toward the truth of who you are.
My inner being was shifting too. Wordless. Raw. Breaking away from the weight of stories I had carried for generations.
I wasn’t just carrying my own story. I was carrying the emotional legacy of everyone who came before me and all those I had loved and cared for. I could sense the pain of every person who entered my life. I held it dearly, in my hands, as if it were mine.
But Jupiter was moving. Mercury was shifting.
Toward empowerment. Toward truth.
Toward the rewriting of a legacy of feminine silence.
No more, Jupiter said. No more.
And boldly, it moved.
Every person I met became a mirror, a message. Each connection a quiet invitation to examine, to break, to shed. Mercury sharpened my mind. Venus opened my heart. Saturn taught me responsibility. Mars gave me the courage to act. The Moon - oh, the Moon - showed me how to feel it all.
And Jupiter? Jupiter asked me to step into something bigger. Much bigger.
So I gathered the pieces of the roles I once played - dutiful, broken, blood-stained - and I reassembled them. Not into the old shapes. Not into what the world wanted. But into something truer. Wilder. More whole. Something my ancestors might have hoped for.
I can feel them now - those women - standing beside me.
No longer asking me to be quiet.
No longer telling me to endure.
Their eyes say: You are rewriting us.
We are part of a longer story - threads in a fabric woven long before us, beads in a necklace that stretches back through centuries. Each of us shaped by what came before, each of us shaping what will come after.
Some of us are born to continue the pattern.
And some of us… are born to break it.
To stop the quiet passing down of pain.
To look directly at what was inherited - not with blame, but with clarity.
And to say: This ends with me.
As women, we hold immense power—not just to nurture life, but to shape the stories that follow us. We give birth not only to children, but to narratives: of power or of sacrifice, of silence or of truth, of submission or sovereignty. And in every moment, with every choice, we decide which stories will be passed on—and which ones will end with us.
We may not always understand how or why, but the universe moves through us—gently shifting, realigning, asking us to listen. When we do, we begin to live not just our own story, but a rewritten one. Not just for ourselves, but for all those who came before, and all who will follow.
This is Destiny.
It is painful. Yes.
There have been times I’ve faced a darkness so complete, so consuming, that I wondered - what would happen if I simply disappeared? I’ve known that kind of pain. The kind where you’re looked at, but never truly seen. Admired, even celebrated—but never fully protected. The kind of ache where you carry everything in silence, and no one asks what it’s costing you.
I’ve been shaped by people who arrived to teach hard lessons—some with sharp edges, some who never stayed long enough to soften the blow. And still, somehow, there were those who appeared like grace - holding the broken parts of me with tenderness I didn’t know I needed.
That, too, is Destiny.
Because Destiny doesn’t always come as a loud declaration from the sky.
Sometimes, it sends you people - quiet in their timing.
And sometimes, it sends you beauty.
The golden outline of a leaf.
A sky flushed pink with evening light.
A bird’s sudden flight across your path.
The scent of a flower that stops you in your tracks.
The world is full of invitations.
Whispers.
Messages.
The flowers, the trees, the birds, the clouds, all of it speaking in the language of presence. All of it asking: Will you look? Will you feel? Will you remember who you are?
Destiny speaks in stillness.
In synchronicities.
In coincidences.
In softness that does not flinch.
It holds you boldly. Uncompromisingly.
Even when you’ve forgotten how to hold yourself.
That is Destiny.
We often believe we have to do everything ourselves, that it’s all on us to build, endure, heal, and carry on. But the truth is, we’re part of something bigger. Each of us is just one thread in a long cloth, woven through generations, made of both struggle and strength. And one day, when our time here is done, the part we’ve woven will lift into the sky like a flag.
A quiet signal.
A memory.
A blessing.
And when that day comes, I want my thread to feel honest.
Whole. True to who I really was.
This is not to say everything is written in stone. Destiny isn’t about helplessness. It’s about listening. It’s about learning to recognize when the universe is moving through you, and when it’s your turn to move, too.
To step forward with your own voice.
To say: This story no longer sustains truth.
And I am no longer afraid to change it.
This, to me, is the quiet power of living by your name.
They made my name mean Destiny.
And now again, it asks me Are you ready?
And this time, I look up at the sky, arms stretched open, with a smile
I say Yes. Yes, I am ready.
With tenderness and love,
❤️ Niyati
All of the Maitri writings are an invitation—to pause, to reflect, and to choose a life that is true, authentic, brave and dignified. My deepest hope is that through my words, you remember: you are not alone. Not now, not ever. And that we walk this path together.
🌸 Dear friends: There will be no Maitri essay next week, as I take a short pause to rest, realign, and return with renewed intention. See you the week after. 🌸
“gathered the pieces of the roles I once played” so powerful! Thank you so much.
Your writings always resonates deep within.