Chandrika left Chennai on the morning of 7 March. She was to return on 15 March. Today is 18 March, and we know that she didn’t reach her intended destination.

We wait for the wheels of invisible diplomacy and intelligence work, and the military might of countries to come together in complementary ways to outwit and overcome sinister minds, if indeed that is what is at work.

If one were not directly and personally involved, one could have marvelled at the evil genius that authored a plot such as this, and the craft and research that supported it. Presently, it only brings to the fore how little we actually know, how vulnerable we are, and the things we take for granted about people, places and things.

How are we dealing with all this?

It became clear fairly early that as individuals, we can do very little. We wait patiently. With every passing day and each fragment of information that comes in, we revise the narrative strung together, and articulate the new set of perplexing and urgent questions that inevitably come up. My friends and family mostly do this for me, leaving me to take stock at the day’s end in what seems like a 45-minute feature of ‘Face the Facts’, by and large a calm, reflective walk-through to go with the customary daily walk. I don’t watch TV, barring the press conferences that, in themselves, have been short on detail and drawn in expectation. I do not browse news and analyses on the internet.

For now, I remain open to news that point to clear, incontrovertible evidence of what happened, and actions taken or are afoot that can bring the whole incident to a satisfactory close. What is priority is information that is a step closer to bringing Chandrika back, and for us to plan our next steps to redesign our life from here on.

My daughter Meghna is at a point where she is evaluating how she might be able to return to college and rebuild a routine as a way to manage the anxiety and longing for her mother. My mother has been remarkably strong, steadfast in her faith and prayer. Chandrika’s mother too, I believe, is confident of her daughter’s return. Others in the family remain optimistic.

For myself, I am not a believer in miracles. Miracles are our way of dealing with our surprise and delight with something that has happened: incompletely understood or what was thought to be improbable. It is part of our sense-making of what apparently doesn’t make sense. I remain focused on what we have at hand, by way of information, and stay with the knowledge that Chandrika is strong and courageous, that her goodness must count for something, somewhere. I carry firmly the faith that the forces of life are eternal, immutable and ever present to keep the drama moving. In the ultimate analysis, I am neither favoured nor deserted. No one is.

My recent vipassana experience has perhaps helped me in approaching the situation with equanimity. The essential message of transience and impermanence lends perspective, and the practice of being in ‘the present’, however difficult, helps manage the menace of an overworked imagination.

My friends and family have known that understatement is my way. I am comfortable with it and I have known it to speak loud enough. As a family, we are not given to histrionics or theatrics. We suffer, we agonise, we teeter on the edge, but seldom allow ourselves to be overwhelmed. I don’t say this with any sense of self-congratulation or offer it as recommendation. I am merely saying this for those who know us from a distance or fleetingly. Apparently, it doesn’t satisfy some for whom tragedy needs to be announced loudly. For them, the spectacle is more important, and one receives their anger and resentment when they are disappointed.

I realise one more time how much I have shrunk my world over the years, and also how vast and rich Chandrika’s is. The latter is an enormous source of joy and pride. As I continue to receive messages of fondness and solidarity, prayer and hope, and solidarity from well-wishers around the world, I feel comforted, energised and renewed.

This article originally appeared on Facebook.