Sitara is a Sanskrit word for star. For a few months after she was born, that was simply who she was: a beautiful baby who had already filled her parents' home with joy. Then, on a pediatric visit in Boston, an intern asked a question that changed everything: did they know their daughter was blind. Two months of appointments in California had missed it. What followed was a diagnosis of congenital toxoplasmosis, and years of hospital visits, surgeries, and uncertainty folded into ordinary life.

But ask her parents about their daughter today, and they rarely start with the hospitals. They start with the girl who played piano whenever family or friends visited. The oldest sibling who kept everyone else's routines on track. The daughter with a wit quick enough to catch people off guard. The woman who found joy in helping: unloading the dishwasher, sorting strawberries in the kitchen, or simply being included in whatever was happening around her.

One of Sitara's deepest bonds was with her grandmother, Ambujam, known as Patti to the family. When doctors believed Sitara might never eat by mouth, Patti didn't accept it. She worked with her granddaughter, patiently and without hurry, until eventually Sitara learned to eat on her own. Madhu has said her daughter's story would be incomplete without Patti, whose love asked for nothing in return.

Sitara carried that same devotion into her own family. As the oldest, her brothers called her Akka, and she never hesitated to let them know when they'd stepped out of line. They adored her just as fiercely in return: as a boy, Adarsh once made it plain to his friends that mocking his sister was not something he'd tolerate. Years later, her younger brother Kailash wrote his own chapter for their mother's book, making the case that a sister who lived with such tenacity deserved nothing less than her family's full support in return.

At five years old, at a family wedding, the groom tripped and his glasses went flying. Every adult around her rushed to check if they had broken. Sitara asked only one thing.

She had a mischievous sense of humor, too: asked what date it was, she might just as easily answer with what date it had been yesterday. She loved dressing up, for Halloween and for Indian festivals alike. And in 2007, when she received her diploma from the special education program at Saratoga High School, her entire school community stood and cheered, a standing ovation her family still talks about.

As Sitara entered adulthood, her parents faced another chapter they hadn't expected: finding a home where she'd be supported long after they no longer could. Madhu has said the hardest part was never the search itself; it was arriving at the understanding that placing an adult child in a home is a required step in caring for her, not a failure of it. She and Ranga eventually found an LSA home on Cambrian Street in San Jose, less than ten miles from the house where Sitara grew up. The program director told them LSA wanted to build relationships with families, not just serve clients, exactly the fit they'd been looking for.

That feeling only deepened over time. During the COVID-19 pandemic, when Sitara contracted the virus and needed round-the-clock care, LSA's staff stayed by her side. Madhu has said that was the moment she knew, without doubt, that this was Sitara's home. When Madhu later asked her daughter what she wanted included in the story of her own life, Sitara didn't reach for the hospital visits or the hardest years. She asked her mother to write about Cambrian first, her home away from home.

Asked about her years of medical challenges, Sitara's answer was simpler than anyone expected: that she went to the hospital. Nothing more. If she had carried every hard year the way others might, Madhu has said, there would have been a lifetime of pain to hold onto. Instead, she carried almost none of it. She lived, as her mother describes it, entirely in the present.

What she carried was something else. Every day, without fail, she checked in on the people she loved: how a run went, whether a headache had eased, whether everyone had slept well. Madhu calls it a rare gift, the simple act of being asked after, and says it carried her through decades of long days. She calls her daughter her best friend forever.

That same instinct to show up for others shaped how she spent her days. In her later years, Sitara broke from her routine to advocate in person, at Cupertino City Hall, for more housing for adults with disabilities in Silicon Valley, her own cause, chosen on her own terms.