Just like that

 As I stirred my favourite semiya upma for breakfast, my mother walked in, freshly back from her week-long trip. She was eager to hear all about the summer camp I had just wrapped up. With a mix of pride and excitement, I pulled out the colourful feedback chits my young campers had written. She skimmed through them, smiling at the sweet messages—until one particular comment made her pause. “Your piercings look really good on you,” a child had written. She looked up, amused. “What kind of feedback is this?” I laughed. “That,” I said, “is actually the best compliment I got.” Intrigued, she raised her eyebrows, demanding an explanation. I told her that for a child to notice the tiny stud in my ear meant something deeper—it meant they were truly present. When a child begins to notice the little things around them—what they see, hear, eat, say, and touch—that’s when mindfulness begins to bloom. The idea for such a camp took shape thanks to the plethora of messages that flo...

Thirukkural —this two-line wonder—has been an integral part of our lives in various forms since childhood. Yet, I hadn't picked up that small book in a long time, except when my husband asked for the meaning of a Kural quoted by a politician in a speech or recited by finance ministers during Budget presentations. (I’ve always wondered why quoting Thirukkural has become a ritual, even for finance ministers with no connection to Tamil Nadu!) That aside, my interest in this seven-word marvel was recently rekindled by The Times of India initiative, where famous personalities share their favorite Thirukkural . As I listened to their experiences, I was surprised at how many Kurals I could recall effortlessly, despite never having consciously studied them. In school, I was a Sanskrit and Hindi student, so my Tamil lessons never came from textbooks. Yet, my love for Tamil never faded—thanks to my father. He always had a Kural ready for every situation, and perhaps that’s how I pick...

Kamsahamnida —that word has been stuck in my head lately. It means “thank you very much” in Korean. No prizes for guessing why—I've been on a Korean drama binge for the past three weeks. Yes, I am a late bloomer. And let me tell you, they are dangerously addictive. So much so that even my regular chores have taken a backseat! What makes these dramas so captivating? When I think about it, I can draw a few parallels: Korean culture, at least as portrayed in these dramas, reminds me a lot of Indian culture from the ‘80s. I say this specifically because, post-liberalization and the brain drain, we seem to have embraced Western influences more than our own traditions. There’s a certain warmth in their visuals—nothing jarring or loud. Everything is so easy on the eye, creating a soothing effect. The sound design is subtle. No unnecessary high-pitched screeches. Even when a scene demands it, it’s kept brief. The storylines—some of...

“Hey, you’ve put on weight since the last time we met!” This isn’t an uncommon greeting from one of my friends. Trust me, he doesn’t mean to hurt—but somehow, he always does. He’s not a mean guy; in fact, he’s one of those friends I can call in the middle of the night for help. But that’s just his way of talking—not just with me, but with everyone. I’ve tried explaining to him that this sort of comment is body shaming and that it’s neither kind nor funny. But he just waves me off, insisting it’s all harmless fun. The truth? He’s far from alone. Comments like these are ingrained in our everyday conversations, especially among women. Often, they come from people who claim to mean well. Think about it—how many times have you heard a relative or a friend casually drop a remark like, “Your dress seems tighter. Gained weight, huh?” For me, it’s my aunt. She never fails to greet me with, “Enna nalla sappadare pole irukke?!” (Translation: “You seem to be eating well!” ) I know she do...

  Today, my husband was pleasantly surprised when he called out from the bathroom for a shampoo bottle. Normally, this would prompt a tirade about his laziness, followed by my hurried hand off of our regular brand of shampoo. But today, I handed him expensive bottles of shampoo and conditioner with a smile, saying, “With love.” Though puzzled, he was happy to indulge in the fancy products. I quietly slipped away before he realised they were the result of one of my hair care experiments gone wrong. Since moving into our new home, my obsession with hair care has reached new heights. Hair loss is such a rampant problem in my community that it’s probably the only topic people don’t argue about in our WhatsApp group. In a desperate attempt to save what’s left of my hair, I’ve tried everything: onion shampoo, rice water conditioner, WoW serum, Adivasi hair oil—you name it, I’ve tried it! Adding insult to injury, my mother delights in reminding me, “You used to have such thick hair I ...

    A couple of weeks ago, my husband had inadvertently given three bags of washed clothes to an unknown ironing person. He said some new person had come asking for clothes to iron when he was on the phone, and he had handed them over to him. And now, all his new pants were missing. My first reaction was, “Oh dear! All my good Katta Pais!”   I know I know… but I really couldn’t help it. Katta Pais, or what we call the Big Shopper bags, are not just some random objects; they are, as the new lingo for all things close to the heart goes, an emotion! There have been many Instagram reels by various groups around the theme of Katta Pais. The most hilarious one for me was the one by Vikkals Vikram group when the son informs his mother that he scored cent per cent in Class X Math exam or came state first in Class XII or even that he got a handsomely paying job abroad, her reaction was a simple smile. But when he says that he said no to Katta Pai at a saree shop in line with ...

   Nostalgia is a powerful emotion. Every one of us is nostalgic over something or the other and this gets stronger as we grow older. And when it involves moving into a new apartment, it is certainly a vast change. The people, the place, the community, the neighbourhood  - you are in for a sudden change, and it takes you a long time to adjust to it. I moved from the earlier home, our first purchase about 20 years ago. And you can judge how strong my emotions would be. My son’s childhood was in that place, and he still feels strongly about the old house. Since we moved into the new place, he has been away for studies and work. So he fondly reminisces only our earlier house as his home.   I couldn’t let go of the house so much that I had kept it under lock and key while occasionally going there to clean up the place. But as time grew, I felt my hold over the old place loosening and I slowly got into the mindset of letting it go. But till that time, when I prepare...

If you are gloating over solving the day’s Wordle on your third attempt, try the daily breakfast/tiffin conundrum. For someone like me who hates cooking, this is the worst puzzle that tires me out at the start of the day. Most of you may have your favourite word to start solving the daily Wordle puzzle. The keyword that you rely on to find the word of the day in minimum attempts. Similarly, I have one for my breakfast riddle. But this one’s usually towards the end. After exhausting the options of Idli, Dosa and Pongal, this serves as my saviour of the morning dilemma. Yes! You guessed it right! As copy editors, we were always taught this universal thumb rule to follow when editing a story: When in doubt, cut it out. Similarly, I follow a standard proposition to crack my tiffin conundrum: When everything is out, bring  upma  out. Ah! Was that my son frowning at me? Never mind. That is a universal reaction from most people across the country. I have never understood why a breakf...

  I am not a fan of cooking. And I make no bones about proclaiming it. However, to my surprise, of late I have become a sort of an expert in the smoked style of cooking and have been churning out a variety of dishes day after day. And no, I haven’t got a new barbecue or an oven.  Since I couldn’t put my finger on what triggered this spree, I decided to pass on the credit to the back-to-back episodes of MasterChef Australia that I have been watching ever since the start of the pandemic in Star World. (I choose to ignore the annoying Koffee with Karan that always gets tagged along with the cookery show.) I now invariably end up naming my smoked items in some fancy chef terms that I picked up watching the cookery contest. Be it, eggplant with spicy lentils and herbs (sambar), mixed veggies in coconut and yoghurt sauce (avial), greens simmered in spices and coconut (arachuvita keerai) or even Indian wafers (appalam), the smoked list doesn’t end!  I can hear my son grindin...