Just like that

Football World Cup time and everything around you is Messi, Ronaldo, Mbappé, cheers, tears, shouts and celebrations. Amidst all this din, one small news item suddenly caught my attention. It was about the way Japanese football fans celebrated. Their definition of fandom and frenzy seemed unique. Videos showed fans pouring onto the busy Shibuya Crossing after a match, cheering, singing and celebrating with unbridled joy. But there was one detail that stood out. The celebrations happened only when the traffic signal was red for vehicles. The moment the signal turned green, it was as if someone had flipped a switch. The crowd quietened, stepped back into the pedestrian zones and allowed traffic to pass unhindered. People heading to work, meetings or other commitments continued their journeys without disruption. That tiny news item stayed with me. It sent me reeling down memory lane, about four or five years back. I remembered a four-year-old creating a ruckus in a supermarket be...

  Last afternoon, around 3 PM, I opened the tap only to hear air hissing out instead of water. No warning. No dramatic crisis. Just silence… and air. And strangely, my mind immediately drifted back to a conversation I had the previous week with a friend. She told me she had almost gotten into an argument with her teenage daughter after casually asking her to generate a congratulatory image in ChatGPT for my book release. Apparently, the daughter threw a fit. She argued passionately that generating AI images in ChatGPT was endangering the future of her generation by depleting water resources. Flabbergasted, my friend asked her to explain further. The teenager went on to describe how AI systems use massive data centres that consume enormous amounts of energy and water for cooling. My friend understood very little of the explanation but wisely decided not to argue with the teenager and simply let the matter rest. She shared her experience with me later that day. I had la...

As I was scrolling through the internet, looking for videos to include in my Calmversation Camp 2026 , I stumbled upon something that stopped me in my tracks. A child—no older than the ones I work with every day—was speaking passionately about the political leader, Vijay. But it wasn’t the passion that caught my attention. It was the language. The child went on to say that if their parents didn’t support this leader or vote a certain way, they would harm themselves. I paused the video. Not because I disagreed with the opinion, but because I couldn’t ignore the weight of those words coming from someone so young. There was something about it that didn’t sit right. And as I sat with that discomfort, I was reminded of Maria Montessori, who spoke about a simple but profound responsibility we hold as adults—to prepare the child for life, not just for outcomes. Preparation doesn’t mean telling children what to think; it means helping them build the emotional strength to handle any outcome. Ar...

Some days you wake up feeling low for no particular reason. Nothing dramatic has happened. No catastrophe. No earth-shattering news. And yet, there is a heaviness you cannot quite name. You feel irritable. Slightly unreasonable. Ready to pick an argument over absolutely nothing. I was having one of those days. My son sent me one of his latest stories to read. On any other day, I would have read it with interest, maybe even pride. But that day, all I could focus on were the ads popping up every few lines on the website — flashing, blinking, interrupting. They annoyed me more than they should have. So I messaged him about it. Instead of explaining or defending the platform, he sent me a Rajinikanth GIF — folded hands, fingers pointed upward, that unmistakable calm expression. And I laughed. Just like that, the heaviness shifted. One tiny animated image altered the emotional temperature of my entire day. It made me think. We underestimate words. We underestimate tone. We under...

When my husband announced an orange and red weather alert for Chennai and nearby areas, with schools shutting down, my brain didn’t go to “emergency prep” or “stock up on snacks.” No. My first thought was:   “Ah, perfect. Time to wash the bed sheets. They’ve been waiting forever.” He stared at me, baffled. “When they predict rain,” I added casually, “it’s definitely going to be sunny.” The science reporter in him gave me a death glare and walked away. But am I really wrong? How does the Tamil Nadu Meteorological Department so often miss the mark? Sure, the weather is unpredictable — always shifting, just like our thoughts and emotions. Still, I can’t help but wonder: if mindfulness helps me manage my emotional storms, what would it take for our weather experts to predict the skies? Being a K-drama fan, I recently watched Forecasting Love and Weather . A young meteorologist joins the national weather bureau and ends up predicting typhoons perfectly, saving countless lives. If ...

This morning, I made a grand declaration: “I’m going to write a book!” My husband, deep in his weekly-column trance, mumbled something without lifting his eyes from the screen. I don’t know if he heard me — his automatic, half-conscious response sounded like pure gibberish. I’d like to think it meant, “Mind-blah-blah-blah…” For the past few days, I’ve been consumed by an unstoppable urge to write. I left journalism because I was tired of turning in stories every single day — and now here I am, planning a book . Oh, the irony. But somewhere beneath the irony, I sense a quiet calling — maybe this urge to write is less about producing something and more about pausing long enough to listen to what wants to be expressed. A mindful whisper from within, perhaps. Two ideas are swirling in my head, both aimed at helping educators. Having shifted from journalism to elementary teaching, I have enormous respect (and plenty of empathy) for this tribe. My first idea is a practical phonics work...

A simple peeler set off interesting train of thoughts today. This morning, as I was about to scrape some carrots, I noticed my favourite peeler was missing. Instinctively, I assumed my husband had misplaced it—after all, there had been a few such incidents before. Without skipping a beat, I asked him, “Why did you misplace the peeler again?” That small question quickly turned into a minor argument—who uses it more, who bought it, why always him, and so on. Thankfully, my mindfulness training kicked in just in time. I paused. Took a breath. And reflected—what exactly was I doing? In that moment, my mind flashed to a scene from a K-drama I’ve been watching. A young patient sneaks out of the hospital at night and gets hurt. When she's brought back, it’s the doctor who apologizes to her—for not being there when she needed him. That scene suddenly put things into perspective. I wasn’t even sure who had misplaced the peeler, yet I had jumped to conclusions and pointed fingers. It reminde...

 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 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: 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 breakfast item as simple and as versatile as...

  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...

Apart from the time when I was down with Covid-19 for a brief while when I had lost my sense of smell and taste, I have always been showing signs of mild hyperosmia. No, no, this is not some fatal disease but it refers to a heightened sense of smell. Trust me, I was not even aware that this was a medical condition until I watched a detective series, about a decade ago, in which an agent cracked a crime using someone's hyperosmic skills. Only after that, it made sense to me as to why I felt nauseated in air-conditioned rooms, new cars with fresh leather seats, perfume sections in supermarkets or five-star hotel restrooms. Well, the reason I am bringing this up now is because of an interesting news item that caught my eye this morning; the one about agarbatti sales taking a dip because of the discontinuation of WFH (work from home). Yes, you heard me right. WFH and agarbattis! The article went on to talk about how the lockdown period had actually boosted sales of agarbattis up to 3...

It’s finally that time of the year which makes you feel both happy and sad! Diwali is a festival that the avid shopper in me always looks forward to but it is also that time of the year when the otherwise, languid, fitness-conscious self just raises her head to scare me into business. But trust me, that’s always been a short-lived one! The truth is, while it's super fun to go shop-hopping checking out the latest designs and wanting to make a fashion statement, the ugly truth of one’s expanding size really starts to bother then; only then. And that’s why I love to shop at Fab India.  No! I am not one of those hardcore handicrafts fans who have vowed to work assiduously for the upliftment of the artisans of the land and hence would buy only clothes made by them. That I would love to do when my purse permits; but I love the shop for a completely different reason. Their ethnic designs, exquisite craftwork, handwoven cloth, natural dyes and high prices apart, what matters the most...