Something humbling lives in the way certain desires wait. They do not demand. They do not insist. They sit quietly in the background of your life until one day you realise you have grown into them. A home once admired. A walk once imagined. A friend who arrives without warning. A book found exactly when needed. And a red carpet seat I almost did not take.
On the 40th day of my Shambhavi Mandala, the past decided to RSVP. I thought completion meant calm. Instead, it meant confrontation. Between returning history and a small boy correcting my phonics, this day is still unfolding.
Between doodles and dinner prep, second visits to Numaish and the absence of quiet help, I found myself thinking about the climate of a home. What lowers the temperature. What adds friction. And what kind of air I want my child to grow up breathing.
Nothing lasts for long. Not things, not discipline, not certainty. Somewhere between losing a gold chain at Skandagiri and breaking a New Year resolution at Nampally, a song kept returning. Main Pal Do Pal Ka Shayar Hoon did not offer comfort. It offered clarity.
A quiet look back at how this blog has evolved over the years. Same sea, different tides. Reflections on writing, time, and the gentle shift toward clarity.
Mei zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya. This year, I’m choosing to lose what never belonged to me. Not just physical weight, but emotional and karmic burdens carried quietly over years. A reflection on old patterns, unasked questions, and discipline as devotion. A journey of showing up honestly, letting go gently, and learning to carry life without excess.
Kuttan Chronicles returns with a Monday written in between birthday cake, practice rooms, mom guilt, orange elephants, and small reminders that land quietly and stay. A reflection on being side by side, learning presence from a five-year-old, and noticing how love shows up when life is loud.
The year began not with clarity, but with a snooze button. A rushed school drop. A second round of sleep. A quiet panic that enlightenment might have worn off overnight. I wondered if yesterday’s stillness had already slipped away, leaving me exactly where I began.
Last Monday we drove back to Hyderabad. This Monday, we took a long, unhurried drive to Ananthagiri Hills. Somewhere between caves, monkeys, nervous viewpoints, and a child fully in the moment, I realised this year didn’t change loudly. It changed by closing small leaks and teaching me how to stay, drive on, and live what has already arrived.
Monday morning. Driving from Bangalore to Hyderabad.The road was familiar. My mind wasn’t. It replayed the last few days quietly. Not anxiety. Just noticing. Watching patterns resurface when life slows down. Somewhere on the highway, a song slipped in. Not loudly. Just enough. “I want to break free…..” I had a really good time at my parents’ place. With them. With my brother and his family. Easy laughter. No effort. The kind of happiness that…
This year taught me that wanting to be seen is human, but being seen often begins with seeing others first. A reflection on quiet growth, acknowledgment, and choosing presence over applause.
Some drafts wait for the right season. This one has been with me since my Toronto days, sitting quietly until I was ready to meet it again. Rewatching Rhythm this weekend reminded me how beautifully the five elements flow through its music and, in their own way, through my life too. Water, wind, sky, fire, earth… each one holding a memory, a moment, a version of me. Maybe the story wasn’t ready until I had…
This anniversary trip took us across four airports and through the heart of Kerala, from Kochi to Guruvayur, Alleppey and Trivandrum. It was our first time traveling together as a trio, and everything felt new again. Temples, beaches, backwaters, speedboats and a whole lot of laughter shaped these four days. What began as a last minute plan turned into a journey full of calm moments, tiny surprises and memories I want to carry forward into…
There’s something magical about watching a child grow inside the same spaces they once toddled through. This chapter gathers the tiny moments that turned my little boy from a baby on an animal mat into a dancer, a storyteller, a soft-toy inspector, and my unexpected healer.
What started as my mom’s casual “Just begin and see” turned into a full-blown Heartbeat marathon — 192 episodes of emotions, reflections, and skipped sequences. Somewhere between folding Vishnu’s clothes, painting, and reading episode summaries for the big revelations, I realized this Tamil medical drama wasn’t just about doctors and patients. It was about life — about choices, connections, and the quiet ways we heal.
Bedtime chats, tiger tees, panda hugs, and pinky promises — our days are a string of tiny rituals that somehow hold the whole world together. Between The Floor is Lava marathons and heartfelt “Amma, stop wasting your time” reminders, I’m learning that motherhood isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence, patience, and the quiet joy of growing alongside him.
My evening “Velakething” ritual, a familiar rhythm, resumed as Diwali drew to a close. It had gone well, I suppose. But as I lit the final diya today, I hesitated… perhaps not. I pressed Vibhuti to my forehead and gently shut my eyes. It wasn’t elaborate or ceremonial. Just me, murmuring into the quiet that has always heard me. This year tested me in quiet, relentless ways. I made a rut and then had to…
Seven visits, seventeen years, one film city. From college chaos to motherhood, Ramoji has been my movie set — where every return felt like a rerun of joy, grief, laughter, and rediscovery. This isn’t a travel blog. It’s a reel of growing up, healing, and finding magic in familiar places.
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