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Lilykutty Teacher

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My mother asked me to visit my grandparent's house because one of their old colleagues was coming to meet them after 45 years. They were all teachers in the same school during the 1970s. “Lilykutty Teacher used to work with your grandparents back in their teaching days,” my mother told me. Since my mother had some work at school and couldn’t be there, she asked me to go instead. I casually said okay and went there, expecting an ordinary afternoon with tea, banana chips, and old people discussing blood pressure and pension issues. But the moment Lilykutty teacher walked in, I realized she was different. She was 73 years old, but honestly, her energy could defeat most people in their twenties. She was cheerful, talkative, sharp, and effortlessly funny. The kind of person who enters a room and immediately changes its atmosphere. Within minutes, she had already adopted me into the conversation and insisted I stay for lunch. Then the nostalgia began. My grandparents and Lilykutty teache...
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Later Never Came

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  My grandmother turned 79, and I remember quietly telling myself that we would celebrate her 80th birthday in a grand way. Eighty felt special—eight decades of life, memories, struggles, and love. That milestone deserved something big, I thought. But my father didn’t wait. He brought a cake, and our family gathered around her that day. There was nothing extravagant—just familiar faces, soft laughter, and a woman who looked deeply happy in that moment. When she smiled, it felt like time had slowed down. It was one of those ordinary moments that you don’t realize is extraordinary until much later. Two months later, she was gone. That was when it hit me: that celebration had been her last birthday. Not the grand 80th I had imagined, but a simple 79th—made meaningful only because we chose not to postpone it. Even today, when I think about it, I feel relieved that we celebrated. If we hadn’t, the memory might have been replaced by regret—the kind that stays with you forever. Life ...
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The Art of Presence

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  It had been a long time since our family had taken a break together. We went on a one-day trip to Varkala to celebrate my parents' 25th wedding anniversary. It was a small celebration, but one filled with love, laughter, and lots of memories. The next day I woke up early and went for a walk on the beach around 6 AM. It was quiet. Very few people were around. The sea was calm. The sound of the waves was the only thing I could hear. In front of me was the vast Arabian Sea, and behind me stood the tall and beautiful Varkala Cliff. I felt peace. Rarely do Indian beaches offer this kind of calm. Usually, they're bursting with people, selfies, music, and chaos. But this morning was different. It felt like the world had paused—for me, for this moment. I stood there facing the vast Arabian Sea and mentally traced a line across the ocean. “If I travel 4000 kilometres straight from here,” I thought, “I’d land in Somalia.” Funny how small and connected the world can seem when you...
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The Great Veg Kuruma Mishap

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  Hostel food sucks. It’s one of those universal truths of student life. Some days, you tolerate it. Other days, your soul demands justice. That day was one of those days. The food was so bad, even my survival instincts rebelled. There was only one solution—eating outside. So, I did what any good friend would do—I dragged my best buddies, Thakur Bhai, Navaneeth, and Mhathung, out for a food mission. Now, before I dive into the actual incident, let me introduce the main character of this story—Shrikant Thakur, aka Thakur Bhai, the undisputed pride of Uttar Pradesh. But to understand why this guy is legendary, we need to rewind a bit. The Covid Chronicles: How It All Began Our first year of college was nothing short of a disaster. Thanks to Covid-19, we were stuck in online classes, pretending to listen while secretly watching Netflix. Among the many courses we had, there was this one Foundational Course —basically, a glorified Moral Science class. The professor? Mr. Devasahayam,...
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Erased Voices

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  During my second year of college, I was assigned a thought-provoking yet complex topic: Historical Injustice Faced by Women in India. It wasn’t just another research paper; it was a deep dive into the centuries of suppression, discrimination, and struggles endured by women in our patriarchal society. I knew the topic was vast, and merely scratching the surface wouldn't do justice to it. I needed insight—something beyond the usual textbooks and online articles. That’s when I thought of Arpita didi. She was my senior and a researcher working on Unsung Women in Indian History. If anyone could offer me a fresh and compelling perspective, it was her. I approached her one evening after class, hoping she would share some valuable insights. To my delight, she was more than willing to help. We met in the college library, where the towering bookshelves stood as silent witnesses to the history we were about to unravel. As we settled in a quiet corner, flipping through dusty old texts,...
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Echoes of Greed

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 In the beginning, the world was whole. The rivers flowed freely, carving paths through valleys where life blossomed in vibrant hues. Forests whispered ancient songs, their roots cradling the earth in quiet harmony. The winds, gentle yet fierce, carried the scent of rain and the laughter of creatures born from the soil. Each being played its part—balanced, connected, belonging. Man, too, was born of the earth, moulded from the same clay, breathing the same air. In those early days, he listened to the pulse of nature, drinking from its wisdom. He took only what was needed—nothing more, nothing less. The earth gave freely, for man honoured its gifts. But as the seasons turned, something stirred within him—an ache, a hollow space he could not name. It began as a whisper, a quiet hunger to have more, to know more, to be more. Gratitude blurred into longing. Respect twisted into desire. And so, man grew restless. One evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, the man sat by the edge of ...
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Aloo Parata

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  College life is like a buffet: you don’t get to choose everything, but you still pile your plate high with chaos, excitement, and the occasional disaster. My second-year Allied Optional course was one of those surprise items on the menu – “Autobiography and Travelogue,” courtesy of the English department and our effervescent professor, Dr. Supriya. Supriya Ma’am had this magical ability to turn mundane assignments into something exciting. Vlogs? Done one on Mahabalipuram. Reels? We nailed it (did a reel on Higginbotham). Food exhibitions? Ah, that’s where this story begins. Picture this: students from History, Economics, French crammed into one eclectic class. The second CIA exams were around the corner, and Ma’am decided to stir things up with a group assignment: a Food Exhibition. The rules? Unique cuisine. Showcase culture. And the killer clause: no Tamil Nadu cuisine. My gang, the misfit squad of Ajith, Nithish, Gokul, Sanjay, Edwin, Louis, and I, huddled together for our bra...
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