Skip to main content

SOCIAL MEDIA

Comments

Anonymous said…
nice videos on youtube!
February 27, 2022 at 6:51 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

For a moment, I am home

In the quiet of the morning, before the sun   spills over rooftops and drips through leaves,   on Besant Nagar’s sleepy streets,   dawn breaks to the pulse of Suprabhatham It begins in stillness, as boiling water spills gently over coffee grounds,   a fragrance rises, familiar, rich and deep. Appa tips the milk into the waiting tumbler,   where it meets decoction,  warm, bittersweet, layered, frothing to the brim Steam curls around my fingers, feathered, light,   and I sip, tasting roots and reverie.   In this cup, there is something more than morning,   so much more than milk and sugar; it is quiet grace, comfort brewed from patience. Here, though, in Boston, worlds and worlds away, mornings break cold, unadorned,   yet somewhere in this cup, this warmth,   for a moment, I am home, in Besant Nagar, where winter is a stranger  and the air is sweet.
Post a Comment
Read On...

an old madras love.

My love for Chennai stems from the multitude of experiences I've had in this city. Third main road, where I've lived for a significant fraction of my life. The apartment complex, where we'd chase each other down playing tag or ride our bicycles at breakneck speeds. Pushpa Ice House, where  appa  would buy me bottles of cold  goli  soda. Metro, the shoe shop Keerthana and I used to frequent to look at the Siddharth Malhotra cutout. Adyar Stationery, where my parents swear I've spent a small fraction of their wealth. Kamal Stores, where I bought notebooks in bulk, each one filled with math problems by the year's end.  Padmanabhaswamy  temple on a chilly  Margazhi  morning, the warm pongal that nearly puts me to sleep, andthe  perumaal  idol, the only witness to my good days and bad. Pondy Bazaar, where Shreya and I roam the streets and buy silver  jhumkhas . GRT, the jewelry store where the  achari  will give me a withering ...
Post a Comment
Read On...

A high school graduation like no other

As a young girl, I always envisioned the day of my high school graduation to be a somewhat grand, honorary ceremony. I had grown up imagining an electric atmosphere, a massive auditorium packed with thousands of people, giving the valedictorian speech, a flurry of colour and movement as caps are thrown into the air, graduates cheering and shouting as they revel in the freedom of the moment – something along the lines of what graduation was like in Hollywood movies.  The actual event was a much more humble affair.  As I walked down the familiar street, on the path I’d taken all those years to school, it was almost as though nothing had changed: the pookaramma’s veined and knotted hands moved swiftly as she expertly strung together strands of jasmine, there was the little pillayar kovil , deserted in the afternoon sun, except for one or two particularly determined devotees, Kumaran Stores was overflowing with a sea of schoolchildren in green and white buying themselves drinks....
Post a Comment
Read On...