In Vacant or in Pensive Mood

As an introvert, I've lost count of the number of times I felt misunderstood. People have assumed that I'm stuck up, timid, antisocial, boring or even plain sad. Yes, I was a quiet student in class, I did prefer sitting by the window and enjoying the view outside to dancing in the middle of the bus during class trips, I still do opt out of large "group" activities. What does this make me? It makes me a good listener, a person who values soulful experiences, someone who chooses heart-to-heart conversations and close-knitted friendships. And, in my own unique ways, I believe I've made a difference where it matters to me. Over the years, I've also learned to grow and adapt to demanding situations. I've learned to fight for my little space in a world full of extroverts. But I do wish my journey had been easier; I wish I hadn't been made to feel like there was something wrong with me. Even among people who claim to know me well (because they know me for yea

An overnight train journey from Chennai to Chengannur and a couple of long bus rides later, we would arrive at the bottom of the hillock on which my paternal grandparents lived. Even as a little child, I would know when we were close, thanks to the unmistakable scent emanating from the coconut oil factory in the vicinity. This, followed by a short, bumpy autorickshaw ride up the hillock (during which I'd imagine falling off the vehicle into the valley below), we would reach our destination. For another week or so, my parents and I would stay here, in a quiet house made with large stone bricks and unpolished walls. I'd wake up quite late in the mornings and watch from my window as my strong grandfather descended down the hill, wearing a shirt covered in rubber stains, a lungi and Hawaii chappals (flip flops) - a bucket of pasty, white liquid in his hand. I would wave at him and then run out to brush my teeth outside by the washing stone - a place from where I could watch Appacha

My professor would often say, "Saying 'I love you' is easy, but staying in love requires hard work." He would also say, "Don't fall in love. Try to rise in love." I've heard these words more than once during my years of study at MCCSWD (the Social Work department at MCC), and the truth in them continues to reverberate in my heart ever so loudly even today. I have a special attachment to these words, perhaps because it is in the very place where these words were spoken that I also met the person I chose to fall, rise and stay in love with. " Rising in Love", shot by Deepu Da Yes, we've fallen. And oh yes, we've risen! And we continue to stay in love today, as promised to each other in our wedding vows. There are times when loving each other is easy, but there are also times when it is hard work. There are times when I've smiled and thought to myself, "This is why I fell in love with him", and times when I've wondere

On Sunday, I heard the "tweet" of a bird. If it had come from the direction of either of our balconies, I would not have been surprised. But this "tweet" piqued my interest because it was coming from the direction of our front door. Beyond the front door and the gate, all we had was a corridor that led to the three other apartments in our floor, the lift and the stairway. How could there be a bird out there? The first time I heard the "tweet",  I was having lunch. I told my husband it was odd to hear a bird call from that direction. Later, as I went about my day, I thought about the "tweet" again and wondered if one of our neighbours had brought home a pet bird. A few hours later--when I heard the "tweet" yet again--my mind wandered back to my childhood, to the time I had my first bird pet... Mittoo was a mynah - her feathers a mix of grey and brown, her beak and feet yellow. She had been a helpless baby bird when I first found her star

In the second year of college - about ten years ago - I got my first digital camera, a shiny ash-coloured Sony Cybershot. It was a requirement for our Journalism class, especially since we had to run the WCC college newspaper that year. My only experience of handling a camera before this was during my Class X and Class XII outstation excursions, for which I borrowed my Chachidaddy's Panasonic film camera. Sure, there was a VGA camera in my first ever Nokia phone, the one I got when I joined college in 2008. But I seldom used it; my phone hardly did have any memory left as I always kept the 1 GB (yes, just 1 GB!) memory card full with songs. For the generation that has only seen "smart" phones, VGA is about 0.3 megapixels by the way! So, naturally, when I got my very own camera, I was quite excited. I took it to college every single day for the next two years, whether or not it was required of me to report anything that was happening there! I loved that I could click the s

I picked up a small clove of garlic from the cutting board and held it between the fingertips of my right hand while I narrowed my eyes and aimed a knife to its back with my left hand. The sharp edge of the knife sunk into the juicy body of the garlic, but as it pushed down further to halve it, both my hands dropped what they were holding and my feet rushed me to the kitchen sink. I let the running water from the tap wash the fresh cut the knife had created on the tip of my finger, and a tiny splotch of red appeared on its surface. Then I rushed to find a clean cloth which I wrapped around the bleeding finger. All of this happened as if my body had gone into 'Auto' mode, my mind hardly processing what was happening. When I finally did get   the chance the sit down (and quieten my husband who was yelling at me in panic),  I thought about the pain that had triggered my actions over the last few minutes.  What is the purpose of pain, anyway? Doesn't it sound li