Wo(a)ndering thoughts!!!

The autumn air carries the familiar scent of camphor and marigolds. It is that time of year when the idols of goddesses are gently dusted, dressed in silk, and celebrated for nine nights. We are reminded that womanhood is whole and divine—that within women lives the wisdom of Saraswathi, the grace of Parvathi, and the strength of Kali. Yet, looking around, a quiet question remains: how many young girls are actually told the true stories of these goddesses' strength?! Instead, we are brainwashed with compliance! What rises up inside me isn't bitterness; it is Raudhiram —a word the great poet Mahakavi Bharathi used to describe a balanced, righteous anger. He offered a simple piece of advice to girls/women: ரௌத்திரம் பழகு (Practice righteous rage). But what does it mean for a girl to practice this kind of rage? It means learning to stand up for yourself. It means quietly but firmly holding onto your rights and refusing to compromise your dignity just to keep the peace. ...

"Your brain thinks like a man." That’s what my friend told me during our weekly chat. And honestly? She truly meant it as the ultimate compliment. Let me give you a little context. Once a week, I meet with an incredible woman. She’s from a non-English speaking background and wants to practice her language skills. She is the definition of a powerhouse—kind, deeply nurturing, a curious learner, and a fiercely hard worker. Between her full-time job and acting as a carer for her child, her parents, and her sister, she is a real-life superhero who has absolutely no idea she has superpowers. Our catch-ups usually revolve around discussing a weekly podcast, breaking down an article, or working on her computer and typing skills so she can better navigate technology. But during a recent conversation about weekend plans, things took an interesting turn. I mentioned that I had gone into the city by myself the previous weekend, grabbed lunch solo, and came home. She looked at...

This post is going to be controversial; this is not intended to hurt anyone’s belief that is not aligned to mine. I’m just writing my opinions and thoughts on this topic. I recently watched the Netflix documentary A Child of My Own, and it completely broke my heart. It tells the true story of Alejandra, a Mexican woman in her twenties who faces overwhelming societal and family pressure to have a child. After tragically suffering multiple miscarriages, the psychological toll drives her to pretend she is still pregnant. She gains weight, forges medical documents, and fakes ultrasound images—and under immense psychological stress, her body even mimics a baby's heartbeat. Tragically, her desperation culminates in her kidnapping a newborn from a hospital matching her due date. She is caught and sentenced to 13 years in prison. While I absolutely do not condone her final actions, my heart aches for her. She committed an illegal act out of a desperate, lonely belief that motherhood was he...

We’ve all heard of the heir and the spare. But allow me to introduce a third, highly elite category: The Extra. This is the true story of a girl who spent her entire life under the impression that she was extra special , only to eventually realise she was just… a Phantom. And for the sake of setting the record straight, let’s just assume that "she" is me. I entered the world as child number three. I wasn't the glorious firstborn, nor was I the heavily anticipated first son. I was the sequel nobody asked for. Despite this, I was a deeply dedicated tag-along. For my first eighteen years, I was glued to my parents like a shadow. For the next four years, I was their loyal weekend visitor. During those initial eighteen years, my summers weren't spent relaxing. They were spent in our ancestral village meeting a small army of relatives and exactly zero TV time. Our primary source of entertainment? Endless, gruelling pilgrimage trips to visit roughly ten t...

​Being a mom is the only job where you are simultaneously a CEO, a personal chef, a punching bag, and completely ignored—all while being paid exclusively in "core memories."  Every phase of parenting is a chaotic mix of “I need a nap” and “Oh my gosh, my heart is melting.” ​Thankfully, mother nature gave us selective amnesia. We completely forget the tantrums and only remember the glimmers. ​Since my teen son (Aa) is currently tolerating my existence, I wanted to document a few recent wins before he realizes I’m not cool: ​The other day, I poured my heart out, telling him he is my absolute number-one priority in this chaotic world. He was listening with the fierce intensity only a teenager staring at a smartphone can muster. Out of nowhere, he muttered, "Yeah, you’re mine too." I told him that would change one day when he gets a girlfriend, and that's totally fine. He looked up and said, "Nah, you come first always." Brb, crying into the laundry basket...