In my Quiet

I imagined my present self reaching back to guide my past self through those overwhelming years with love and wisdom. My Dearest Younger Self, I’m writing to you from a quiet morning in your future, the kind of morning you once dreamed about while rushing to drop your children to the school bus stand, packing lunches, taking them to hobby classes in the evening, managing your college duties, and reminding your husband to pay the bills. The tea is still warm in my favorite mug, and I have something important to tell you. You’re going to make it. And life will be even more beautiful than you imagine. I know you’re tired, dear. You feel as if you’re drowning in everyone else’s needs while your own dreams collect dust on a shelf you can’t reach. You’re trying to be everything to everyone: at home, at work, among friends and still wondering who you are beneath all these roles. The endless family functions, most of which you just couldn’t attend, the workplace politics, the constant feeling ...

The Little Dramas That Turned Into Lifelong Warmth Now that I am in my late fifties, I often find myself chasing memories of evenings that sparkled like magic years ago. Today, my walks in the colony, exchanging polite greetings with neighbours, feel pale compared to those golden Port Blair sunsets. Back then, Ma was everybody’s friend, especially the colony youth who gathered around her for laughter and advice. But as they moved on with their lives, I became her closest companion. Every evening, we sat together on our garden steps, waiting for Papa to return from his long day at the college. He had even started evening classes, which kept him away longer, but that only gave Ma and me more time together. Those conversations under the fading sky were little worlds of their own. And now, as my life itself feels like an evening, sunsets pull me back to her with an ache that is both sweet and painful. But Ma wasn’t just my quiet sunset friend. She was also a natural actress, with a flair f...

 In chasing freedom, we sometimes lose the very ties that made us strong.We live in a time where cutting ties is called courage, and forgetting is called freedom. The word "Azad" comes from Persian. It means “free,” but not just in the sense of being unbound, it originally meant “born free,” with dignity and nobility. It’s not about cutting ties, but about carrying a sense of inner worth. Swatantra (स्वतन्त्र) is Sanskrit. Sva means “self,” and tantra means “system” or way of living. So Swatantra means “self-ruled”, someone who lives by their own values, not under someone else’s control. It’s freedom with responsibility, not just escape.Both words speak of freedom.   But they whisper different truths.  Azad is freedom as birthright.  Swatantra is freedom as self-mastery.   And Independence, as we celebrate it today,  is often mistaken for mere separation. We all love the feeling of freedom, the thrill of making our own choices, walking our own pat...

In every college, there are two types of teachers. One finishes the syllabus so fast you wonder if they're training for the Olympics. The other moves so slowly you're not sure if they've noticed the semester has started. The "fast" ones are like "मैं निकला गड्डी ले के, रास्ते पे ओ…" (Gadar: Ek Prem Katha). The moment the semester begins, zoom!  they're off. Shakespeare? Monday. Milton? Tuesday. Romantic poets? Wednesday. By Friday they're already at T.S. Eliot, and students are still figuring out how to spell "Prufrock."🫣 One postgraduate class, packed with students from science and commerce backgrounds had "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" wrapped up in a few days. Eliot's delicate, hesitant lines were served like railway-station tea: hot, hurried, and slightly confusing. Students barely got time to taste his "coffee spoons" before the teacher declared it "done".  Instead of asking "Do I dare...