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Showing posts from October, 2025

The Quiet Between Two Rings of a Landline

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A rotary phone – the slowest and somehow the most peaceful form of communication. This was the early nineties. Most homes didn’t have a landline. Mine didn’t either. And strangely, nobody thought it was a problem. If my father came home late from work, the family didn’t panic — we simply assumed: traffic, work, or he met a friend, in that order. My mother didn’t have a “Find My Kid” app. Her version was: divine trust and a loud voice. My brother and I would disappear into a gully or a friend’s apartment complex for hours. We walked to the library, roamed three streets away to play cricket, and trekked half a mile to Malleswaram 18th Cross ground — returning home at 6:30 or 7, covered in dust and joy. Parents assumed kids would eventually wander back home the way cows return at dusk. No drama. No helicopter parenting. Just life moving at its own calm pace. Postcards and inland letters — the original long-distance messaging apps. With no phone at home, the only wa...
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South Canara: Where the Divine Meets the Green

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On the way back from Kukke Subramanya As a child, you visit a place and remember it - for the right reason or the wrong one. If that place leaves no mark, it simply fades away. About 25 years ago, I embarked on a temple tour across the Western Ghats with my extended family, thanks to my mama and manni (mami) . All I knew then was that it would be a fun trip. Beyond that, I had no expectations. It was a week-long pilgrimage that took us through Shravanabelagola, Belur, Halebeedu, Udupi, Dharmasthala, Sringeri, Kollur, and Horanadu. Sringeri Sharadamba Temple I still recall the enchantment of those places. The lush, evergreen slopes of the Western Ghats, bathed in the dusky hues of evening and refreshed by intermittent rain, have stayed etched in my memory ever since. Every turn on those winding roads, with terraced hillsides, charming homes, and coffee and tea plantations blending into the scenery, held an aura that words could never capture. Each stop felt like stepping into a ...
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When Grammar Met Clarity

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Writing has always fascinated me. It’s such an interesting aspect of communication; you can pretty much convey anything you want, in any way you want. Even a grammatically incorrect sentence can carry its full meaning. Yet, somewhere along the way, we began mistaking good communication for intelligence. “Oh, he writes and speaks so well.  He must be smart.” Good communication can create a false sense of technical pride. I grew up believing that grammatical precision was the measure of knowledge. But in hindsight, that wasn’t entirely me; it was my teachers. They were absolutely particular that every sentence not only conveyed meaning, but also respected the sanctity of grammar. A misplaced article or preposition could invite the harshest of corrections. Yesterday, my wife and I were talking about writing and as all conversations these days eventually do, it veered toward our kids’ writing. We were laughing over Sahana’s recent schoolwork: a delightful mix of humor, dialogue, and im...
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The Real Couple Dialogue

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What exactly are the couple goals after a few years of marriage? In the early years of marriage, couple goals meant to hold hands together at the beach, staring deep into the sunset or watching a Netflix series together. Ten years later, it's remembering to soak the lentils and rice for the dosa batter, and paying your taxes on time.  A successful marriage is built on love and thrives on shared responsibilities. So, most of the conversations tend towards what's completed and what should tend towards completion.  "Praveen, did you have a chance to follow up with Akhil's coach on the practice schedule?" "Hema, did Akhil finish up this week's music homework? "Praveen, did you call the plumber? The kitchen sink is leaking. It can damage the wood below." "Hema, did you order the dishwasher liquid from Amazon?"  Obviously, if you have been in a relationship for a few years, and if the dishwasher loading duty doesn't fall on the husband, ...
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Bhavayami: The Kriti That Defined Carnatic Music for Me

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I’ve often confessed how musically incompetent I am. I have no idea about  thālams  or  ragams , nor even the basics of whether a singer is off  shruti . And yet, music, especially the music of M. S. Subbulakshmi has been a constant companion throughout my life. Every morning and evening of my childhood, MS’s voice filled our home with the  Vishnu Sahasranamam ,  Hanuman Chalisa , or  Suprabhatam . Those slokams reverberating through the walls became part of my everyday rhythm. For my mother, who was deeply religious, devotional music was inseparable from life itself. And though I never grasped the nuances of Carnatic music, devotion seeped into me through those sounds. MS had a unique quality in her renderings. She didn’t just sing, she seemed to be standing in the presence of divinity. When people say a true musician never dies, I understand it. Their body may pass, but their music becomes immortal. For years, I kept a respectful distance from Carnat...
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