Ninaivugal...Thoughts

The administrative office in front of the main building. In this age of endless information, I sometimes pause and realize something strange. I am drowning in information, but starving for memories. Every day, my mind absorbs hundreds of headlines, messages, videos, opinions, and notifications. Most of them vanish without a trace. Yet when I stop for a moment, memories from forty years ago return with astonishing clarity. Today, for some reason, my thoughts wandered back to my school and its teachers. I remember my kindergarten teacher, Ms. Carol at Little Angels. She was Anglo-Indian, impeccably dressed, and absolutely determined that every letter I wrote should sit neatly within the four lines of my notebook. Not touching the ceiling. Not falling through the floor. Perfectly contained. I don't remember what I had for lunch three days ago. But I remember those four lines. My first-grade teacher, Ms. Alice at BP Indian Public School, was...

Some places stay with you long after life has moved elsewhere. There is something strange about destiny. You just cannot overcome it, but at the same time, you cannot simply do nothing because something is destined to happen. In India, it is not uncommon to have your horoscope charted about a year after birth. Grandparents wait with bated breath to hear how well the stars were aligned, and what remedies might be needed to appease the Gods. So when I was a year old, my grandmother took my birth date and time to Dharmaraja Ghanapadigal, one of the most revered astrologers in Pudukkottai. He apparently told her that I would do reasonably well in studies, travel to multiple countries, and eventually live abroad. Here was an old lady asking about her grandson from a small town. My parents were then living in Gobichettipalayam. This was the eighties, long before economic reforms had changed the country. My grandmother thanked him politely, but quietly wondere...

I still remember the moment I decided not to learn Sanskrit. I was in seventh grade in Bangalore, choosing between Sanskrit in the State Board and Hindi in ICSE. I asked my father what he thought. His answer was simple: “Why do you want to learn Sanskrit? It serves no purpose.” That was enough. I dropped it. It felt like a smart decision. Hindi seemed more useful. I even convinced myself I was choosing the “national language”—not realizing India doesn’t have just one. Looking back, the decision wasn’t about language. It was about how I was thinking. I chose utility. Whatever moved me forward faster. And for a long time, that worked. I moved to the U.S. Finished my Masters. Found a job. Built a life. There was always something more urgent—visa timelines, work, responsibilities. Life ran on schedule, and I stayed inside it. But something else was happening quietly. Distance was doing its work. When I visited the Kanchi Mutt in Malleswaram, ...