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Showing posts with the label nostalgia

When the Building Came Alive

July 16, 2026

Kasturi Dhama Apartments — the play area where many evenings came alive. The lights would go out without warning. For a brief second, the entire building would fall silent. Then, from somewhere in Kasturi Dhama Apartments, a chorus would erupt. “Yayyy!” It is difficult to imagine children celebrating a power failure today. But in the Bangalore of the nineties and early 2000s, a power cut did not always feel like an inconvenience. Especially in the late evenings, it felt like permission. Permission to stop whatever we were doing, leave the darkness inside our homes, and step into the building outside. Before Kasturi Dhama became home, we had moved through a few different parts of Bangalore. My family had begun in Srirampuram and Vyalikaval before gradually cementing ourselves in Malleswaram for the next few decades. My earliest memory is of living in a vatara —a Kannada word loosely used for a building or a cluster of homes—on 15th Cross, near Karur Vy...

What Once Stood There

July 02, 2026

There comes a day when you return to your childhood neighborhood and realize that you're the only one who still remembers what once stood there. For me, that neighborhood is Malleswaram. When people think of Malleswaram, they think of CTR, Janata Hotel (it's common in India to call a restaurant a hotel), Veena Stores, Sai Shakti and the other iconic eateries that continue to thrive. I think of the ones that quietly disappeared. Button Idlis from New Krishna Bhavan. Bangalore is famous for its darshinis—quick, self-service eateries where people stop for a bite before getting on with their day. When we were living in Kasturi Dhama Apartments, I would invariably find myself at Sahyadri, located near the 8th Cross bus stop on Margosa Road. The fluffy idlis, the steaming hot sambar with just a hint of jaggery, the freshly made coconut chutney, and the potato palya that accompanied the dosas had a way of pulling in anyone walking past. My favorites were always the idl...

Everything Else Is Rubble

May 29, 2026

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...

Partly Yours, Partly Lost

May 08, 2026

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...

What I Missed While Walking Past the Kanchi Mutt

April 12, 2026

A place I passed every day without really understanding it. As a kid growing up in Malleswaram, devotion wasn’t something we discussed — it was just in the air. The smell of agarbathi in the evenings. The noise of vendors lining up on 8th cross before a festival. The quiet expectation that you showed up, bowed your head, and moved on. Ganesh Chaturthi. Varalakshmi Vratam. Deepavali. Janmashtami. Ugadi. The calendar moved, but the pattern stayed. The Kanchi Kamakoti Peetham in Malleswaram was part of my daily route to school. Not something I questioned. Not something I deeply understood. Just… there. Every morning, on my way to school, I would slow down for a second in front of the Mutt. Just enough to bow my head toward Kanchi Kamakshi from outside the gate — and then hurry along before the school bell. It was a ritual for as long as I can remember. I don’t know if it came from devotion. I did it because my parents did it. The street...

The House in Gobichettipalayam

March 12, 2026

Sashtiapthapoorthi Function — Me in the front (with eyes closed) My summers were spent in Pudukkottai and Gobichettipalayam — Gobi, as we called it. Away from school and homework, those months were filled with the easy warmth of grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. Summer was the time to let loose. Gobi Home We would take the overnight train from Bangalore to Erode, and from there a bus to Gobichettipalayam — Gobi. We usually arrived early in the morning at Seethammal Colony. My paati, already awake and waiting near the door, would greet us as soon as she heard the metal gate creak open. The smell of freshly brewed filter coffee would drift out from the kitchen. I would run straight into her arms. “Vaada Kannu,” she would say, her eyes beaming with happiness. “Vaada Krishna, Vaa Raji,” she would call out to my parents. Slowly, the rest of the house would stir. People in the living room would wake, and within minutes the house would be buzzing wi...

The House in Pudukkottai That Woke Up at 5AM

February 21, 2026

By 5AM, the house in Pudukkottai was already awake. The old tape recorder would be blaring Pithukuli Murugados songs somewhere inside, and above everything else you could hear the steady creak of the wooden swing moving back and forth. My athai paati — my grandfather’s sister — would often be on that swing, singing “Gopala Krishna Swamy Gokulathiley,” a soft Krishna lullaby . She had been widowed young and lived the rest of her life in that house, and to me she always felt like someone straight out of an RK Narayan story. For us, summer meant Pudukkottai and Gobichettipalayam. A couple of days after the final exam, we would take the overnight Trichy Express from Bangalore, then a bus onward, and by the next morning we would be inside that long, bustling house full of cousins, relatives, and noise. Athai Paati with the kids on the swing The house itself stretched from one street to another, a lon...

Why Malleswaram Railway Station Still Feels Like Home

February 06, 2026

Malleswaram Railway Station — a place that never felt like “just” a station. A few months ago, someone forwarded me a video of an elderly lady speaking about the charm of Malleswaram Railway Station. She mentioned how, whenever her children visit Bangalore from Canada, one ritual remains unchanged. Her son insists on visiting the station, picking up idly from Raghavendra Stores, and eating it right there on the platform. I smiled when I heard that, because for many of us who grew up in Malleswaram, the railway station was never just a transit point. It was a quiet witness to our growing up. Even now, if I close my eyes, I can hear the metallic rhythm of trains slowing into the platform, the echo of announcements bouncing off the tiled roof, the smoky sweetness of roasted maize drifting from the bridge, and the soft warmth of idlies wrapped in paper from Raghavendra Stores. The station was never silent — but it always felt peaceful. For nearly a decade, ...

Kula Deivam and the Act of Returning

January 17, 2026

Kunnathur, rebuilt — familiar, and not. When I was growing up, I spent most summers with my grandparents and extended family. My maternal side was based in Pudukkottai, my paternal side in Gobichettipalayam—Gobi, for short—in Tamil Nadu. Like most families, ours has since scattered, pulled toward larger cities and better livelihoods. The structure is new. The pull is old. Back then, our visits were unremarkable in the best way. We stayed home. Visitors came and went through the day. When we were in Gobi, there was one outing we never missed: a visit to our kula deivam at Kunnathur, about twenty-five kilometers away. We would pile into a van or a bus, pack food, and set out like an informal family pilgrimage—grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, all together. My paati would make sweet pongal and offer it to Goddess Angala Parameswari, an avatar of Parvati. There were no restaurant...

The Quiet Between Two Rings of a Landline

November 15, 2025

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...

A Few Steps from Home, A Lifetime of Faith

November 09, 2025

Some bonds are formed not in conversation, but in quiet trust. Some companions never speak — they just walk beside you, through every chapter of life. Hanuman Temple As you grow older, simple things begin to hold deeper meanings. When I was a kid, I would visit the Hanuman temple near the Malleswaram Railway Station almost every day. I’d do my pradakshanams — the quiet circumambulations — and whisper to Lord Hanuman to help me do the right thing. Over time, the visits became less of a request and more of a rhythm — part of the everyday music of life. Just a short walk from home, the temple stood like a familiar friend. And yet, it became more than a place — it became a witness. Every important moment in my life was somehow tied to that small shrine. Before paying my exam fee, I would stop there. Before collecting my hall ticket for the tenth and twelfth board exams — it went straight to Hanuman’s feet first. Before campus placements. Befor...

When Grammar Met Clarity

October 18, 2025

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...

My journey with Sandhyavandanam

August 22, 2025

I was in my second year of Engineering, and my parents decided to conduct my Upanayanam ceremony. Upanayanam, as I have referred in my earlier posts, is a sacred rite of passage that marks a boy's passage into spiritual learning. Anyway, the Upanayanam was done. After that, I had to begin the trikaala (three times a day) Sandyavandanam - morning, noon and evening. Sandhyavandanam is done by chanting the Gayathri Mantra to foster spritual growth and well-being. It's a way to connect with the divine energy. If you ChatGPT the significance of Sandhyavandanam, I am sure there will be a detailed explanataion of what it means inspite of whatever hallucination you see ChatGPT spitting out. I was 20. After the Upanayanam, you are expected to do Sandhyavandanam by learning from the elders at home. My father, I have never seen him do Sandhyavandanam. How do I get started? The vaadhyar (priest) who conducted my Upanayanam came on the first day, performed the Sandhyavandanam wit...

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