Alamelu Janaki

    My sister has always been a delight. Today is the first day of her MBA program at Christ University, Bangalore.  5 year 3 months is the age gap between us. I remember seeing her grow in front of my eyes, mature and evolve, defining her opinions and ideologies. Slowly yet steadily, her arc of transition was remarkable.      She is always silent and reserves her feelings for herself. She can just be quiet for an entire day, not talking to anyone just eating, sleeping and watching TV. When she is silent, I can’t predict her emotions as well, I will wonder if she is hurt or sad or happy. She is basically lazy like me, but when she is determined, she strives beyond limits to achieve her goal. Both of our perceptions about an occurrence would be different. We will take strangely opposite stands. I don’t think we have any similarities. She prepares well ahead of time, and I prepare everything in the 11 th hour. She is more matured and processed in thoughts and deeds. I explode and exha

    “Don’t judge a book by its cover” , they say.   But I suppose our mind conceives so much of presumptuous notions/ideas in minutes about the person you met. Maybe if you are not prepared for the situation, you wouldn’t anticipate anything. But when you yourself are hyped up about it, you are already there building so much of theories and analyzing every nuance and intricacy of the person you have just met, in all the   possible ways. Obviously, you are being unabashedly judgmental and cynical.      This scene involves me and a guy, who later became my husband. That was our first date, post all our texting in Instagram. We displayed liking in Matrimony site and thus texted a while. How much of a person you can actually see through words and this guy swore to god to never use emojis. I had lot of insecurities   concerning marriage, perhaps due to my consistent exposure to patriarchal texts and stereotypes. I imagined all the worst things about having a husband. That he would be a do

    I am 8 months pregnant. I am married for a year and 6 months. I had so many apprehensions concerning marriage. Perhaps due to   my overthinking or my consistent exposure to certain texts in literature or my independent ideologies made me think   all sort of negatives about having a husband. To name a   few, the husband figure will be dominating, he would be judgmental and curb my freedom, like he will always confront me for my choices and   confine my flow of thoughts and lot more. I have imagined all the horrible things, like what if I hate him after being married, what if he hates me after living with me for few years or months or days. I used to rant and rave to my friends about what guarantees joy in marriage, what surety promises us for longevity   in marriage and lot more skeptical things. I will imagine the worst for every possible thing. I wasn’t ready for marriage. I don’t exactly know the cause of my fear but it will spiral up in humungous forms and it will induce a l

  I am not really   fond of gaudy ornaments. I will always prefer to keep it simple. I don’t like shiny embellishments, I firmly believe it will go against my dusky complexion. We weren’t allowed to wear bangles or gaudy earrings at   school and hence when I wear any of these post my schooling, I would feel uneasy. This doesn’t necessarily mean I despise those, sometimes I am fond of earrings (jhumukas, long colorful ones). I cant wear it for long though. My indulgence in buying those fancy earrings are on the rise these days. I have consciously decided to stop myself from these frivolities. My recent favourite is the one, my friends gifted me for my wedding, a beautiful gold jhumuka. They dangle and sway as I move. It is heavy that I have to remove it every single time when I lie down.   Maybe due to the pregnancy hype for bangles,   I wanted to wear simple yet elegant gold bangle. The one my parents gave me during my marriage wasn’t my choice. I did not bother much because I was

  How do we measure someone’s kindness? Here  are three incidents involving people whose faces I don’t remember.  Even if  I met them again by chance, I am unsure if I would recognize them, yet their presence in my life is remarkably significant.  THE ONE WITH THE BIKE ACCIDENT  When I was a student at Presidency college, I used to take either 27H or 40A to reach Annasquare, via Triplicane bookshop lane. Everytime I go across that area, the city dwellers on either side of the road will be proceeding with their routine. Around  7.30am, the bus will cross the lane, I wouldn’t have had breakfast, the smell of dried fish will make  me unpleasant, I will be stern and will not turn on either side, wait for the bus to pass that area.  One day, after paying PhD enrolment  fees at Madras University, I rode back to my home crossing that lane, there was a lorry in some distance and strangely a hanging wire fell from the post on a moving loaded lorry, I stopped my bike as the lorry moved forward,

  Arubaito! This is more of a personal Blog.    I love the concept of Arubaito. I was acquainted with this word, when I pursued Japanese language and sensei (teacher) told us, the Japanese culture encourages every student to pursue part time job to be better at managing finances and become self-sufficient. Post Schooling, I chose literature as my vocation and I am happy about the choice.   I decided to manage my own expenses post schooling and support myself and my family in the little ways I could.    I made use of every opportunity that came my way, if it concerns my passion, I would hop on. Now on retrospection, I feel humbled and thrilled because of the vivid exposure I had. From 2013 , almost for a year in my first year of UG, I worked as a tutor for school students at Orange Kids for two hours on week days. I came across this job, on a day when me and my friend Thenmozhli, were loitering after  missing the College bus.   This was my first job, the first time, I earned. After

                        How does each of our stories end? Is there a pattern to it? When does it end? Why does it end? Will the end make any sense to the process?   The purpose of life is obscure. Like the lives depicted in art and literature, it is not complete. It doesn’t have a proper plot.  No concrete beginning nor middle nor end. We think of life as never ending one. It just goes on. Perhaps it does. The survivor faces the void post the dear one’s demise. Death is a curse for those who live henceforth. If there be no purpose of life, what motivates us to perform our duties to the best of our abilities and pursue our endeavors with all our mettle. The way life works is unpredictable and incomprehensible. May be there should be a rationale to it, just that human mind is unable to wrap its head around. There should be a reason for how things works in here. Are we really aware that our lives are fragile? It could have easily been any other day, yet another errand. A perso