Unveil the Other Side

 February 2026 arrived with a roar and refused to settle. Its been a month of wild contrasts - a literal tug-of -war between the elements. One moment we were sweltering under a relentless heavy heat and the next, the sky would break washing the streets in sudden rhythmic rain that blurred the world outside my window. In the middle of this atmospheric chaos, Lunar new year arrived like a burst of crimson and gold. It brought that beautiful, frantic energy that cut through the humidity. The month didn't just pass, it flew carried away by the wind and the storm.  See you in March! 

Anuj, an eleven year old boy, went on his first school camp. At home, chores magically avoided him. Camp changed everything. He learned to fold blankets, wash plates, and line up shoes. Helping friends felt fun, not forced. One evening, he proudly cleaned the tent without reminders. Returning home, Anuj surprised everyone. He set the table, watered plants, and packed his bag. His parents blinked, smiled, and hugged him tight. Camp hadn’t tired him; it awakened responsibility, confidence, and kindness. Anuj learned that helping isn’t punishment, it’s belonging for him and his family every single day thereafter with joy together.

 A new chapter—2026—has begun. Hope you’ve all had a great start to the year. My personal take for 2026 is simple: stay calm and composed, take life as it comes, and focus on building more strength—both physically and mentally. One month, one moment at a time. I thought of bringing back the calendar series this year, with moments captured through my camera.  January’s frame comes from Loch Ard Gorge — quiet, powerful, and grounding. A place that reminds me to slow down, breathe deep, and let strength build naturally, just like the cliffs shaped over time. Photo: Clicked at Loch Ard Gorge, Victoria,  Australia.

Padma was a small fourth-class girl, smart and curious, but her teachers never seemed to notice her talent. Their praise always flowed elsewhere, leaving her wondering if she was invisible. One evening, she told her mother how unfair it felt. Her mom gently held her hands and said, “You are unique, Padma. Your brilliance doesn’t need certificates or applause. Keep doing your best, and life will reward you in the right form at the right time.” Padma smiled, feeling lighter, knowing patience and effort would eventually unveil her true worth, and she walked forward with confidence in her bright future.

In the hustle and bustle of the city, I lost my sanity. Everywhere I turned, men moved like machines, gears grinding in a race to reach the top. Achievements piled high, yet faces grew hollow. I paused, wondering—where was the time for things we truly cherish? Perhaps buried beneath deadlines and desires, or tucked away in the dusty corners of the mind, saved for a “later” that never comes. As the city roared around me, I realized the cruel truth: in chasing everything, we risk losing ourselves. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the greatest loss of all.

Rain poured softly the day Krishna first saw Purvi—draped in yellow, lighting incense at the Ganapati pandal. Their eyes met like a prayer answered. Thunder rolled, but all he heard was her laughter. From borrowed umbrellas to shared street-side chai, their story bloomed. Every rain after felt like a song only they understood. When they wed under cloudy skies, even the priest smiled, “Blessed by Bappa Himself.” Years passed, but every drizzle pulled them back to that pandal, that glance, that moment. Love, like rain, sometimes arrives quietly—soaking deep, leaving music in its wake. Krishna and Purvi were always meant to be.

 Shravya, a young girl from Bangalore, was living a new life in Mumbai’s bustling Seepz, Andheri. It was the early 2000s, and her first job, fresh out of college, had brought her here. Away from home, she embraced the thrill of independence, juggling work deadlines and weekend outings with her newfound friends. The city taught her to manage money, from budgeting her modest salary to savoring street-side vada pavs. Each day was a lesson in self-reliance, and her tiny rented apartment became her sanctuary. Shravya was no longer just a girl from Bangalore—she was shaping into a confident, independent woman.

 In the lively class 6, a buzz filled the air as the results of the essay contest were announced. Sharvari, known for her flair with words, had always been the star. But this time, her name wasn’t called. Instead, Pradyumna, a quiet boy with big dreams, had claimed the top spot. Surprised whispers filled the room as Sharvari managed a smile, clapping for her friend. Later, Pradyumna approached her, nervously holding his winning essay. "Would you read it?" he asked shyly. Sharvari’s smile grew genuine as she read his heartfelt words, feeling pride replace any disappointment in that sweet moment.

 In the 1970s, in a quaint Karavali village, Priya ran a tiny shop on the main road, a hub for locals. She was fiery, smart, and always ready with a warm smile for her customers. Every morning, Ramanna, a humble farmer, would stop by for his daily supplies, secretly hoping for a chat with Priya. Though shy, his laughter was infectious. One rainy afternoon, as Priya struggled to close her shop shutters against the storm, Ramanna rushed over, helping her with ease. Their laughter mingled with the raindrops, sparking an unsaid promise between them, a bond only the village understood.

Diwali mornings had a magic of their own. We’d start early, collecting bright flowers and leaves from the garden, ready to transform them into a rangoli masterpiece. My cousin, sister and I would sit around, arranging petals and leaves in colorful patterns in the living room. Inside, the warm, comforting aroma of sweets filled the air as my mom and aunt worked together in the kitchen. Each ladle dipped into the hot oil sizzled with the promise of something delicious. My mouth watered as I tried to sneak a piece, and they shooed me away with a laugh. Then, it was time for the hot oil bath, a ritual both dreaded and cherished. Mom would pour the oil over our heads, muttering blessings, and we’d stand there, slippery and impatient to rinse off and get into our new clothes. Afterward, we gathered for the pooja, offering thanks to Goddess Lakshmi and lighting diyas all around the house. As twilight set in, the flickering glow turned our home into a warm, welcoming beacon of light and joy. F...

The journey from a small village in Malnad to the bright lights of Las Vegas was nothing short of surreal. As a young girl, she had no idea what lay beyond those lush green hills. The world outside felt like a distant dream, something you'd hear about but never really understand. Life in the village was simple—familiar faces, routine days, the smell of rain on mud. She had no clue what challenges awaited her in the vast unknown. And then came Vegas. The sheer contrast was staggering—glittering lights, endless noise, and a pace of life that made your head spin. It wasn’t just the sights or the crowds; it was the realization that the world was so much bigger than she had ever imagined. Every corner brought a new challenge, every day a lesson. From navigating unfamiliar streets to learning how to stand her ground in this fast-moving world, it was a whirlwind. But through it all, she never forgot where she came from. The quiet strength she learned back in the village carried her throug...

Ajji in her red saree and shaved head was a sight I’ll never forget. It wasn’t a style choice, though. It was part of the mandatory rituals she had to follow after Thatha passed away. Despite the somber reason behind her look, Ajji refused to let it define her. In her 80s, modern in thought, she still wanted her lipsticks and nail polish, secretly asking us grandkids to sneak them in every time we went shopping. We’d laugh behind her back, imagining her strict face adorned with bright red lipstick, while she powdered her already pale face like it was some grand occasion. It was hilarious—and heartwarming—this strict, no-nonsense woman who still had a streak of vanity and a hidden sense of humor. She was the kind of contradiction that stays with you forever—traditional on the outside, rebellious on the inside.

 It was Poornima and Keshav's first Ganesha Habba as a married couple, and they were celebrating it at Keshav’s family home in Bangalore. The house was alive with festive energy—relatives bustling around, laughter echoing from every room, and the scent of modakas and freshly made dishes filling the air. As the couple helped decorate the Ganesha idol with fresh flowers, they couldn’t help but smile at the familiar rituals. “Remember how we’d fight over who got to place the garland?” Poornima laughed, looking at Keshav.  Keshav nodded, grinning. “And how we would sneak modakas before the aarti? Amma always knew, but she never said anything.”  Poornima’s eyes sparkled as she recalled her childhood Ganesha Habbas. “At our house, we’d compete to see who could make the best rangoli. My brother would always mess mine up on purpose,” she said, chuckling They shared these small moments as they sat down for the puja with the family, the soft chanting of mantras and the fragrance of...

Danush, a little boy with big dreams and even bigger holes in his shoes, stood under an old, wise tree. It wasn’t just any tree; it was the neighborhood’s best-kept secret, famous for its ability to keep people dry when the skies decided to open up. Today was no different, as the heavens had unleashed a downpour that could rival even the most dramatic Bollywood rain scene. Danush was in rags, though he preferred to think of his outfit as "vintage chic." His mother, pale and skinny, stood beside him, clutching her shawl like it was the latest fashion statement. She looked at Danush and then at the storm, which was now in full swing, with the wind howling like it had just discovered the joys of whistling. “Amma, do you think the rain will stop soon?” Danush asked, his voice barely audible over the storm’s symphony. His mother, ever the optimist, squinted up at the sky. “Of course, Danush. The rain will stop... eventually. Until then, we have this grand tree for company. Besides...

Window shopping is like cardio for the soul, minus the sweat and plus the satisfaction. For the girl in me who constantly needs to keep moving, it’s the perfect blend of therapy and adventure. Who needs to actually buy stuff when you can stroll through aisles, mentally redecorating your entire life with things you’ll never own? It’s like an exercise in imagination—and let’s be honest, my imagination is fitter than I am. First off, there’s the thrill of the chase. You spot that perfect dress in the display window, the one that seems to have a halo around it. For a moment, you think, “This could be *the one*.” You know, the dress that transforms you from “tired-of-this-world” to “queen-of-this-mall.” But then, you check the price tag and realize that the only thing transforming will be your bank account into a big, fat zero. So, you smile, nod at the dress as if you’ve just exchanged pleasantries, and move on. Victory is mine! I didn’t spend a dime, but my spirits are soaring. Next stop:...

 Jiya had always been a curious soul, the kind who’d talk to plants and give names to inanimate objects like her favorite mug, Mr. Steamy. So, when a small bird appeared on her windowsill one lazy afternoon, she wasn’t too surprised. The bird was tiny, with feathers the color of cinnamon and a beady pair of eyes that looked like they held the secrets of the universe—or at least where all the good crumbs were hidden. Naturally, Jiya decided that this bird needed a name. After much deliberation (and a short debate with Mr. Steamy), she settled on "Chirpy." Because, well, the little bird had quite the voice. Every time it opened its beak, a cheerful chirp would escape, as if it were sharing the world’s happiest news. Now, Jiya wasn’t just content with Chirpy being a visitor; she wanted to befriend the bird. So, she started leaving crumbs of her breakfast by the windowsill. And not just any crumbs—these were the premium kind, from her morning toast, perfectly buttered and crispy....

Bangalore, ah, my dear old friend! Every visit feels like catching up with a buddy who’s constantly evolving but still cracks the same old jokes. Whether it’s the early morning ambles through Lalbagh, where the grass is still half asleep, or the high-energy hustle of Commercial Street, where the art of bargaining deserves a gold medal, Bangalore knows how to keep me on my toes. Now, living overseas has turned me into quite the daydreamer. I often find myself drifting off, imagining the smell of filter coffee wafting from my go-to café or the electric vibe of MG Road on a Saturday night. It’s funny how the city has mastered the art of juggling old-school charm with new-age chaos, all in one breath. Take Cubbon Park, for example—a slice of serenity where the leaves gossip in the breeze. But then, step outside, and bam! You’re back in the traffic circus, where honking is a language of its own. I used to grumble about it, but now? I catch myself smiling at the thought of it from across the...

 Ah, how the Olympics have evolved over the years! Back in the day, watching the games in Bangalore felt like stepping into a world where athletes seemed like untouchable gods. We’d watch gymnasts twist and turn in ways that made us question if they had any bones at all, while we struggled to do a single sit-up. Fast forward to today, and the feats have only gotten more jaw-dropping—triple axels on the ice that look like they've been ripped from a video game, and swimmers who make Michael Phelps look like he’s just warming up. But it’s not just the athletes who’ve evolved; our viewing experience has too. Gone are the days of huddling around a grainy TV in the early hours, hoping the power didn’t cut out during a crucial moment. Now, with the magic of the internet, we can watch the Olympics from any device, any time, and rewind that unbelievable dive 10 times just to marvel at it again.  Even the sports have changed—skateboarding and surfing are now Olympic events! If you’d tol...

 There I was, shivering my way back home after dropping my little one off at school. The cold wind bit at my cheeks, making me wish I'd layered on more than just a thin coat of moisturizer. As I hurried along, I overheard two teenage girls animatedly discussing their skincare regimes. Words like "hyaluronic acid," "niacinamide," and "double cleansing" flew around with the same ease as if they were talking about their favorite Netflix shows. I couldn’t help but smile and drift back to my own teenage years—a time when my skincare routine consisted of splashing some cold water on my face and hoping for the best. Back then, the closest thing I had to a skincare regime was occasionally swiping some of my mom’s Nivea cream when the winter winds made my cheeks as chapped as a pair of old leather shoes. It was a simpler time. There were no multi-step processes, no serums, and certainly no influencer-endorsed products. The height of sophistication was knowing w...

 Nestled in the heart of New South Wales, the art museum stands as a testament to the power of creativity and culture. My recent visit to this iconic institution was a journey through time and imagination, offering an experience that was both enriching and inspiring. As I walked through the grand entrance, the first thing that struck me was the architectural brilliance of the building itself. The blend of classic and modern design elements created a welcoming yet awe-inspiring atmosphere. The high ceilings and spacious galleries provided the perfect backdrop for the stunning array of artworks on display. The museum's collection is a harmonious blend of the old and the new, featuring everything from classical masterpieces to contemporary creations. Each gallery had its own unique charm, drawing me into different eras and artistic movements. The delicate brushstrokes of the Renaissance paintings contrasted beautifully with the bold and provocative modern pieces, creating a dynamic an...