Unveil the Other Side

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...