BLOGGING TO SOOTHE THE NERVES.

Chill Let me begin this one with some masala. Spicy. Whatever! Here’s the spice: She was cleaning the house. My spice. You know — my wife. For her, clean means CLEAN. A speck of dirt here and there? Not in her dictionary. Unlike me. So I went to her. “Look, next Friday we have to leave by 4 pm to catch the 7 pm train.”   The ‘idea’ had just struck me, so I blurted it out. Nothing wrong. She herself once told me, “Spill your ideas then and there.” But not this time.  She’s in full cleaning mode. And when work mode is on, anger sits on the throne and listening hides under the sofa. Plus — ear plugs in. Lost to some podcast. You know that female stare. The harsh ness. Eyes rolling in 4K. Enough to turn any man docile. Two things happened: One, my idea was not heard. Two, the yelling began.   “Despite my weak condition I’m doing all this hard work, and you come with your ‘ideas’!” As if I don’t work. As if I’m running marathons in perfect health. So I got angry. Bac...

Chill The mash‑up of #Azhageazhagu and #Pandianstores on #Vijaytv keeps rolling. It's Thursday now, and about a week ago I posted my thoughts. After watching four episodes, I wanted to share what I've been thinking this week. I’m loving how the two shows sit side‑by‑side. In #Azhageazhagu, a grumpy‑parent family heads to a Chennai resort – they have fun but also run into some classic generation‑gap drama. Over at #Pandianstores, the son‑in‑law, Kadir, is looking after his father‑in‑law while keeping this fact- secret from his wife Raji. Raji is actually at the #Azhageazhagu house preparing for the IAS exam. The resort scenes hit close to home – you can see the same family dynamics we all know. The sweet, talented daughter‑in‑law gets mistreated by her in‑laws, and we, the audience, end up hating them just as much as the other characters. Meena’s husband, who just joined the #Pandianstores crew, also starts disliking the grumpy parents from #Azhageazhagu. The episode wrapped up...

The story of the Fox and the Grapes has followed me through life. My mother told it to me first. Later, my grandmother repeated it in her own style. Even as a child, the image fascinated me: a fox jumping again and again for a bunch of grapes hanging just beyond reach, only to walk away saying, “They are probably sour anyway.” I met that fox many times afterward. In schoolbooks. In Tamil and English. In coloured illustrations and fading black-and-white pages. Aesop’s name became familiar long before I understood why his stories survived centuries. At that age, the moral seemed simple. If you cannot get something, you pretend it has no value. But life has a way of reopening old fables. Now, when I look back at certain ambitions, disappointments, and relationships, the story feels less amusing and more uncomfortable. Sometimes my career did not rise the way I imagined. Sometimes people I loved did not become the versions I had pictured in my mind. Sometimes even small thi...

Chill   Sangamam: The Art of Mixing Mega-Serials The concept of mixing works well—it can be delightful, even downright delicious at times. In reels, people often claim that “mixing” doesn’t produce great ideas, yet some creators simply juxtapose two panels: one showing the original reel and the other showing how they view it. As for cocktails, I don’t have much experience, but I do enjoy a Bloody Mary. But what am I really trying to convey here? The heading reads “Sangamam,” and the opening paragraphs talk about “mixing.” It’s not the culinary mixing of leftover kuzhambu heated with salt and fresh onions. Rather, it refers to the blending of mega-serials—a creative fusion that has become a fascinating trend in Tamil television. The Flavor of Narrative Mixing Much like a masterfully crafted cocktail, Sangamam blends the distinct flavors of beloved serials into a single, intoxicating narrative. Just as a Bloody Mary combines the sharpness of tomato juice with the kick of vodka and a ...

We went to the community departmental store, my grandson and I. I like walking with him. I’m quietly proud of it. Long ago, when I was young, I travelled in a car with a prominent man from our small town. My uncle sat beside him; I sat in front with the driver. He wasn’t loud. Didn’t instruct much. Authority sat on him like it had always belonged there. We had gone to a bigger town for Deepavali shopping. At one stop, my uncle got down, ran into a shop, and brought back two veshtis. The man didn’t touch them. Didn’t examine. Just glanced and said, almost lazily, “Take the one with the green border.” That was it. Decision made. No noise, no effort. Now I’m in a store again. Different time. Different company. My wife has given me a list. My grandson walks beside me, scanning shelves. At the biscuit aisle, he doesn’t fumble through brands. No debate. His eyes settle on a purple pa...

Chill Gunshot Piercing It began, as all life-altering decisions do, with someone else’s fashion. My younger cousin walked in wearing purple ear studs—confident, casual, as if he had always been this stylish creature. I looked at him. He looked at me. The studs looked back at me and whispered, “Upgrade pending…” My wife sealed the matter in one line: “You will look good.” That was it. Proposal passed. No further discussion. A few days later, we went to the jeweller’s shop to buy a chain for our daughter. A normal, respectable outing. But destiny had other plans… and a small device that makes a sound like a stapler with attitude. My five-year-old grandson came along, purely for moral support—his own, not mine. The jeweller inspected my ears like an archaeologist discovering ancient ruins. “Ah! Old holes are there,” he declared, as if announcing hidden treasure. My wife took charge. She marked the exact spot on my earlobes with the seriousness of a surgeon and the confidence of ...