From Storybooks to Stories of Our Own

 

From Reading to Writing – A Journey of Words

As a family, we have always loved books. This love began in our childhood. Our mother and mama kindled that spark early. They made sure we had the right reading material for our age - storybooks, comics, and magazines that fed both curiosity and imagination. But they were not alone in shaping this habit. Our English teachers in school encouraged us to read widely and express ourselves freely. They introduced us to classics, poems, and essays that opened new worlds. Librarians too played a quiet but important role, guiding us to the right shelves and saving new arrivals for us. And of course, our friends - many from similar backgrounds - shared and swapped books, discussed stories, and helped keep that reading spirit alive.

Over time, reading became more than just a pastime; it became part of who we were. It shaped our thoughts, our conversations, and even our dreams. Gradually, though this could have happened much earlier, this love for reading gave birth to writing. When you spend years soaking in words, you naturally begin to form your own. That’s how writing entered our lives - slowly, quietly, but with lasting joy.

Writing, like reading, is deeply rewarding. It helps you understand yourself better. When you put your thoughts on paper, you begin to see what you truly feel and believe. Writing becomes a mirror to your mind. It brings clarity and calm. Many times, it helps release worries that otherwise stay buried.

Writing also improves how you communicate. The habit of forming clear, simple sentences trains you to think and speak more effectively. You learn to express your ideas in a way that others can understand easily.

It is also a great stress reliever. When you write about your day, your challenges, or even your small joys, you feel lighter. Writing becomes therapy - a way to talk to yourself with honesty.

And of course, it makes you more creative. Words spark imagination. A simple observation can turn into a paragraph, a memory into a story. Each piece of writing makes you notice life more keenly.

Writing keeps the mind young too. You research, explore, and learn constantly. Every new topic opens another door of knowledge.

Looking back, we feel grateful - to our mother and mama, to our teachers and librarians, and to our friends who shared this journey. They gave us the greatest gift: the love of words. 

Today, that love lives on in our next generation. What started with reading turned into writing over time - and though the next generation hasn’t taken to writing yet, their love for books remains unshaken.

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Old Ritual, New Meaning

Every Diwali morning, long before sunrise, my mother would heat sesame oil on the gas stove. The smell filled the house as she called out, “Come, time for the oil bath!” She would rub warm oil on our heads and then apply nalang manjal - turmeric - over our legs. “It cleanses the body and mind,” she would say. The bath that followed felt like washing away not just dirt, but the weight of the year.

After she passed away, my wife took over this ritual. The same oil, the same fragrance, the same peace. It feels like a bridge - between generations, between memory and life.

That’s the power of tradition.

Tradition is more than an old custom. It’s the living thread that connects us to who we are. It carries the beliefs, values, and lessons passed down through families and communities. It tells us where we come from and why certain things matter.

Traditions appear in many forms - festivals, food, songs, prayers, ceremonies. They give color to our culture and rhythm to our lives. Whether ancient or newly formed, they remind us that we belong to something larger than ourselves.

Why do traditions matter?

Because they give us identity. They teach us values like respect, gratitude, and compassion. They bring joy during celebrations and comfort during change. They offer stability when the world feels uncertain.

Traditions also keep culture alive. Every festival we celebrate, every family custom we follow, keeps history breathing. They remind us that our lives are part of a longer story, one that began before us and will continue after.

They build community too. When people follow the same customs, they share experiences that bind them together. The simple act of lighting lamps or sharing sweets can unite people across time, distance, and differences.

Traditions nurture the soul. Rituals encourage reflection and gratitude. They remind us to pause, to connect, and to give. In a world rushing forward, traditions tell us to slow down and remember what truly matters.

But when traditions fade, something inside us weakens. Without them, we risk losing our roots, our values, our sense of belonging. We may move faster, but we drift further.

Traditions are not just habits of the past, they are anchors for the future.
They teach us who we are, remind us what we stand for, and guide us toward a meaningful life.

And every Diwali morning, as I pour that warm oil on my head, I know, tradition isn’t old. It’s alive.

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Do Celebrities Believe in what they Sell?

 

Do Celebrities Really Use the Products They Endorse?

In today’s advertising-driven world, celebrity endorsements remain one of the most powerful marketing tools. A film star’s face plastered inside a bus urging commuters to use public transport, a cricketer smiling next to a second-hand car, or a model holding a tube of lipstick - these images instantly influence millions of consumers.

But the obvious question is: do celebrities themselves actually use the products they endorse?

For some categories, the answer seems highly unlikely. A leading Bollywood star appearing in an ad campaign encouraging people to use public transport. The message may have been noble, but can we really imagine that star ditching their chauffeur-driven luxury sedans and personal security entourage to travel on a city bus or suburban train? Similarly, a top cricketer has fronted advertisements urging people to buy and sell used cars on digital platforms. Yet, in reality, one doubts whether he has ever personally negotiated the price of a second-hand hatchback when his garage is filled with luxury sports cars and SUVs.

The disconnect becomes sharper with mass-market FMCG products. A glamorous actor might promote a ₹100 fairness cream or a carbonated soft drink, but chances are their personal beauty and wellness regimen involves high-end brands and nutritionists’ recommendations. Expecting them to actually consume the same sugary sodas or snack foods as the average consumer is unrealistic.

This gap raises a critical ethical question: is it right for celebrities to imply personal use when they do not?

Advertising often blurs the line between performance and authenticity. If an actor plays a villain on screen, we know it’s fiction. But when the same actor looks into the camera and says, “I use this every day,” the claim is meant to be taken as fact, not performance. That’s where misrepresentation creeps in.

The matter is even more troubling with products known to be harmful - alcohol surrogates, or sugar-heavy aerated drinks. Even if celebrities privately consumed such items, should they encourage millions of impressionable fans to follow suit? Regulations in India have tried to clamp down on misleading endorsements, but brands often find loopholes, and celebrities rarely turn down a lucrative deal.

To be fair, there are positive examples too. Many sportspersons endorse fitness gear, health drinks, or equipment they genuinely use. Certain actors associate themselves with luxury labels, gadgets, or cosmetics that align with their lifestyle, making the endorsement more authentic.

Ultimately, the responsibility cuts both ways. Brands seek visibility, celebrities chase income. But when trust is placed in them by millions, the ethical obligation is heavier.

So the next time a smiling star urges you to buy something, pause and ask yourself: are they truly selling what they use - or just using their face or figure to sell?

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When cousins meet at Dassera

Cherishing Traditions Amidst Navratri & Dassera

The festive spirit of Navratri and Dassera had lit up Mumbai with colour, music, and devotion. At Priya and Rohan’s parents’ home, the entire family gathered after months apart. Rohan had flown down especially for the celebrations, eager to meet his sisters Priya and cousins Ria and Aditya, and their spouses Sanjiv, Vignesh, and Rashmi. Sanjiv’s brother Sandip too had joined, along with Sanjiv’s parents, adding more joy to the occasion. The presence of Rohan and Priya’s grandmother made the reunion even more special - three generations under one roof, sharing festive cheer.

The home buzzed with warmth as everyone exchanged laughter and banter. Childhood memories came rushing back - garba nights, homemade sweets, and the anticipation of Dassera when elders would bless them with tokens of prosperity.

As conversations flowed, their grandmother reminded them of the customs she had lovingly upheld over the years. She spoke of the tilak, a mark of blessings and protection, and how it was once a daily ritual before children left for school or men left for work. “It may seem small,” she said with a smile, “but every stroke on the forehead was a prayer for strength and wisdom.”

Aditya nodded thoughtfully, adding, “During Navratri, bowing before the ghatasthapana - the kalash representing energy and prosperity - always felt like invoking divine strength. And lighting the evening diya was more than just tradition; it brought the family together.” Rashmi laughed, recalling how as children they would compete to keep the lamp glowing longest, only to end up dozing beside it.

Ria then mentioned Dassera, when they exchanged apta leaves as symbolic ‘gold’. “It felt playful then,” she said, “but looking back, it was such a creative way to teach us that true wealth lies in virtue and goodwill.” Malli mama added that even these simple rituals had deeper lessons: victory of good over evil, respect for elders, and gratitude for blessings received.

Meanwhile, Sanjiv’s parents reflected on how traditions had kept families bound despite the pressures of modern life. “Western influences are strong,” Sanjiv’s father observed, “but our culture gives us roots. Even if we adapt to changing times, these rituals remind us who we are.”

As night descended, everyone gathered for aarti. The fragrance of incense, the rhythmic clapping, and the glow of diyas filled the home with devotion and togetherness. In that moment, the cousins realised that while life might scatter them across cities and countries, these customs were the invisible threads tying them back to their heritage.

This Dassera, the family silently resolved to keep these traditions alive - not just for themselves, but for the next generation.

And perhaps that is the message for all of us: we don’t need to follow every ritual, but by holding on to even a few - lighting a diya, exchanging apta leaves, or gathering for aarti - we nurture our roots, strengthen family bonds, and keep the light of culture glowing for generations.

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How a Simple Reply Made Me Think About Words

 

The Subtle Difference Between Seeing and Looking

The other day I sent a message to an old friend. I asked if he had checked the email I sent him. His reply was, “Yes, I saw the mail, but I have not been able to look at it yet.”

At first, this may sound like the same thing. But it is not. Seeing is just noticing. Looking means giving something time and attention. My friend had seen my email sitting in his inbox, but he had not yet looked at it with the focus it needed.

This small reply reminded me of the early days of my writing. When I had just started blogging, this very friend guided me patiently. We would have long conversations about how to write, how to connect with readers, and how to improve the style. His words encouraged me to take my first steps in sharing my thoughts with the world.

Sometimes, after reading a blog I posted, he would send me a short note of appreciation. Those small messages meant a lot. They reminded me that someone was not just seeing my work, but truly looking at it. Many others would see my blog links on WhatsApp status, but only a few actually clicked and read them. That was the difference again.

In life and in language, such differences matter. People often mix up words that are not the same. Take hearing and listening. Hearing is automatic. Listening is when you pay attention and understand. Or knowing and understanding. You may know the formula of a subject, but only when you understand it can you apply it. Even watching and observing are not identical. Watching is passive, observing is active.

My friend’s reply made me think about how important it is to be precise with words. Words carry weight. The choice of one word over another can change the meaning completely. And in communication, clarity is everything.

Looking back, I feel grateful. If I have grown as a writer, it is because of small nudges and honest feedback from friends like him. Just as he reminded me, even now, that seeing and looking are not the same, he has always helped me notice the deeper layers in words and in life.

So, the next time we check a message or read an email, we should ask ourselves: Did I just see it? Or did I really look at it?

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Progress Demands Change, Not Consistency

When Consistency Becomes a Cage

“Be consistent,” we have been told. Wake up at 5 a.m., drink the same green juice, post your daily motivational quote, and grind like a machine. 

Sounds impressive, but let’s be honest - donkeys have been doing that forever. They walk the same road every day, carry the same load, and never once stop to ask, “Boss, why are we even going this way?”

We all know this person - the one who takes pride in doing things the same way, year after year. The kirana shop opens at 9:00 a.m. sharp, the racks are stacked with the same Parle-G packets and Nirma detergent, and the hand-written price tags look like they belong to another decade. It feels safe, dependable, even admirable - proof of discipline and dedication.

But outside, the world is moving at a different speed. Big Bazaar and D-Mart arrive, Swiggy Instamart and Blinkit deliver groceries at the doorstep, and customers change their buying habits overnight. Suddenly, the very consistency that once seemed like a strength begins to feel like a weakness. The shutter still opens right on time, but fewer and fewer customers walk in - because they’ve already clicked their orders online.

Now compare that with icons who thrived because they refused to stay stuck. Imagine if Dhirubhai Ambani had said, “Let’s just keep running the textile business - it’s consistent.” There would have been no Reliance Petrochemicals, no Jio, no transformation in the way India shops and communicates.

Or think of Sachin Tendulkar - if he had stubbornly stuck to the same batting style, he would never have adapted to T20 cricket and extended his career.

And Amitabh Bachchan? Had he stayed only the “angry young man” of the 70s, we would never have seen the reinvention that made him a legend again through TV, character roles, and endorsements. Their greatness lay not in blind consistency, but in the courage to adapt, reinvent, and be gloriously inconsistent.

Consistency is great for brushing your teeth or paying your EMIs. But if you want to stand out, innovate, or actually succeed, stubborn routine won’t cut it. Flexibility, curiosity, and a little chaos are far better companions than donkey-like plodding.

Because at the end of the day, consistency is nothing but walking in circles with pride. Donkeys are brilliant at that. Humans? We were built for detours, leaps, and the occasional misstep that takes us somewhere new.

If consistency makes you feel proud, just remember - donkeys are the gold medalists of consistency. Be human. Be inconsistent, intelligently.

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Power of Prayer - Satish’s Silent Strength

 

Satish and the Silent Strength

Satish was a middle-aged executive living in a busy metro city. He lived in a small but neat apartment with his wife Anjali, a schoolteacher, and their cheerful ten-year-old daughter, Uma. Life was simple. Mornings were a rush of tiffins, school bags, and office bags. Evenings were filled with homework, dinner, and laughter.

Satish had a bad back. Some days were better, some worse. But he never complained. He managed with a smile, a hot water bag, and the quiet support of his loving family. His life wasn’t perfect, but he always said, “God has given me more than I deserve.”

Every morning, before the world woke up, Satish spent ten minutes at his tiny prayer corner. A small lamp, a few idols, and a well-worn copy of the Bhagavad Gita rested there. He would sit cross-legged, close his eyes, and chant softly. It wasn’t a long ritual - just a few minutes of silence and surrender.

His wife once asked him, “Do you think all this really changes anything?”
He smiled and replied, “Maybe not outside, but it changes everything inside.”

Satish believed in the power of prayer - not as a way to ask for miracles, but as a way to find strength. On tough days, when his back hurt or work overwhelmed him, those few minutes helped him stay calm. He didn’t pray to avoid problems. He prayed to face them better.

On weekends, he took Uma to a nearby temple. Not for long sermons, but just to sit in silence. “Listen to your breath,” he would say. “That’s where peace begins.” Slowly, Uma started to enjoy those moments. She would light a diya and whisper a small wish. Sometimes for her exams. Sometimes for her mother’s health.

Prayer became a habit in their home. It wasn’t loud or elaborate. It was quiet, sincere, and filled with gratitude. Even during festivals, their rituals were simple. Aarti, sweets, and prayers said with love.

One day, Satish had a bad spasm. He had to stay in bed for a week. But he never seemed frustrated. He smiled, prayed, and even guided Uma through her studies lying down. “This too shall pass,” he whispered, as his fingers gently touched his prayer beads.

When he recovered, his doctor remarked, “Your positivity really helps with healing.”
Satish simply nodded. He knew where that strength came from.

Prayer didn’t take away his back pain or solve every problem. But it gave him clarity, patience, and peace. It helped him stay kind when he was tired, and hopeful when things went wrong.

For Satish, prayer was not about asking. It was about thanking. It was not about changing life. It was about changing how he lived it.

And in that quiet strength, Satish discovered life’s true power.

About the Author

 

The Joys of Joint Family Living An Indian Perspective

 

Where Generations Meet: A Joint Family Story from the City

The Quiet Joys of Joint Family Life

In the heart of a busy metro, tucked into a modest 2 BHK apartment, lives the Iyer family - Arvind, Geetha, their two young children Gayatri and Vijay, and Arvind’s widowed mother. Like many middle-class households, their flat is compact, the days are full, and time is always in short supply. Yet, within those four walls exists a warmth that many larger homes often lack - a vibrant joint family life, quietly flourishing in the bustle of urban India.

With both Arvind and Geetha working full-time, the support of Arvind’s mother - “Amma,” as everyone calls her - is invaluable. But her role goes far beyond just being a helping hand. She’s the anchor that holds the family together. Whether it’s making sure Vijay finishes his breakfast or gently oiling Gayatri’s hair before school, Amma’s presence adds a sense of calm continuity to the everyday chaos.

Nine-year-old Gayatri, a spirited and curious girl, attends both vocal music and painting classes after school. On most evenings, the home comes alive with her singing "Rara Venu Gopabala” while Amma gently corrects her shruti, occasionally pausing to say, “Sareeram thaan mukkiyam - voice should come from here,” tapping her chest with a knowing smile. Cultural roots, passed on not through lectures, but through moments like these.

Joint family living, as seen in this home, is a practical arrangement, yes - but it is also deeply emotional. It allows children to grow up not only with their parents' guidance but also with the wisdom of a previous generation. Gayatri and Vijay don’t just hear bedtime stories; they hear tales of how festivals were celebrated in villages, how rice was measured in padi, and why diya lighting must be done from east to west. These are life lessons not found in school books or on tablets.

Daily life is a shared responsibility. Amma folds clothes while Arvind handles the monthly bills. Geetha and Amma take turns managing kitchen duties, often blending modern food choices with traditional recipes. Yes, there are occasional disagreements - on screen time, on food habits, on bedtime routines - but these are handled with gentle negotiation and old-fashioned porumai (patience).

Festivals become full-family affairs. Whether it’s Navratri kolu, Deepavali crackers, or Pongal rangolis, celebrations are more than just rituals - they become bonding experiences. Shared tasks, shared laughter, shared memories.

Of course, joint families aren’t without challenges. Space is limited, tempers may sometimes flare, and privacy can be elusive. But what often goes unnoticed is the emotional abundance - children feel more secure, elders feel valued, and working parents feel less overwhelmed.

In a time when nuclear families are seen as the default, the Iyer household stands as a gentle reminder: sometimes, joy isn’t found in extra rooms or bigger kitchens - it’s found in togetherness. In laughter echoing through narrow hallways. In traditions passed down by word and by hand. And in the quiet knowledge that when life gets difficult, you’re never truly alone.

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A Friday Afternoon at S&Co. - Hobby Time

 

The Hidden Strength in a Hobby

A Friday Afternoon at S&Co.

It was a rainy Friday noon at S&Co., that familiar pause before the weekend begins. Srini and his partner / brother Vaidy had stepped out for a long client meeting, and they would head home directly after. The office had wrapped up most of the week’s work, and a sense of ease settled over the team.

In the pantry corner, with cups of chai in hand, the team members gathered - Jagruti, Manoj, Sunil, Pooja, Prajakta, Dhawal, and Tabassum. What began as casual conversation turned unexpectedly thoughtful.

Jagruti leaned against the counter and asked, “Do any of you even have hobbies anymore? Or have we all become work machines?”

Pooja laughed, “Feels like the only hobby we have is replying to client emails!”

“But it’s true,” Prajakta said, “We talk about work-life balance, but when was the last time we actually did something just for joy?”

That’s when Dhawal spoke up, “You know, I’ve always admired how Srini Sir and Vaidy Sir manage their personal time. Srini Sir writes blogs, reads regularly, indulges in music classes and goes on treks. And Vaidy Sir runs marathons and gives motivational talks!”

“Wow, I didn’t know that,” said Tabassum, surprised.

“And during the year, they head out for atleast one major trek in the Himalayas. They say it clears their head.”

Pooja mused, “So hobbies don’t have to be complicated. They just have to bring joy.”

“Exactly,” said Manoj. “Some hobbies are active - like running or trekking. Others are passive - like reading or listening to music. Some people like to paint, others like to cook or write.”

“Even watching movies could be a hobby,” said Tabassum, “if you do it with intention, like exploring world cinema or understanding filmmaking.”

Prajakta added, “And hobbies help you discover sides of yourself that your professional life may never touch. It’s where you reconnect with you.”

Dhawal nodded, “Sir once said hobbies are like vitamins for the soul - something you don’t realise you need until you stop having them.”

Sunil smiled, “It’s like an SIP for your emotional well-being.”

As the clock ticked closer to 6, there was a quiet sense of resolve in the air. The team began to pack up for the day, each one reflecting inwardly. Gardening, sketching, music, running, journaling - perhaps the weekend could be more than just rest. It could be a return to something forgotten.

As they stepped out of the office, Jagruti turned and said, “Let’s actually do this - revive one hobby this weekend. Even if it's just for 30 minutes.”

“Done,” said Prajakta. “This weekend is for us.”

And with that, the staff of S&Co. stepped into the Friday evening - not just looking forward to the break, but to rediscovering what once made them feel alive.

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The Comic Book Corner: How One Family Rewrote Learning at Home

How Comics Changed Our Kids' World

It was a rainy Sunday morning in their modest two-bedroom flat in Dombivli. The power had just come back after a short cut, and Bala was already busy in the kitchen preparing hot poha and masala tea. Sundar sat cross-legged on the floor with a few tattered comic books spread before him.

"Chotu, get off that mobile! You're only six - your eyes are too precious," Bala called from the kitchen. Jaya, now eight, had already learned to tune out YouTube shorts, but her ten-year-old brother Arvind was still deeply curious about every new "educational" app.

But today was different.

Sundar, an accountant who secretly adored the Tinkle comics of his childhood, had a plan. “Let’s make this our Comic Sunday,” he declared. “No screens till dinner. Instead, I want all of you to pick a comic and read.”

There were protests. Groans. Bargaining. But within an hour, all three kids were sprawled across the floor, flipping pages of Amar Chitra Katha, Suppandi, and Chacha Chaudhary.

What began as a reluctant compromise soon turned into wide-eyed excitement.

“Did you know Tenali Raman was actually a real court jester?” Arvind blurted out. “And he was super smart!”

“That elephant can talk!” Chotu giggled, pointing at a panel in Panchatantra.

For Sundar and Bala, this wasn’t just about entertainment. It was a conscious parenting choice. They believed that learning shouldn’t always come from screens or textbooks. Comics, they discovered, offered a bridge between fun and knowledge.

For instance, Bala noticed how comics made even the trickiest topics accessible. “Remember how Arvind struggled to understand planets last week?” she said to Sundar. “Look at this comic - it shows the solar system with dialogues between planets. Suddenly it all makes sense to him!”

Sundar nodded. “It’s visual learning. Comics break down complex ideas with pictures. The kids don’t just read - they see and imagine.”

But the biggest surprise? Jaya, once hesitant with long paragraphs, now devoured comics panel by panel. Her confidence in reading grew, and she even began creating her own comic strips using crayons and school notebooks.

Bala smiled proudly, “She’s not just reading. She’s thinking creatively.”

By the end of the month, the family had set up a small “Comic Library” in the corner of their living room. A shoebox became the comic book shelf, and every weekend was now “Comic Hour.” Neighbours began donating old comics. Soon, it wasn’t just about reading - it was about connecting through stories.

Their home wasn’t quiet anymore - it buzzed with laughter, debates over characters, and questions about history and mythology. Most importantly, it was a home where learning was led by curiosity, not compulsion.

In a world flooded with screens, the humble comic book had carved a space of its own - right in the heart of Sundar and Bala’s home.

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