I AM COZ YOU ARE

Today, while preparing sambar, I asked my daughter to bring the sambar powder. As she cut open the packet and filled the bottle, she asked, “Oh, you have to put sambar powder in sambar?” I looked at her, not at all surprised—she was asking the same intelligent question I used to ask before I learned how to cook. Though my mother handled most of the cooking, my strongest memories are of my dad’s cooking. He only knew how to make chapati, and while he rolled them out, I would help cook them. Then there were those rare occasions when my mom wasn’t home, and my dad had to prepare a meal. We knew we were heading for disaster, but watching it unfold was half the fun. Except for sugar, coffee, and tea powder, every available ingredient in the kitchen somehow found its way into the kadai. It was only while eating that we realized the dish was missing a particular masala. So, we would open the lid, sprinkle the masala over the watery concoction, and wonder why it never dissolved but just fl...

Today, our son went to take his final exams for Plus One, and I couldn’t help but notice he seemed unusually happy and relaxed—hardly a hint of tension. He had the same calm attitude during his tenth board exams. Our daughter is no different. She’s perfectly content not being the class topper and even invites the top students to our home if they’re too afraid to face their own families for not scoring full marks. But when I was a student, I was terrified of exams. I had recurring nightmares about failing, and sure enough, it would always come true. During my BA finals, I suddenly forgot the name of one of the main characters. I tried desperately to remember, but nothing came to mind. As time was running out, my brain seemed to shut down. Remember, problems are a part of life but overcoming them is the art of life . An inner voice told me to name him Mr. Dash. So, I wrote pages about Mr. Dash. The Master’s finals was even worse. We had a few subsidiary subjects to study, bu...

  In our hostel, though we had our own rooms and study halls to study, during study leave, many had their preferred nook on the hostel campus. Though I preferred studying in my room, I realized that I would end up sleeping instead, so I too had identified a corner for myself. Our hostel had a nursery school, and on weekends when the school was closed, many of us would convert the doors and window seats of the nursery into our study corners. Some of us found refuge under the shade of a tree, while others claimed the steps of the stairs as their study zone. And then, there were those few who could never stay still—they would walk, jog, or even run while reading. I was leaning on the nursery door, studying, swatting away insects trying to suck my blood, watching others study, and counting the vehicles passing by the hostel. As I sat there, completely engrossed in my little world, I noticed my friend—my roommate and classmate —whizzing past me at what seemed like the speed of light...

I had just finished my matriculation and was chilling at my maternal house for the vacation. Back then, vacations were eagerly awaited events. But for our poor grandmother, it was like managing a circus—she had to handle all her grandkids and her three youngest kids, who were practically the same age as the grandkids! Now, to all the kids out there, we owe you a huge apology for introducing you to the world of screens. Back in our day, free time meant creativity—pure, unfiltered chaos. We would dive into all sorts of unimaginable sports and play with properties borrowed from nature. So, it was one of those days when we were a gang of about nine kids, all around the same age, running up and down with no real destination. That’s when an aunt suddenly screamed, “Runnnn!” I felt like I was caught in a stampede. She screamed again, “Run! It’s a wild boar!” Now, I didn’t even know where this wild boar was, but at that moment, I knew one thing: I had to save my life . Everyone scramble...

Go for a love marriage, at least for the story! Every love story is so beautiful and inspiring, filled with dedication, passion, and of course, gallantry. It’s a world apart from arranged marriages, where you sit across the table and decide if the person is "worthy" or not. It often feels like a bargain deal. I’ve sat at that table too, wondering if I was "worthy." It’s always the man and his family who get to make the final call, while the woman and her family have no say in the matter. The man, his best friend then, and family are served the best snacks from the nearest bakery, while the woman has to act shy and reserved. Her family will sing her praises—things she may never have heard before—claiming she’s an amazing cook, a great housekeeper, and the best at making biryani and fish curry. “What’s your favorite food, son?” they ask. The man replies, “I eat everything, but I love Kuzhimandhi.” The mom then chimes in, “Oh, our daughter makes the best Kuzhimandhi ...

I have a few names that met untimely deaths, though I’m still very much alive and kicking. Just a few days after my birth, I had to be made a Christian. The rule is that every first-born Christian girl takes her paternal grandmother’s name, and the first-born Christian boy takes his paternal grandfather’s. The second-born girl is given her maternal grandmother’s name, and the second-born boy takes his maternal grandfather’s. By the time the third child comes along? Oh, go ahead, pick any name—we're done following rules at that point. So, I became Rose, named after my paternal grandma Rosamma. I can count on one hand the times I’ve actually been called Rose. First, at my baptism, when the priest poured water over my head and said, “Rose, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Then, during Holy Communion, the priest said, “Dear Lord, I ask you to bless Rose, who is preparing to receive Your Body and Blood.” At the time of my marriage, the priest ask...