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Error is Human?

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On his 78th birthday, the college organized a grand ceremony to honor Mr. Rao, a beloved principal who was about to retire after decades of dedicated service. Though his age suggested he should be slowing down, he still carried the energy and vitality of someone in his 50s. The hall was filled with professors, lecturers, and staff—many of whom had spent more than 20 or 30 years at the institution because of Mr. Rao’s leadership. They spoke one by one, recounting stories of how he had influenced their lives, creating an atmosphere of trust, security, and mutual respect. The first story shared was one from a young accountant’s early days. Fresh out of college with a B.Com degree, he had joined a company as an accountant. Despite his inexperience, he was meticulous with his work, so much so that his accounts had no errors. His team lead, noticing this, began to take his work for granted, assuming everything would be flawless without needing thorough review. However, when the boss of ...
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Sarees and Secrets

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On lazy Saturday afternoons, we all would gather in the cozy corner- the master bedroom! Appa would recline on the bed, the ceiling fan whirling gently above, while Amma begin on her customary ritual of exploring the wardrobe's treasures. Each item she unearthed - from vibrant sarees to old, knitted sweaters and half-finished socks - held a story waiting to be told. Among the clutter, we discovered gifts of brass and random jewels, imported soaps (May be expired! 😁) each with its own tale to tell. As we delved into the memories, teasing exchanges with Appa and Amma luring them to share their love story once more. Our fingers would trace the pages of old photo albums, while Amma carefully unfolded her cherished wedding sarees from a well-worn suitcase. Lost in admiration for the vintage designs and faded colors, we lost ourselves in tales of their beautiful yesteryears😍 Then, there it lay - the saree that held a special place in our hearts. The very same saree Appa had lovingly gi...
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Between Stops...

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The metro was alive with its usual rush, a sea of women moving through their day. I found a spot near the door, and right in front of me stood two girls—so different, yet perfectly in sync. One had long, neatly plaited hair, a simple cotton bag slung over her shoulder. A black bindi rested on her forehead, with a faint trace of kunkuma above it, as if she had hurriedly applied it that morning. Her feet, tucked into flower-bowed slippers, completed her effortless grace. The other was effortlessly stylish. Her nails, decorated with delicate nail art, tapped lightly against her phone. She wore  Levi’s jeans and Crocs—an unusual combination, but one that suited her. I love listening to college girls talk. Not in a nosy way, just out of curiosity. It’s fascinating to see how they are now, how we once were. There’s something refreshing about their unfiltered conversations, a kind of innocence wrapped in laughter. Today, the stylish one was upset—she had messed up her MC, and it weighed o...
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