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...
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 ...
This Friday evening , while I was curled up in your lap, my little Puttu, I felt so warm... and suddenly, this little feeling crept in—someday I’m going to miss this so badly (even though it’s far away!). One by one, all your cutest little moments started dancing through my head—like a slideshow made of love. The way you keep sniffing the air, trying to catch the irresistible aroma of fresh ghee... the way your eyes light up when dosa starts bubbling on the hot tawa, and you suddenly shout, “Uppittu Ammaaa!! Very me, very me, very me!!” I see myself in you completely. And oh, how you go after AppaChaami’s life too—“Me me me ONLY!”—not even sparing him! And that sudden shout of “Appa bandavu!” with full excitement as we both peek through the window when AppaChaami arrives… and then you go running and hugging him tight like you’re seeing him after 10 years! Appa’s face literally glows like a 100-watt bulb. And my heart? It just bursts with love. Your happy dance when semige st...
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