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These words we write

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Something not many know is that Ollie’s Diary began as a way to deal with grief. For context, Ollie’s diary is a story published every other week in Little Stars, the children’s tabloid of The Sunday Morning. We published the first story three Augusts ago. We published the last story today. But four Augusts ago, Calvin passed away and I was devastated. A few years before that, Calvin’s adventures came to life through A Diary of a Mischievous Cat, also published in Little Stars. We brought it to an end when I left The Sunday Morning to join Daily FT. In it, Calvin was Kat, Gingie was Ginger. Ollie wasn’t part of the story because she was yet to join our family. Later, when I left Daily FT and joined The Daily Morning, I started writing for Little Stars again. And so, Ollie’s Diary began. I remember talking to Kusumanjalee, the editor of Little Stars and my friend, about how I wanted to write about Calvin’s illness and death in a way that children could understand. I thought that...
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Growing old and slowing down

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I don’t quite remember my first grey hair. I must have been in my early 20s, because I remember my mother (and perhaps even my grandmother) pointing it out, much to my embarrassment. At the time, grey hair didn’t mean being older. It meant being old. And there’s a huge difference between the two. I don’t blame my mother. When my brother’s first grey hair was discovered, I made fun of him too, for being old. So, a few years later, when I noticed a grey hair or two, I didn’t take it well. I yanked the first few off. I was worried my hairdresser would comment on my hair. I hated it when friends pointed it out. But then, at some point, I stopped caring. Now, I quite like seeing more and more greys on my head. It’s somewhat of a relief. Being old. And yes, I know that I’m not actually old or anywhere close to being old. But I remember when I was in my mid-20s and swore I would never get married or have kids, people would say I would 100% change my mind in a few years. “Just wait until y...
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Marshmallow brain

I was just thinking about how you are never ready for a wave of depression. You never know when to expect it. You never know how to handle it. And then I realised that it's been almost 10 years since my first and only attempt at actually doing something about my mental health. I don't know if that attempt was a success. Covid and a few other things complicated matters and I let go of the thought of seeking help. Professional help. I did consider it a few times since, so maybe I haven't given up hope completely, but knowing me, it's quite unlikely. And of course, I don't even have it that bad. My brain behaves for the most part. And when it doesn't, I either get moody and cry in my room or get a bit drunk and behave a bit recklessly. It's mostly okay. The recklessness isn't too bad. It's never something I regret. But you know, I'm in my 30s now. I think it's fair to ask that the universe let me be. That I'm allowed to just exist; go about ...
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The people in the bus

This morning, while checking Instagram on my way to the train station, I saw a video from a Josh Thomas standup show where he talks about how we keep comparing ourselves to the coolest people and the prettiest people, making them the standard. “Have you guys ever been on a bus?” he asks the audience, and they laugh. “That’s the standard. That’s who we are trying to beat. It’s not that hard,” he jokes. Now, the joke itself is a bit… well, I love Josh Thomas but what are we saying here? That people who take the bus aren’t cool or pretty or better than us? But that’s a whole other discussion. I saw this post in the morning and I thought about it for a moment but then I had to pay my tuk driver and buy my train ticket and walk to the correct platform and take a train to work. Work kept me busy and I lost track of time and almost missed my evening train. It was pulling into the station just as I was heading into the station and while I was buying my ticket, the railway officer asked ...
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Measuring time

Having decided to make waffles for dinner, I found myself remembering the waffle iron we had at home when I was a kid. It was a beige and brown and made waffles shaped like a flower, each individual 'piece' a heart. I loved (and still love) slathering butter on one and enjoying the deliciousness of a waffle and the pools of golden melted butter. Understandably, this waffle iron is no longer in use. The current one gives us two rectangles at a time. The pockets in the waffle are bigger, which means they hold more butter. Yum! While making waffles for dinner, I noticed that the handle of our waffle iron had a crack in it, making it difficult to lock shut. It still did its job, but would need to be replaced soon. I told Amma that our waffle iron was entering its final few uses and she said it is quite old now. "No, it's not," I said, "Athamma got it for us." "Which means it's ten years... at least," Amma said. Ten years being the number of yea...
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2025

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Last night, I met some of my closest friends – people I love; people who have made me feel loved. We talked about our new year’s resolutions: fitness, travel, meeting more frequently. We talked about more personal goals. And I don’t know if it was the wine, the setting, the general gaiety of the season, but I was just so happy. And that happiness is, to a great extent, still with me, even as I spend the afternoon by myself, my mother off having lunch with friends and our cats and dog enjoying a post-lunch nap. And this seems like the perfect time to reflect on the year that was 2025. I don’t know if this serves any purpose, but it feels like such a natural need: to look back at the year you survived as you step into another. I wanted to see what I wrote in the past few years but I seem to have skipped a recap post in 2024 and 2023. I don’t know why, but it could be because most of both years were spent being careful. They didn’t feel like real years, much like those covid years did...
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What do we owe each other?

A few incidents that happened recently had me wondering why people didn’t think they owe others an explanation, particularly in situations that affect both parties. If I wake up today to a message saying a friend wants nothing to do with me, do I not deserve an explanation? If I wake up to a message from an employer saying they don’t need my services anymore, do I not deserve an explanation? I say this, but when the roles are reversed, do I really give people an explanation for the decisions I make or the things I do? I’m not quite sure. I remember talking to someone a while back about the importance of communication. And yet, when it came to it, I did a pretty bad job of communicating what was on my mind. So then, as much as I love dissecting things in my mind and revisiting things in conversations with others, am I also not doing the bare minimum for someone who is affected by what I do? I remember years ago, I was complaining about something a friend did. The person who had to...
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