Friday, April 24, 2026

What's the kindest thing anyone has done for you?


This is a question that has been sitting with me for about 2 years now. I'm not quite sure how it started. Maybe some reel. I spent many days thinking about it. Came up with a whole list, figured I should write about it before I forget about it. And before kindness becomes something you just write about. 


1. I was talking to a guy I’d become friends with in college. We were sitting on a stone ledge facing the football ground. After countless days of texting, this was the first time we were talking in person. So safe to say, I was nervous as f. The conversation was flowing though, and I was slowly breaking out of my awkward phase.

He was pretty popular. Lots of friends. So soon a group of them stopped by to talk to him. They greeted me dismissively and continued their chatter. Some of them even sat down. Before I knew it, 4-5 people were sitting between us, with both of us stuck at either end of the row. They were loud. Laughing. Talking over each other.

I was slowly getting ready to slip away when he suddenly got up, walked all the way around to my corner, sat down next to me and said, “So… where were we?” I couldn’t stop smiling. It was a good day.


2. I was down with chickenpox and feeling like hell. I had a high fever, had boils all over my body. was on my period and I was itchy as f. My mom was by my side all the time, feeding me, helping me soothe my itch. 

One night, I just couldn't sleep. She came into the room with a bunch of my cassettes.. my favourite boy bands at the time saying - "Dha, idhoke alle ninde aalkare" and played all my music for me till I fell asleep. I mean, she had been nothing but kind to me ever since the chickenpox started, but this small thing, something she didn't really have to but still thought of.. it was so sweet. 


3. During recess, I was walking around with a friend when a little kid, maybe 8 or 9, walked up to me and said, “Chechi, you’re so beautiful.”

I don’t know if it was part of a dare or something. But I was caught off guard and genuinely touched. Little kids telling you you’re beautiful >>>> any random stupid boy saying it.


4. I had just started college. Being a true-blue NRI, I knew nothing about how to live or survive in India, let alone Coimbatore. Especially how to use public transport. The first couple of weekends, my mom would get a car and driver and come all the way from Kochi (where we were living at the time) to pick me up and drop me back. Eventually, she realized that it wasn't sustainable, especially when I was this severely homesick girl who cried to come home every weekend.

After one weekend, they came to the decision that it was time for me to travel back by bus. My sister, who was doing her MBA in Kochi at the time and had had about 4–5 years to get accustomed to the Indian way of living, gave me step-by-step instructions. Which bus, which stop, how much a ticket would cost.. everything.

When Monday morning came, the both of us were at the bus stop. She kept talking to me, telling me I can do it, it'll be okay, while I pretty much just whimpered in fear. The bus arrived, and I got in almost on the verge of tears. She peered at me from outside for a bit. And in the next minute, she wordlessly got into the bus with me.

I forgot about crying and broke into a big, huge grin and squeezed her hand. She looked at me with an exasperated “Ugh, the things I have to do” look and stood next to me all the way to Coimbatore. Hours later, the bus stopped right outside my college. She waved me off quickly and, without losing a minute, boarded the next bus back to Kochi so that she could reach her college on time.

So whenever my sisters accuse me of being spoilt rotten, I guess I can't really disagree.


5. After my 1st trimester, I travelled to Dubai with H. When I entered our room, the whole ceiling and walls were covered with those glow-in-the-dark stars and moon. Like, absolutely filled. And since the ceilings were pretty high up and we had no ladder in the house, he had apparently stuck them one by one by attaching each star and moon to the end of a long pole. One at a time. Which I'm guessing would have taken hours and hours because the place was completely packed with stars. 

I don't know if it was the hormones but that made me positively bawl. 


6. I had desperately wanted a new stereo set. I had cut out and stuck a picture of the one I wanted on my bedroom wall. And I'd keep counting my pocket money every day to see how long it would take for me to save up for it (it was a very, very long way). 

One day, I came home from school. I remember I was eating slices of green apple. I opened my bedroom door and almost choked on the apple. Because there on my table was this brand-new, gorgeous, huge silver stereo. It wasn't the one I wanted; it was even bigger, with surround sound and everything. I nearly fainted. I was so, so, so happy. 

I remember going up to my dad but not being able to say anything, just smiling from ear to ear. Later, I wrote “Thank you so so much. I love you.” on a post-it and stuck it in his room. Weirdly, that's like the only time I remember saying I love you to my dad.


7. We'd moved back to India after about 15 years in the UAE, and I missed it very, very much. My sister, who was still in Dubai, chumma sent me a huge care package on a very random day. I don't remember what all it had, but I remember feeling like she had sent me a piece of home again. 


8. It was the first time I was travelling by myself. No sister this time. Coimbatore to Kochi via bus. It was cultural day at college, so I boarded pretty late, so it was dark by the time the bus got to Kochi. The movie Nammal was playing on the bus. I got so lost in the movie that I forgot to get down at my stop. Instead, I got down at some other stop, called my sister and mom, who started freaking out, trying to explain to them where I was in this strange city I knew nothing about (this was way before location-sharing and Google Maps or even WhatsApp). 

I was too stupid to realize why they were freaking out so much. I was standing right outside a bar. A few strange men walked past me, eyeing me from top to bottom. That's when it actually hit me. Few minutes later, the men came back and asked, “Endha ivide nikkunne?” I looked away,  pretending I didn't hear them while my teeth almost clattered in fear. 

But somehow, magically at that moment, I looked past them and saw my sister stepping out of a car, waving at me. She had asked her best friend Sadaq to help track me down. The mad sense of relief I felt. I ran to the car, got into the backseat and burst out crying. Her friend kept saying, “Paavam, vazhak onnum parayanda, allengile pedich varand irikkya.” I think my sister cried too. I have no idea how he managed to find me but I also don't know what or where I would have been if he hadn't been there that night.


9. I lost my camcorder on a bus. And as always, my first instinct was to cry a whole bunch. Then a group of people from my college... people I don't even know that well,  got together to help me track it down and file a complaint. I still honestly am not sure who those people were, which department or anything, but the fact that they took time to help out a snivelling, teary-eyed fresher was really heartfelt.


10. Was randomly craving masala dosa. So I posted a silly story saying I was manifesting dosa or something. Cut to an hour later, a nice, hot, piping masala dosa gets delivered to my house. My sweet, sweet cousin saw my story and decided to send me one. I was so surprised and grateful. The kids and I dug into it and polished it off in minutes. 

We were happy enough, but then a little later, the doorbell rang again. Someone has sent us a whole freaking ice cream cake! A full cake. On just a random regular day. Apparently, my cousins along with my dearest friend, decided the dosa was not enough and pitched in to send us a cake. I was smiling all day long. Getting gifts on your birthday and all is fine, but getting sent food veruthey on a random day is just a different kind of love language.


11. We'd moved out of the college hostel and the food was a drag. My friend Roopa went all mother-mode on me and took it upon herself to get some good, healthy food into me. So every morning I'd wake up to pretty much breakfast-in-bed. She made oats and different types of eggs, cut fresh fruits and God knows what all. 

Sometimes I wonder what I did to ever deserve this kind of queen treatment from her, but that's just who she is. She takes care of people. And she's definitely one of the main reasons I survived college without getting killed or arrested.


12. My dad and I had a big fight. I don't even remember why. It was a big one and I think he hit me. I went to bed crying. The next day, I woke up to my room covered with Post-its (yeah, Post-its were a huge part of our communication back then) with “I'm Sorry” written on them. I think he used up an entire book. And there was also an “I'm sorry” greeting card as well. I still have all those Post-its and the card.

Oh, and another time, I got mad at him and he put on my mom's nightie to make me laugh.


13. It was during the last year of college. My boyfriend at the time and I had a big fight (apparently, all my stories start with fights). We were out on his bike after a big shouting match, both grumpy. 

All of a sudden, he pulled to the side of the road. For a minute, I thought he was going to leave me there and go. But he got off the bike and took out my eye drops. I had been suffering from a horrendous eye infection and had to put the drops at regular intervals. He wordlessly put two drops in each of my eyes, got back on the bike and started driving again. That memory still makes me smile. 


14. My niece J was watching me make D laugh. I don't know what I was doing, but she was laughing pretty hard, you know, those uncontrolled laughs from the belly. J kept watching us, smiling to herself and then said to me "You're a good mom, Mema. You make her happy." 

I almost burst into tears.  J was probably all of 9 or 10 at the time. But somehow that validation from this child was just what I needed at the time after so many, many many moments of doubting myself. Of wondering if I was doing anything right at all.  

Also, when a child says it, it's literally feedback from the target peer group, right? I felt so proud that day. 


I'm sure there are many many more that I'll think later. Maybe I'll come back here and keep adding onto this.

So over the past two years, I’ve asked a bunch of people about the kindest thing anyone has ever done for them.

I love these answers. Sometimes I go back and reread them, just to remind myself that there is still so much kindness left in this world. I know these may not be grand, cinematic gestures. Most of them are small, almost ordinary moments. But sometimes the littlest things you do or say can stay with someone for years and become a core memory. They can even end up on my weird little blog.

So seriously, go be kind. It matters more than you think.


The Kind Chronicles

I got caught cheating on the 10th grade math first-term exam by the invigilator. I had written formulas in faint pencil on the back side of my writing pad. Normally, it’s either one of the below — straight to the principal. Or the benevolent ones take the paper and say leave, which basically shows up as zero or absent. This guy took my paper, threw it in the trash can, gave me a new set of papers and said, “NOW write.” This itself is a big deal because you avoid going to the principal who informs parents. This is a core memory. 


Oh, I remember one. So when I was in college, I used to practice for a marathon. I would run in and around campus. One day, a girl in a wheelchair stopped me and said, “You’re an inspiration for me to do sports.” I was stunned. I couldn’t take it. 


It’s my brother.
After a very tough breakup, I was very upset and nearing depression. My brother was super worried. He wasn’t financially stable at that time. He was struggling.

But seeing me suffer, he used to call me almost daily and talk about random stuff. I knew he didn’t have much to discuss with me, but he still called every day. And I was a shopaholic by nature. So he gave me some money at the end of the month saying, “Here you go, this is your breakup ninn purath varaan ulla fund. Go shop all you want and try to come out of this phase.”

Then there was this YJHD-kind-of Manali trip from college. Again, I was hesitant because of my family’s financial state as it was quite costly. But my brother was an angel there too. He helped me get money for the trip and convinced my parents as well.

He made my breakup phase one of the most memorable phases of my life. 


So many. The woman who manned the toilets at Mysore bus stand letting me pee for free. 

People who just took care of me during my major crisis. 

Kids in the park who made me play football with them when I was very low. 

You, who made my Omana Penne video and made me feel pretty and aww. 

Dad who went back to town and bought ice cream because I randomly asked, “Where’s mine?”

My mom, who has a bad knee, asking some random fuel station if they have juice because I was hangry after a flight. 


This happened when I was in class 2. In a test paper, I put the wrong question numbers on the answer sheet and got really low marks. I was this padippist kid who scored good marks in all tests, so I felt really sad that day. When Achan came back from work, I took the paper to him to get it signed. I was this close to crying. I thought he might feel bad about my marks. But he just looked at me with the same smile and gave me the same warm hug like every other time. He hugged and kissed me and told me that it was okay. I think that is the nicest thing anybody has ever said or done for me.


Okay, ithu parayam… So I am Christian and we have this Vacation Bible School thing. It’s basically a jolly camp-like session for a few days. Right after my 12th, I got a chance to take classes for a group of kids in the juniors division — basically kids aged 9–11.

On the final day, a few of them came up to me and gave me cards they made. It had things like, “You were the best teacher we could ask for,” “Happy to have got an achacha like you,” angane angane…

That was too nice for me. I mean, them making time and saying things like that meant a lot. 


  • You listening patiently to all my twisted stories and helping me figure them out, even if they were silly.
  • I went with my friend to eat one day, so before I could say something, he already told the waiter what I wanted. He was like, “I know that’s your favourite.”
  • I ordered a bag from Amazon and there was supposed to be a golden charm on it, but there wasn’t. I kept telling my friend about it. After a few months, I forgot about it, and then he was like, “I got something for you.” It was a golden charm with 9 ¾ on it (HP reference).
  • My sister knowing that I was crying, chumma ketpidichu without saying anything.
  • When I’m in so much pain, Mummy says “sheriyavum” and gives a peck on my forehead.
  • Kure munne I told Papa I like Thar. Even I forgot about it. But every time he sees a Thar, he makes sure I see it. “Nok nok, ninte Thar povunnu.”

Once a girl saved me from a road accident. My grandfather had passed away and I had gone to my hometown. I reached back in Bangalore early morning. I was sad and sleep-deprived and was crossing a road. It was a six-lane road and I couldn’t estimate the timing properly, but I went ahead.

I saw a truck speeding towards me, but I was frozen. This girl came forward and pulled me back. After that I was shivering and couldn’t even walk properly. Without saying anything, she took my hand and made me cross the road with her. As soon as we crossed, she let go of my hand and walked away. We never spoke. I never even said thank you. But if I’m alive today, it is because of her. Maybe my grandfather had sent her.


Valiya karyam onnum ormma varunnilla. But njangade oru teacher undayirunnu, 6–7th time il. Avarde classil njangal lesham alambu aayirunnu. Class cut cheythu school anniversary programs, culturals ennokke paranju irangi pokum, pinnem vere enthokkeyo. Avarkk athra ishtam aayirunnilla njangale.

But njangade aa schoolile last year (7th) send-off time il njangal oru skit cheythu. Ellarum vannu congratulate cheythu, but avar paranjath enikk ippozhum ormma und — “Ningal veluthayittu cinemayil okke kayarum, nalla program aayirunnu, kure chirichu.”

I didn’t expect that from her. Veruthe paranjathalla enn ariyam. Pullikari athinu munne nallathonnum karyamayittu paranjittilla. So athu njan orikkalum marannittilla. 


When I lived in Delhi, I didn’t have money to order food. With the little money left, I ordered just fried rice. There was a kind delivery guy. He also gave me another parcel of chilli chicken along with it, saying, “Ye tum rakh lo.” 


Enikk food poisoning adichu, two days food kazhikkathe nadakkukayirunnu. Meanwhile room shifting and roomie problems were also going on. Appo I went to my new landlord aunty. Njan onnum paranjilla, but she understood. She made garam garam roti and fed me, gave money from the deposit I had given her, and asked me to go to the hospital. That’s when I got to know I was actually sick. Though she became cray-cray later on, she and her whole family treated me like their child. Took me to family functions, called me out of all the PG girls to celebrate Diwali at their home, even started food service because I was getting food poisoning a lot.


Last month I was travelling in an auto. The auto stopped at a red light. Kore book ayittu oru chettan vannu. Njan nokkilla, but he saw me and was like yes, target locked, and smiled at me. Book avasanam njan medichu, pesi pesi, but appozhekkum signal green ayi. He didn’t wait for me to pay. He just kept the book in the auto as it moved past him. It moved me a lot. 


When I was going through tough times, one of my online friends who’s far away in Australia just dropped everything to video call me. I didn’t even realise I needed to speak about it to anyone, but she understood what I was going through. I needed that. It took a lot of weight off my head. 


My friends took me out at night to help me learn driving.
I mean, there are a lot of things friends do.

Thinking about it now, I don’t think I’ve appreciated them enough for that. 



  • These two people gave me one of the best birthdays ever. Every time I thought the surprise was over, things kept coming up again and again. I felt so fricking loved.
  • Enikk pand escalator use cheyyan pedi aayirunnu. So I went out with my cousins to a mall. Ann njan 6th-il aayirunnu. I got lost and they went to the upper floor, and the only way to go there was to use the escalator. I stood in front of it, lost and scared because the place was crowded. One random chettan (very cute) came and held my hand and helped me use the escalator, and I was reunited with my family.

So one day, when I was feeling burnt out and couldn’t get out of my bed, a friend of mine came and sat with me. She just came and existed with me. Then she ordered mandhi (which is one of my favourite foods) and made me eat. To have someone care about you like that makes you feel a lot better. 


When I was in 9th, a new principal joined. a tough character. I was the assistant head boy, so she used to call me from time to time to enquire about stuff. Since I was a padippi, most of the teachers had a good impression of me.

One time, there was some issue and I argued with her. She said, “Look boy, you are not a wunderkind. You’re not a special boy. You’re just an above-average kid. Always remember that. The celebrity status that you enjoy in the school right now is a result of your hard work. Never think that it’s some kind of gift because you won’t always have it. The moment you waver from your work, this image will fade. So don’t get too used to this image.”

When I heard this, I felt furious. I was someone who enjoyed the spotlight. But her words echoed within me. I think it made me a better person. I think about it even now. It helps ground me. Even if she said it in a hurtful way, I like that she said it. 


I was in school back then. After fourth grade, I used to walk to school since it was only about 1 km from my home. I don’t exactly remember which class I was in at that time. One day, after school, while I was walking back home, there was some road work going on. My village starts with a sloping road going down, with a big pond on one side (it wasn’t properly covered back then) and fields on the other side. There was a lot of noise from machines and people working with tar and grease. I was confused and a bit scared.

 Then, a kind person held my hand. I think she was in higher secondary or maybe college because she was wearing a uniform. She helped me cross the road safely and guided me towards my village. 

I don’t know if this is a “kind” story or not. To me, it feels a bit embarrassing… and also something I wish I had done differently. I should have at least asked her name and said thank you. After we crossed, she let go of my hand. I didn’t even look back. I just walked away. Even today, in my random thoughts, I still wish I had thanked her.


A friend of mine offered to apply for a loan when we were not able to 😄

Which is a dumb thing, but I was surprised when she said this. 


A couple of my friends wanted to watch 1983. I was so excited. It was the first time I was going to the movies with friends. We watched the film. I came back happy. And then they ghosted me. After that day, whenever I tried to meet them, they avoided me. I never really understood what changed. Ever since then, I started going to the movies alone. It felt easier than risking that kind of rejection again.

Later, I told my girlfriend at the time (now my ex) about what had happened. The first thing she said was, “What they did was bad.” I don’t know why, but something shifted when she said that. That day, I felt lighter.

After that, when friends called me to watch a movie, I started saying yes again. Slowly, I felt a bit more confident going with people instead of defaulting to going alone. I’m still grateful to her for that one sentence.


It was from a stranger. And this was in 2021 when I was at a cafe with my son who was just a toddler then. So he chose that exact moment to have a major meltdown. I was having a tough time comforting him, and then this person comes along, does some random antics, and somehow manages to cheer him up. He then tells me that I’m doing great as a mom, and honestly, I needed to hear that at that moment because I’d always thought I was messing up. I don’t know if this is really the kindest thing anyone’s done for me, but this is what’s striking me right now. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, especially because those are words I don’t often hear from people close to me.


This was during my engineering days. Money was tight back then. I barely had enough for my bus fare home most days. That was when Drishyam had just released. All my friends suddenly decided we should go watch it. We were standing at the bus stop when the plan was made, and before I knew it, they were all ready to board the next bus to the theatre.

I really wanted to go. But I only had enough money for my ride back home. So I told them no, I’m not coming. They got on the bus. I stood there and watched them leave, feeling this heavy mix of sadness and embarrassment. I tried to act like it was fine.

Just as the bus was about to leave, one of my friends suddenly jumped off, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward the door. “Eda, set aakum. Ticket ella nyan edka,” he said.

And just like that, I was on the bus with them. And we watched Drishyam together. I was really really touched by that.  I’ve had many friend circles over the years, but someone insisting that I be there, that my presence mattered enough to jump off a bus for, that was a first. I'll never forget that.


My grandfather had Alzheimer’s. I can’t remember how old I was then. He only really remembered my grandmother and didn’t recognize anyone else much. One afternoon, I was asleep — or at least pretending to be. I had woken up five or ten minutes earlier but was still lying down. The bedroom door is always left wide open in our house. My grandfather came in, saw me “sleeping,” took a blanket, gently put it over me, and left. It was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen someone do, especially when he must have thought I didn’t notice. I’m not even sure he knew who I was.


When my dad lost his job, one of my best friends told me that they were there for us if we needed anything. It’s something I already knew, but the way she said it made me emotional — it really hit me straight in the feels. 


There have been quite a lot of really nice, kind people in my life, but this is something I’ll never forget. 

At the end of 2021, I went to Russia with a guy I had been dating for two years and a few of his friends. Maybe he had already begun falling out of love with me by then, but the entire trip was a disaster. It felt like they had all teamed up against me. I felt extremely lonely in a strange city. Heartbroken. The kind where it physically hurts.

One evening, I was walking along the streets of Moscow. It was freezing, and I was crying uncontrollably. At one point I just couldn’t take it anymore. I sat down on the steps outside some building and cried my heart out. People passed by. Some glanced, most didn’t. I couldn’t stop.

Then this one woman — probably in her 40s — stopped. She had so much concern on her face. She asked if I was okay, if she could help. I said I was fine, but she stayed. She offered me some water. It was such a small thing, but in that moment I needed it. I needed someone to look at me like I wasn’t invisible. Like I wasn’t completely alone.

I didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask her name. I just thanked her and told her I’d be okay. She went on her way. But after that, I felt just a little steadier. I had enough strength to get through the rest of the evening on my own.

I’ll always remember her face. Whoever she is, wherever she is — I carry a lot of gratitude for her.


I had a friend who would take me to Lulu, watch movies with me, buy me food from Paragon. On some days I might've had some money to spare and sometimes I didn't, but he always paid. We hadn't even spent that much time together prior to that. I met him in engineering college, and after a year, I dropped out. Yet, he kept in touch.  Kept calling and taking me out. Kept hanging out even though he didn't really have to.


My birthday was coming up and my mother wasn't sure what to get me. She asked her friends and colleagues what a boy my age would generally like. Finally, knowing how much I loved the composer, she managed to get me a mixed tape full of AR Rahman songs. She could have gotten me anything and  I would have been happy but the fact that she went through all the trouble to get me something I would love was just so sweet.


Monday, March 23, 2026

Smiling at Strangers



The other day, D and I went to buy pots from the pot lady near our house. She gave us a discount because she knows my mother well. After we walked away, D remarked, “See, Amma… this is why you need to smile and talk to people like Ammama does. You don’t smile at anyone, and you don’t make any friends in our building either.”

It’s not like I don’t smile at people. I do. I just… have a system. My 3-second rule. When you see someone approaching, pretend you don’t see them and avoid eye contact until you’re about 3-4 feet away. Then meet their eye, hold it, smile for exactly three seconds… and then look away, at the floor, a tree, anything. Done. If D is with me, I’ll say something random to her so it looks like we were in the middle of a conversation and I just paused to acknowledge for those three seconds.

It’s always worked for me. Sure, it’s never gotten me any discounts, but it feels like a safe middle ground...friendly but not enough for them to want to linger. 

I see people who stop and talk to everyone they meet. Not just quick pleasantries, but full-on conversations... asking about life, family, everything. More than once, I’ve avoided taking the lift just to escape those few seconds of forced interaction. Sometimes I even catch myself holding my breath until the other person gets off.

I used to be that smiley kid. The one who smiled for no reason, who used smiles as answers when she didn’t know what to say. I smiled at everyone. Easily. Without thinking.

Until this one day...I think I was in 7th or 8th grade. My sister and I would come back home in the afternoon on the school bus. The bus stop was a short walk away from our apartment building.  My sister always walked slower, talking and laughing with her friends. Loner me would make a beeline home, just waiting to tear off my uniform and feel the sweet relief of the AC.

One day, as usual, I got into the lift alone to go up to our apartment on the 7th floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a man stuck his hand in and stepped inside.

He smiled at me. I smiled back.

He looked like a maintenance worker... a middle-aged man, short, dark, wearing an old, faded shirt. The sleeves were unfolded, cuffs unbuttoned and it felt too long for his arms. He had thick, fat fingers. I don’t remember his face clearly now. He started making conversation. He spoke in broken English. Asked me what school I went to, which grade. Made a joke. Laughed to himself. I giggled politely.

Then he moved closer.

He took my hand. I thought he was shaking my hand… but then he began pulling me closer. One of his arms snaked around me, while the other inched lower down my body. 

My eyes shot open and I kept opening and closing my mouth, but no sound would come out.

His hand pressed against me, over my clothes, where it shouldn’t have been. It was sudden, rough, and it hurt. I yelped in pain. I tried to push his hand away, meekly crying, “No, no, please no, don’t.” 

But he kept smiling, making that soft, coaxing sound, like an adult trying to get a child to eat. “It’s okay, shh, it’s okay,” he said, his fingers burrowing into my flesh like he was trying to tear it away.

I kept crying, still unable to scream or shout, just quietly pleading with him to stop.

The lift came to a stop. He pulled away and stood at the doorway, arms on either side, peering outside. He looked left, then right. Seeing him do that, I panicked. I was sure he was checking if the coast was clear so he could drag me out of the lift and…

But instead, he slipped out and disappeared.

Yet, I wasn't able to let myself believe that it was over. I hit the close button again and again, like my life depended on it. The doors finally shut and the lift started moving. When it reached my floor, my body still carrying the aftermath. With unsteady legs, I wobbling my way to the apartment, opened the front door and cried hysterically.

I don’t remember who found me first.. my father or my mother. Between sobs, I began telling them what had occurred. And I'm not sure why, when it came to telling them what exactly he did to me, where he touched me...I couldn't tell them. 

He touched me, I said. Where, they asked.. On my shoulder and arms, I lied. I couldn't bring myself to tell the truth. I felt... ashamed. Like, somehow it was my fault. Like they would blame me for not being able to stop him, for not screaming, for not fighting. Like they would be as disgusted with me as I felt about myself.

My dad was silent throughout. I couldn't look at his face. He suddenly asked me which floor the man got off on and then immediately went out looking for him. He never found him. I think my mother cried. I don't know. I don't remember how my sister reacted. I don't know if I've blocked out those memories or if nothing registered at that moment. 

After that, things were a little different.

I stopped rushing ahead and started walking home with my sister, eyes trained to the ground. On the days that I was alone, I took the stairs... seven flights of them. I'd reach home panting. Advice came from everywhere. Few close relatives.. everyone telling me what I should have done. How I should deal with it if it happens again. I listened to everything wordlessly. 

I stopped going out to play with the other kids in the building.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped smiling at people. Stopped meeting their eyes. Stopped trusting so easily.

When I finally worked up the courage to use the lift again after a while, I wouldn’t look at anyone. I constantly looked angry or sullen. If anyone asked me something, I'd tense up immediately and pretend I didn't hear. I felt like I was holding my breath every time anyone else entered the lift, while clutching my bag pressed tightly in front of me like an armour.

I’ve never told D this story. I’ve told her so many things about my childhood, but not this. I don’t want to yet. I don’t want her to lose that easy trust in the world before she has to. I worry for her instead.

When we’re in the lift and someone else walks in, I instinctively move her slightly behind me. I keep my eyes on her. 

People at work ask me why I have to clock out every day for 15 minutes to go and pick her up from the bus stop when she’s almost 12. I ask myself the same thing. And some days feel like I should just let her walk home by herself. But I just… can’t. Not yet.

Sometimes she insists on taking the lift alone, to go downstairs to pick up a parcel or something. I refused at first but now I let her. But I stand there outside the lift, watching the numbers, my eyes fixed on the panel, as if that can somehow protect her. If it stops on any floor for even a second too long, I feel my chest tighten.

I know she’s smarter than I was. More cautious. We’ve talked about what to do in situations like this. Many times. I know she knows. But I also know no matter how prepared you are, fear can freeze you.

Sometimes I think about what I would do, how I would react if she came home crying like I did that day. How will I stay standing and give her the support she needs? How will I forgive myself for not protecting her? How will I make things okay again? I know it's dumb, it's one of the things I do. Imagine the worst-case scenarios and get all worked up and anxious about it. 

I never meant for this to become this kind of post. I started out wanting to write something funny about how awkward I am around people in my building. But somehow, it led me back here.

And I guess that’s the thing. I guess these moments don’t really leave you. They just settle into some corner of who you become. The way you move through the world, the things you avoid, the instincts you don’t question, the eyes you don't meet. 

I think of that man sometimes. Whether he remembers it, or if he's done it so many times that this was just another Tuesday to him. Would it have weighed on his conscience at any point in his life? Maybe when he had a child? A granddaughter? Would it have changed anything about his life, his world? 

And I do wonder, sometimes, if I would have been a little different today if that day had gone differently. If I had waited for my sister. If I hadn’t taken that lift. Would I have been more trusting of people? Would I have been a different kind of mother?

But then again, that was not a singular incident. It repeated, of course, in different ways during different phases of life. Life has a way of slowly chipping away at innocence anyway.

The other day, I noticed that D doesn’t smile at strangers either. When someone asks her something, she replies unsmilingly, eager to end the conversation. I know people judge her, think of her as unfriendly or jaada. Once, I almost asked her, "Why can't you just smile when people ask you something? It's the least you can do", but then stopped myself. 

Maybe it’s okay. Maybe not everyone deserves her smile. 

Thursday, February 26, 2026

Hitting that Dreaded Milestone



I was going through some of my old blog posts the other day. Came across one where I was fretting over becoming old... at twenty-four. Ugh. Twenty-four?? I thought 24 was old? Wtf was wrong with me? 

I didn't do a big post when I turned 30, as I was busy pushing a human out of my body and then letting it rule over my life. I did, however, watch 13 Going on 30 and put up a pic of Joey going "Why, God, why?" on his 30th birthday, to commemorate the occasion. 

So when I hit the next big milestone, a few months ago, I figured I should write something about it. I started to write but then hesitated. My age.. that's something I guarded with my life. My real age is something only my tier 1 friends are privy to. Tier 2 friends get to know my fake age. The rest of them can just keep guessing. 

So I'm still kinda panicking at the thought of putting it out there.. for the whole world to see (or for the 30-odd folks who read my blog to see). I can't quite make myself say it out loud to other people. I do say it to myself a lot. And to Google. When I Google the 6000 new symptoms I seem to have developed all of a sudden.

"Do you feel different?" A tier-1 friend asked me. Of course I do. It isn't like when you turn 30 and all the feels that you feel is pretty much an existential crisis or just your mind playing tricks on you. This time, it was not at all subtle. I swear, I woke up on my birthday morning feeling like someone put all of my bones through an idiyappam-making machine while I was asleep. 

And the very same month, all of a sudden, I realized I've started to lose my vision too. I've been short-sighted for a really long time now, and all of a sudden, my eyes decided to mess with my long-sightedness as well. I now have to take off my glasses to read stuff, just like both my sisters. And every time I put my glasses back on, I involuntarily make that old lady face. You know the one - mouth open, eyes squinty. I know I'm doing it, and I know how I look doing it. But I can't help it!

After years of stuffing my face with cream biscuits and greasy fries, I'm suddenly worrying about my BP and cholesterol and sugar.. ok maybe I’m overdoing it. Maybe after years of fighting my age, trying to look and act younger, this is me just slamming the accelerator and going all in and embracing old age. 

I did have a mini mid-life crisis, though and went and coloured my hair brown and cut bangs for my birthday, something I’d been wanting to do since forever. I imagined myself with bangs and coloured hair at 50 and figured might as well do it now. I also jumped on the bed, I rode a cycle, splashed around a pool, danced wildly all night (or for as long as I could stay up) and ate an unholy amount of cake and ice cream.. Okay, that might explain the pulpified bones feeling that I woke up with. 

A month later, I kneeled to take a photo of D and realized I couldn’t seem to get up because I now have old-lady knees! The kind that makes sounds! How… how does your body just know that your happy birthday is over? It’s like it had all these tiny men with hammers and drills just standing around, waiting for the clock to strike 12. And the second it does, they’re like, “Alright boys, let’s get to work,” and start smashing up some bone, removing a few screws, loosening the clips holding everything together…

I dunno, maybe it’s in my head. I saw this one reel the other day where a guy gets to meet his child self, and he’s worried the child self won’t like his current self. But then the child self asks him lots of questions like — do you drive, do you have a job, do you live in your own house, do you own a TV — and the adult answers "yes" to everything, he ends up feeling better knowing he’s made his child self proud with all his achievements. 

I imagined my child self asking me all those same questions. And my answer to atleast 4 out of 5 questions was "No" and I ended up making myself feel even worse. My child self might be a little bit sympathetic, but my teenage self will be disgusted. I’m hoping she’ll at least like my coloured hair.

I tried to make a list of stuff I did accomplish in all these years to sort of validate myself. I don’t wanna put that here — that is for me. And yes, that did make me feel better.. and yes, there are sooo many more things left to add on to that list.. but hey, I cut bangs as a middle-aged woman.. so there is hope.

But one day, my perspective on this whole thing changed suddenly. I was looking through old photo albums and came across pictures of my parents when they were around my age.. and the only thing I could think was "Holy shit, they look so young!" So healthy. So less.. tired. Thinking back, they were pretty much in the prime of their lives back then.  They used to do everything so...fast. My mom used to run and play with us sometimes; she even broke her leg jumping rope. My dad used to walk to his clinic every day. He broke his arm ice-skating! They were both breaking stuff, doing mad young-people stuff. And all of their hair was all black.. they looked amazing and were so full of life. 

And that just sort of flips your perspective. Yes, it makes you worry about how much your parents have aged now. But it also makes you realize that this… where I am right now… was literally just the beginning for them. I was three years old when my dad was my current age. My dad, with his thick black hair, wayyy before the pot belly appeared, who could lift me way over his head, who was full of that roaring energy, that larger-than-life personality.

When D looks back and thinks of me at this age, I hope she remembers how young and fast and healthy I was too… this is the version of me she’s probably going to imprint on her brain... of her mom during her growing years. And I can’t let that memory be countless clips of me complaining about my back or gasping for breath after one dance.

So ya, I’ve been trying.. to turn healthier. Sometimes I feel like how much can you mould clay that has been left out for so long. But then I figured I haven’t completely dried out in the sun.. I think I still have some give.. so let’s see.

On another note, I read that this is the age that women suddenly just let go of things and stop caring about what people think.. and hoo boy, that is something I’m sooo waiting for. 

I don’t think that has fully kicked in yet, though. On some days, I do feel like I’ve started to let go of things I had been stubbornly holding close for so damn long. Some days I do let go, stop caring, only to freak out hours later wondering "why did I say that or do that." Maybe I'm in the transitioning stage. Maybe by the end of the year I’ll be fully and completely carefree... ha, and I thought I didn’t have anything more to look forward to.

Also just realized that this year, my blog turned 20.. damn. That’s a fully grown adult blog. People who read this might not even have been born on that fateful day in 2006 when I sat down at my big chunky computer during my semester hols to write that first completely nonsensical blog post. Side note: the other day I went back to some of my old posts and increased the font size cos I swear I can’t see shit anymore!

I don’t expect anyone to have followed my writing for 20 years or anything, but to anyone who’s stuck around for as long as you have — thank you. I’m writing more for myself than for anyone else these days, but it’s still nice to know y’all are around. All 30 of you. Bots and everything. 

I'll see you at the next milestone in another 10 years. 


Friday, January 30, 2026

Kiwi


So the other day I was cleaning my cupboard and came across this lil’ fella. Meet Kiwi. Yes, I’m aware he’s a parrot and not a kiwi, but I dunno why... the minute I saw him, the first word that popped into my head was Kiwi. So Kiwi it was.

I remember the exact day and date I got him. April 16th, 1993. The day we landed in Sharjah for the first time ever. My dad had come to pick us up at the airport in his new car, a shiny, golden-ish Ford Tempo. In the midst of wrapping my head around the fact that I was with my dad again in this strange new country, and witnessing a car with not just air-conditioning but windows that went up and down at the click of a button, I spotted this fluffy, bright red object on the dashboard.

On closer inspection, it was a small stuffed toy. My eyes lit up. My dad had got me a toy. My heart rang with joy. Aw, my dad is the best. Still, I hesitated.

“Idh enik aano?” I asked shyly, pointing at the coveted toy that was getting progressively hotter under the harsh Middle Eastern sun.

My dad, caught up in conversation and the excitement of finally having his entire big family with him in this lonely country, barely heard me at first. When he did, he sounded surprised like he’d forgotten the thing even existed. Truth was, he hadn’t actually bought it for me. It was a freebie he’d received from Kodak or Konica while getting some photos developed, he explained.

I barely registered any of that. Is it mine or not? That’s all I wanted to know, worried my sisters might claim it.

“Edutho, edutho,” he said, laughing.

I don’t know if it was the newness of everything, or all the fancy unfamiliar things around me, or the country itself, but I suddenly felt the need to be extra careful. Extra clean. I remember pulling out a tissue from the tissue box in the car (another marvel) and carefully wrapping Kiwi in it. 

I sat back into the back seat, solemnly buckling my seatbelt again (yet another contraption that blew my mind) and examined him quietly while everyone else’s chatter filled the car. It was such a happy, important day for us... the day we became a family again, the day our new life began... and yet, as a child, this was the memory that stayed etched most vividly in my mind.

Having left all my toys behind in India, Kiwi became my sole companion for a while. I know my dad wanted to buy me more toys, but looking back now, he went from living alone to suddenly supporting a family of five, paying off a new car, affording a 2BHK apartment, and school fees for three kids.. it must have been a lot! I have no idea how he managed it.

So I made do with Kiwi. My constant companion. I took him everywhere. He was small enough to fit neatly into my pocket. On that first day, I have a faint memory of taking him around the apartment, showing him every room, because well, it was his first time there too.

Over the years, my toy collection grew slowly, but Kiwi remained special. I remember deciding to celebrate his birthday one year. I gathered all my toys under a blanket fort I’d built, made a cake out of bun drizzled with condensed milk. I'd even invited my parents. I don’t remember if they came... parents in the ’90s weren’t as indulgent as parents today and probably had a shit lot of better things to do than attend a birthday party for a stuffed toy.

I talked to him. A lot. About school. About my sisters. About things that scared me. Hugged him tight against my chest when I got shouted at or when my parents argued loudly. He had the most empathetic blue eyes.. it always looked like he was listening quietly... to my small vishamangal, my anger, my joy.

If you look closely, you’ll notice a small cut on his foot. That was the result of one of those days when I gave in to an intrusive thought. I was like what would happen if I cut off his feet. I think I felt bad halfway through the deed and decided not to go through with it. So I cut all the hair off my Cupcake doll instead.

As I grew older, I didn’t play with him as much. But during some of those confusing, awkward years, he did occasionally feature in some questionable role-play scenarios. Which included make-out sessions with my Barbies, which was tough, what with him having a beak and all. But I didn’t have any male dolls, so my Barbies had to make do with animals. Okay Ew. I hear how that sounds.

I remember this one time our neighbours came over. They had two small kids, one of whom took a particular liking to Kiwi. When they were about to leave, the kid flat-out refused to let him go.

And my parents did the most ’90s-parent thing imaginable. “Oh, it’s okay. Let him keep it. It’s just a toy.”

I remember glaring at them, raging on the inside, but unable to say a word. I watched as the kid gleefully squeezed Kiwi and ran back into his apartment. Aaarg... I hated everyone. I complained to my sister, who rolled her eyes. I just couldn’t let it go.

That same evening, I think when my parents were taking their afternoon nap, I marched up to their apartment and rang the bell. The kid's mother opened the door. I bluntly asked if I could have my toy back, the indignation in my voice barely concealed.

 As someone who has a lot of trouble speaking up and voicing my opinions, I genuinely have no idea how I managed that. I don’t think I’ve been that straightforward since.. I just said it with all the determination I could muster.. without a second thought..without rehearsing it a hundred times in my head.

The aunty smiled knowingly, retrieved Kiwi from the kid...who had clearly already lost interest, and handed him back to me. I think she even apologised. I muttered a thank you and ran away smiling. 

Later, I noticed an ink stain around the white patch near his eyes. I took him to the bathroom and scrubbed at it furiously, mentally cursing that kid.

After that, though he wasn’t a prominent part of my daily life, Kiwi was never given away.. even when most of my old toys were handed down to my cousins. I didn’t take him to college or anything, but when we packed up our life in Sharjah and moved back to India for good, he was carefully tucked into one of my suitcases of memories (or aakri as my dad called it)

He mostly stayed in suitcases until I had D. One day, I decided it was time to pass my childhood companion on to her. I handed him over solemnly. She immediately began gnawing on his head and yanking his tail so hard that I physically flinched. So, I gently pried him out of her chubby toddler hands and was like heyyy… maybe let’s just get you your own toys to chew on, okay?

D’s had her share of Kiwis. She had a purple Barney that said “I love you,” gifted to her by my dad. She'd dragged everywhere, even to the supermarket. She's over it now, so I've stashed him in her own aakri suitcase.

As for Kiwi, I forgot about him again until I found him in an old box recently. I didn’t think much of it when I placed him on my work desk, simply to add a pop of colour. But a few nights ago,  I was lonelier than ever, like my heart was splitting open again. After a round of ugly crying, I sat up on the bed and absent-mindedly picked him up off the table.  And held him close.

He felt a lot smaller in my hands now. Pressed against my chest, just like I used to. His little body fit neatly beneath my palms. His fur was rougher now, worn down by time, but for a brief moment I felt like that little girl again... clinging to this tiny inanimate thing that somehow made the world feel survivable.

The fur around his eyes has thinned, making him look like he’s aged too. But his blue button eyes still looked at me earnestly. Still listening. 

Maybe it’s stupid..a fully grown woman hanging onto a stuffed toy like an emotional anchor. Maybe it isn’t him, really. Maybe it’s the time he transports me back to... when everything felt so much less… heavier?

So for now, Kiwi sits on my desk among my knick-knacks.. Like reassurance.. like a small piece of childhood I still get to hold on to.