Looking back, moving forward

This post is part of
Blogchatter Bloghop

Ageing to me is like seeing through the rear-view mirror while making course corrections in our journey. 

The more one travels (meaning, the more we age), the greater the distance covered — and that distance is filled with experiences of every kind: good, bad, and everything in between. And we learn from all our experiences. 

It's like a teacher — but only if we’re willing to pause, introspect, and learn, as we move forward.

CROSSROADS AND CHOICES

Over the years, I’ve stood at many crossroads, moments where I had to pause, think, and choose one path among many. My life might have been very different had I taken another route. But that is true for everyone, is it not? Each decision shapes the journey, and ageing is simply the accumulation of those choices.

THE NOSTALGIA TRAP

With age, one tends to become cynical about the present and glorify the past. Don't we hear some people say, “During my days, things were much better. Everything has deteriorated now.” They dismiss youngsters and criticise everything that is new.

I consciously avoid falling into this trap. I may not agree with everything happening today. But it's not for me to give unsolicited advices and dictate what should be and should not be done. I must now let the young and smarter folks lead the way. I definitely don't want to look like a square peg in a round hole. But at the same time, if someone wants my suggestions or active involvement in something, I am always there.

LETTING GO OF FOMO

FOMO (fear of missing out) wasn’t an abbreviation back then, but it certainly existed. I always wanted to be in the know. In the media career I chose, it mattered to know something of mostly everything. If I didn’t, I felt upset.

Now, I’m happy to let go. I don’t mind if I don’t know something. 

Still, old habits die hard. Chasing news was a childhood instinct, it became my profession, and it continues even now — though not with the same passion.

LEARNING TO SLOW DOWN

More than 20 years ago, on
the Marina Beach in Chennai.

People say with age, one mellows down. But I was always calm and relaxed. With age probably I am slowing down. It doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’m consciously trying. My job once demanded speed, urgency, with deadlines staring at me all the time. Now, there are fewer deadlines, and plenty of time to meet them. Slowing down feels less like a loss and more like a gift.

A COMPANION

Ageing, I don't think is about years piling up. It’s about, as I mentioned earlier, learning from the rear-view mirror while keeping my eyes on the road ahead. It is more like a companion that nudges me to adapt, to understand, and to keep moving forward, probably with a little more patience.

Quiet generosity in a moment of grief

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the tenth and last one. The prompt: What’s a small act of kindness you’ll never forget?) 

It was 29 November 2016. My father passed away around 4 am.

Since he passed away at home, we called an ambulance and took him to a nearby hospital, where it was confirmed with an ECG.

A large number of his former students based in Bengaluru, several friends and neighbours from our apartment complex, and a few relatives in the city came home to pay their respects.

The cremation was around 1 pm.

Even though those were pre-UPI days, I’d already begun avoiding cash as far as possible. I preferred using debit or credit cards, so I rarely kept much cash at home.

(UPI — Unified Payments Interface — is a real-time digital payment system that enables instant, inter-bank fund transfers through a single mobile app. Hugely popular now, it’s overtaken Visa and Mastercard in transaction volumes.)

Exactly three weeks before that day, Prime Minister Narendra Modi had announced the demonetisation of all ₹500 and ₹1,000 banknotes. New ₹500 and ₹2,000 notes were issued in exchange, but the transition was anything but smooth.

I needed cash — for the ambulance, for those helping with funeral arrangements, and for payments at the crematorium.

Normally, I’d have just walked to one of the five nearby ATMs. But thanks to demonetisation, none had the new notes. Even those that did had long queues, and cash ran out quickly.

One of my friends in the apartment complex heard about my situation and quietly handed me some cash. A few others — people I barely knew — did the same. I made sure to note down in my diary who gave how much, lest I forget.

It was a remarkable gesture. In the midst of grief and logistical chaos, these neighbours — some practically strangers — stepped in without hesitation. Their kindness and generosity moved me deeply.

About a week later, my wife and I visited each of those friends to return the cash they had so kindly lent us. Their spontaneous act only reinforced our faith in humanity. 

The teacher I never expected

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the ninth one. The prompt: Who has been the most unexpected teacher in your life?)

Consider these everyday moments: a train or flight delayed without explanation; a grocery store that’s run out of everything you came for; a cab driver, clearly having a rough day, snapping at you with unexpected rudeness.

We don’t sign up for these situations. They arrive uninvited, unannounced. And our first instinct is often to protest, raise our voice, or snap back.

But over time, we realise — reacting doesn’t ease the discomfort. The situation remains unchanged.

Looking back, I see that adversity has been my most unexpected teacher.

I remember my father’s words: “If we can adjust to small problems, it becomes easier to deal with the bigger ones.”

In other words, if I can manage a 15-minute delay with grace, I’m better prepared for a half-hour wait. And if I can handle that, then even an hour-long disruption becomes bearable.

Adversity has nudged me to think differently, to act differently.

It has taught me to look inward — to cultivate patience, resilience, and the ability to pause before reacting.

It has shown me that waiting for the world to bend to my convenience is futile. Instead, I must adapt, or find creative ways to work around what is.

It has reminded me that not everything is within my control. Some problems I can solve; others, I must learn to live with.

And perhaps most importantly, adversity has taught me not to fear taking a step back — because sometimes, that retreat opens the path to two steps forward, in a direction I hadn’t considered before.

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The skill that shaped my identity

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the seventh one. The prompt: Write about a skill you’ve learned outside of school that shaped your identity.)

When we talk about skills, they broadly fall into two categories: hard skills and soft skills.

Hard skills relate to our area of specialization: the work we do for a living, or the expertise we build over a career. Soft skills, on the other hand, are tied to our behaviour and personality: sincerity, commitment, diligence, discipline, conscientiousness, patience, empathy, team spirit, and so on.

Many of my hard skills were picked up during my school years: my love for language, clarity in expression, and brevity in communication, for instance.

EQUANIMITY

The one skill I learned outside of school that truly shaped my identity is a soft skill: equanimity.

According to the Collins Dictionary, “Equanimity is a calm state of mind and attitude to life, so that you never lose your temper or become upset.”

This wasn’t something I encountered in school or college. It wasn’t part of any syllabus. In fact, the spirit of school life is often about raising the bar, pushing limits, being proactive, taking initiative, striving to excel, and doing our best to get ahead.

I first heard about equanimity from my father, who was a teacher. He had cultivated this skill over time. He never reacted abruptly, to good news or bad. His emotions were measured, his responses restrained. He often spoke about the importance of developing this quality.

Equanimity is about being cool-headed rather than reacting impulsively. It’s about being slightly detached, not just from material things, but also from one’s own thoughts and feelings. It’s the ability to observe them as temporary mental events, which in turn helps reduce stress.

It’s not an easy skill to develop, especially given the realities of the world we live in; a world driven by a plethora of often misplaced priorities. The challenge lies in steering clear of external expectations and aligning our own priorities with what truly matters. Still, it’s a goal I’ve always worked towards.

HOW IT HELPED ME

In my over three-and-a-half decades in the media, equanimity has helped me enormously. Journalism is inherently stressful; it demands speed, precision, and emotional resilience. In the newsroom, where deadlines clash with breaking news and egos flare under pressure, equanimity is often the only recourse.

When people around me got worked up, equanimity helped me pause before reacting, listen before judging, and lead without dominating. It allowed me to give space to others; and in doing so, to distance myself from their anxiety. Not easy, but necessary.

One aspect of equanimity is detachment. And that’s precisely what journalism requires; where clarity must take precedence over bias. Equanimity helped me separate urgency from panic, and truth from noise.

While managing my team, I always tried to de-escalate tension and make decisions I believed were fair. Often, I delayed judgment, and sometimes even action, especially in emotionally charged situations.

ITS BIGGEST REWARD

All this may sound noble, even virtuous. But take it from me: it’s not easy to practise. As I mentioned earlier, the expectations placed on us by the world around us often run counter to what equanimity demands.

So much so that one might even feel it’s a disadvantage. But I’m glad I’ve chosen to value emotional well-being above all else.

The greatest reward of equanimity is a sense of inner peace; and the ability to recover quickly from upsets.

It’s worth it.

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A day that has stayed with me

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the sixth one. The prompt: If you could relive one ordinary day just to feel it again, which would it be?)

It was 35 years ago. I was just about two years into my career, working as a sub-editor at Free Press in Indore, Madhya Pradesh.

One of the big stories making headlines at the time was the agitation led by the Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA), or Save Narmada Movement. Launched in 1985 under the leadership of Medha Patkar, it opposed the construction of large dams on the Narmada River, primarily due to the displacement of thousands of rural families, especially farmers.

Baba Amte. (Britannica)

Baba Amte, well-known for his humanitarian work among leprosy patients at Anandwan in Maharashtra’s Chandrapur district, had lent his moral support to the NBA.

Despite suffering from a spinal ailment that confined him to a cot or wheelchair, Baba Amte decided that year, in 1990, to move to Chhoti Kasrawad village on the banks of the Narmada River in Khargone district, Madhya Pradesh. He just wanted to be among the people whose land would be submerged.

The camps, huts, houses, and ashrams all along the riverbanks would later become not just hubs for activists to discuss, plan, and share ideas, but also centres for education, community organisation, and coordination of the movement’s activities.

A SNAP DECISION

When I heard about Baba Amte’s plan to relocate, I felt it was a compelling story for our newspaper, given it is published from Madhya Pradesh. I asked my editor, Mr Shravan Garg, if I could travel to the village and cover it. He readily agreed.

The next day was my weekly off, and I made an abrupt decision to head there immediately. Why I chose to go on my weekly off day was because getting leave, even for official work, at short notice was (and still is) quite a challenge.

EARLY MORNING DEPARTURE

The village was about three hours away by bus. I was thrilled. There’s nothing quite like being at the scene of action. It was also my first outstation reporting assignment.

Since the round trip would take about six hours, and I expected to spend three or four hours there, I boarded an early bus from Indore station around 8 am, hoping to return by evening, or worst case, by night.

When I reached Barwani, the nearest town, I heard about a road-blockade in solidarity with Medha Patkar who was on a hunger strike in Bombay (now Mumbai). 

Getting to Baba Amte's hut from Barwani meant traversing seven kilometres of rough, untarred track. I reached the place riding pillion on a farmer’s bicycle. He offered to drop me since he was headed in that direction. All through the ride, he spoke passionately about the project and how it would adversely affect farmers.

HURDLES GALORE

My objective was to meet Baba Amte and speak with him. Since this was a completely unplanned, a spur-of-the-moment trip, his assistants were surprised when I showed up and requested an interview slot.

And the fact that I was a young, rookie reporter didn’t help at all. Though I had been very closely following the anti-dam agitation, I had never covered any event related to the protests. Nor did I know anyone closely in the organisation. My hopes began to ebb, as I got responses like "Baba Amte is busy", "he is resting", "you will have to wait", etc. 

Though I could still write a story based on conversations with people and describe the ambience of the village that would soon become the movement’s epicentre, I wondered what was the point of returning to Indore without speaking to Baba Amte. The story after all was about him moving into the village.

BREAKTHROUGH, FINALLY

By the time Baba Amte was back at the hut after spending some time with the protesters who had organised the traffic blockade, it was around 5 pm. It was getting late, and I began wondering what my cut-off time should be. 

Then, suddenly, an aide of Baba Amte approached me and asked, “Are you from Free Press?” I said, yes. He looked and sounded genuinely helpful. He said he’d try to facilitate the interview, but I’d have to wait: not before 6 pm.

I said that was fine. But he warned me that after 6, it would be difficult to get to the nearest town, from where I’d need to catch a bus back to Indore. Then, to my pleasant surprise, he kindly offered me accommodation at the camp for the night. I couldn’t believe it.

Around 7 pm or so, I finally got to meet Baba Amte. The interview went off well. He spoke at length why the project was being opposed. He said he wasn't opposed to development but big dams that displace thousands of people are not the only solution to people's livelihood problems. He said that there are several alternatives like smaller dams, better water management, etc. 

A MEMORABLE SOJOURN

I spent the night there. That day remains etched in my memory. A day surely I'd love to relive.

A remote village on the banks of the Narmada. A cool, starry night. Peace and quiet all around. The kind of ambience one only dreams of.

I woke up the next morning feeling unlike ever before — so happy, with a deep sense of accomplishment. It’s not often that everything falls into place. And all in a single day!

I took the first bus from the nearby town and reached home just before noon. Later that day, at the office, I met the editor and shared my experience.

I filed the story. It was carried on the front page. My joy knew no bounds.

WHY IT WAS MORE SPECIAL

The entire experience at that camp in Chhoti Kasrawad village was memorable not just because I could interview a legendary humanitarian like Baba Amte or because of the great ambience of the place.

It was also my 25th birthday.

A birthday like never before; and never after.

My pocket notebook and pen

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the third one. The prompt: Pick one object in your room, write about its story and why it matters to you.)

One of the small things I never forget when I step out is my pocket notebook (or scribble pad) and a pen. It’s a leftover habit from the pre-mobile phone days.

The notepad is so handy when you need to jot something down quickly: a name, a phone number, an address, or a shopping list. I often note down expenses, small calculations, or even a random thought that pops into my head. Of course, calculators existed even back then, but no one carried one around always.

People without a notepad usually scramble for loose paper: a receipt, a torn newspaper corner, an envelope, or even a bus ticket. I’ve never liked that. It always felt good to have something with myself to write on.

And then, the pen. You never know when you might need one. I’ve seen many people, especially in post offices, asking strangers for pens. I’ve lent mine several times and lost a few that way. 

So now, when I give someone my pen, I keep the cap with me: a small trick that reminds both of us. This is only if it's a pen with a cap, or I end up keeping my fingers crossed. 

My notepads have become small diaries over time. I usually note the date whenever I write. I still have a few old ones at home; pages crumpled, some almost coming apart. I never felt like throwing them away. Once in a while, I flip through them, and it feels like traveling back in time. It’s amazing how a few words or numbers can hold so many memories.

These days, Google Keep is my digital equivalent. Anything longer or detailed goes there. But quick lists, or random jottings, or short reminders still find their way into the tiny notepad.

I know the modern trend is not to jot down anything, but to click a photo with the mobile phone camera.

All said and done, writing by hand gives me a quiet sense of having done something. It’s one small way of staying away from screens. Maybe that’s what makes this old habit worth keeping; a gentle pause in a digital world.​

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Seasons in my life

Back in school in Kerala, the teacher taught us the four seasons.

I understood summer and winter, but not spring and autumn. And I didn’t know which one of them came after summer and winter! (Also, I could never get the spelling of autumn right!)

In my home state, we had only three seasons — summer and two monsoons (southwest and northeast). The month of December was neither hot nor rainy, just cold early in the morning!

Tabebuia rosea in Bengaluru.
Photo: K. Murali Kumar/The Hindu

LANGUAGE OF SEASONS

Much later, after my school years, when I developed a love for the English language (and a bit of literature as well), I came across Shelley’s famous poem Ode to the West Wind, the last line of which is the oft-quoted, “If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?”

The English professor’s explanation of the profound meaning of the poem, and more specifically of the last line, not only painted the world in front of me in brighter colours but also settled for good the confusion I had regarding the order of the seasons.

After spending the first 23 years of my life in Kerala, when I went to North India, I learnt what real winter was. I bought my first blanket in Bhopal in 1988 from a Khadi Bhandar for ₹100. He had asked for ₹120, but agreed to give it for ₹100. I still have it, and I still use it. It’s so thick, good, and warm. 

(Khadi Bhandar is a store where hand-spun and hand-woven cloth and cloth products are sold.)

CULTURE AND COLOUR

Seasons have shaped our local culture. Many of our festivals are so intricately tied to seasons. For example, Holi and Vasanth Panchami mark the end of winter and herald the arrival of spring; a time to look ahead to a bright and colourful future.

The best time of the year, as far as the natural beauty of Bengaluru is concerned, is January to March. The famous Tabebuia rosea (Pink Trumpet Trees) and similar species spring into bloom, bathing streets, parks, and neighbourhoods in colours of pink, white, and yellow.

Though in the north, that’s also the time when sweaters and other warm clothes are stacked away and forgotten for the next six months, that’s not exactly the case here in Bengaluru, which has been my place of residence for the past 26 years. The temperature here is almost always pleasant (in comparison to many other cities) but cool wind and rain bring the temperature down so much that we need warm clothes.

SUMMER OR WINTER?

Winter, which comes at the end of a year, is often characterised as a metaphor for everything that is gloomy. There is very little daylight time, with the sun hardly seen.

This post is part of Blogchatter Blog Hop

But I can manage the cold better than heat; and I prefer winter to summer. This is, of course, in the context of India. I don’t know whether my preference would be the same if I were in Europe or Australia, Canada or the US. At least in the places that I have lived, summer has always been more intense and difficult to manage than winter.

The cold season does have several bright spots. The comfort of curling up under the blanket is unrivalled. Any food is too tempting to ignore. The streaming rays of sunshine are a virtual invitation to the outdoors.

SONGS OF THE SEASONS

When you think of seasons, invariably many songs come to mind. There are plenty of them in English, Hindi, and in my native language of Malayalam that celebrate seasons. It’s difficult to choose the best one.

I will go for Thandi Hawayein Lehrake Aaye from the 1951 film Naujawan sung by Lata Mangeshkar.

It is all about cool breeze, moonlight and stars; and youthful longing and laughter. Lyrics are by Sahir Ludhianvi and music by S.D. Burman. It's considered one of the earliest productions of the duo and Sahir's breakthrough into mainstream cinema.

Here it is:

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A coffee spill that nearly ruined an interview

It was one of those interviews in Delhi after my college days for which I had gone all the way from Thiruvananthapuram. It was for the Junior Research Fellowship (JRF) granted by the University Grants Commission, a prestigious scholarship that opens doors to research careers. That year, 1987, was the first year when JRF was being offered for research in journalism too. Until then, it was only for mass communication.

On the important day, just as anyone would do, I spent quite some time deciding on the outfit for the interview. Finally, I chose a formal shirt and trousers and set out. On the way to the venue, I met a friend; he was a friend of my host in Delhi. He was on his two-wheeler.

Through his friend, he had learned that I was in town for an interview. But we didn't expect to run into each other. He asked me where I was headed. I told him. It turned out that he too was going in the same direction. When I told him about the timing of the interview, he came up with the idea of having some tea or coffee on the way.

I said it was fine. That would allow us time to talk and catch up. And it would sort of take my focus away from the interview too. We settled down at a corner table.

TEA OR COFFEE

Then came the usual question: tea or coffee? I thought for a moment. Coffee isn't quite as popular in the north. Usually, it's only instant coffee (Nescafe or Bru) that's available and that tastes the same anywhere in India.

But the flavour of tea in north India is quite different from what we get in south India. So, I chose tea. But my friend talked me out of that idea, saying that the tea in that particular place wasn't good at all, and that they had multiple varieties of coffee.

I was surprised that they had (my favourite) 'filter coffee' too, though it wasn't specifically a south Indian restaurant. Sipping our drinks, we chatted away.

THE CRISIS

While talking, something distracted me, and I spilled some coffee on my shirt. More than the shirt, my thoughts immediately turned to how I would now go for the interview!

We quickly thought about what could be done. There was just about an hour for me to present myself for the interview. Either buy a new shirt, go home and change, or borrow a shirt from my friend.

We abruptly ended our restaurant rendezvous and quickly looked around to see if there was a store where I could buy a new shirt. No, none. Instead of wasting more time, I went to my friend's place, which was closer to that spot than where I was staying. Luckily, there was one shirt that fitted and suited me. I quickly changed and went for the interview.

THE OUTCOME

What happened to the interview? I qualified for JRF. But it's a different matter that I picked my first job (in Bhopal in 1987) when that came my way rather than go for research, which remains an incomplete entry in my educational qualifications on my résumé! I know it's never too late to start anything. But I don't have the energy for something which I should have done nearly 40 years ago!

COFFEE PREFERENCES 

Mostly, I prefer coffee to tea. That's because the taste of tea varies widely, unlike that of coffee. So, when I'm not sure and I don't want to take the risk, I choose coffee. The taste of filter coffee gives me a unique sort of contentment.

I don't like strong coffee. It tastes bitter for me. I prefer it slightly light. That has prompted some of my friends to comment: "If you drink coffee, you should drink it strong. What you drink is not coffee!" 

This post is a part of the Blogchatter
Blogchatter Blog Hop

My usual choice is "filter coffee" (also called drip coffee or brewed coffee) if that's available. Otherwise, instant coffee. Or, the one that is made by adding coffee power to boiling water and milk.

I'm not a regular visitor to upmarket, specialty coffee shops like Starbucks, Third Wave, Barista or Café Coffee Day. I'm very happy with the local eateries that are commonly called "Darshinis" or "Udupi restaurants" in Bengaluru.

I'm not a compulsive coffee drinker either. I have a cup early in the morning, just before going out for my walk, then after breakfast, and then in the evening before I go for my walk. Very rarely, if I feel like it, I have one sometime in between. I'm not in the habit of having a cuppa whilst working, nor is it my go-to when I'm stressed.

Even though I don’t down cups and cups of coffee a day, the few that I have bring in a sense of comfort and familiarity. They help me settle into the day’s routine, and keep me going.

It’s not the dream, it’s the drive

Those days, we kids couldn’t drive cars with a tap on a mobile phone. So, what did I do? 

I took my trusty tricycle to a corner of the house next to two windows, and tilted it. One of the two rear wheels was the steering. The window in the front was the windscreen, the other my side window. I leaned out with a hand signal at every ‘turn’. There were also those dramatic vroom-vroom and screeching-brake sounds. It was all in my head, but it felt so real.

Even today, when I’m actually at the wheel of my car, it’s those images that fill my mind.

Dreams are the map and the destination. They are somewhere far away, and urge us to keep going. They pull us along.

Back when we were growing up, we were asked, “What’s your ambition?” We had our favourites; mine was 'train driver'. Decades later, for my son it was 'astronaut'.

HOW THEY EVOLVE

Dreams aren’t static. They change with time. My father listening to the news on All India Radio (now Akashwani), quietly kindled another dream in me. I pictured myself “right where the news happens”, and being part of all those big and small moments I heard about on the radio. 

When I used to tell my friends what I had heard in the news, I was in fact well and truly on my journey to the destination, though I hadn’t realised it then. I made it in due course. Maybe not as a foreign correspondent, as I had fancied, but surely as someone who was always close to words and stories; even today.

It’s rarely just one dream. It’s many; one leading to the other. For a tennis player, it's playing in a Grand Slam. Then, it's winning just one. Then, it's aiming for more. 

For me, it was initially the dream of driving. I let it grow from tricycles to cars, from storytelling to journalism.

THE PLEASURE OF CHASING IT

There are still plenty of dreams. They don’t end, do they? But what I have learned is: it’s not really about the dream as a shiny trophy locked away in a glass case. It’s about the journey: the hope, detours, tiny moments, those emotions.

They don’t have a form. They can’t be displayed for everyone to see. But that’s what gives the journey its colour, and fills the heart, as you look through the windscreen, imagined or real. 

They are actually bigger than the dreams!

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Fiction, non-fiction: Why I read what I read

Image source: Pixabay

I have always enjoyed fiction. Yet it feels like ages since I last read a novel, to the point that I am embarrassingly out of touch with the latest authors.

The writers who come to my mind are Arthur Hailey, Stephen King, John Grisham, Somerset Maugham, Arthur Conan Doyle, Thomas Hardy, and Indian authors such as Anita Desai, Kamala Das, Shashi Deshpande, R K Narayan, Ruskin Bond, etc.

One of the more recent novelists I read was Paula Hawkins, whose The Girl on the Train I found quite engaging.

CONTEMPORARY RELEVANCE

One reason my fiction reading has reduced over the years is my preoccupation with work, which has largely revolved around real-life events, people, and issues. Naturally, my inclination shifted to reading non-fiction books or watching programmes related to current events or history which provide a context for understanding the present.

What I enjoy most about non-fiction -- like travelogues, biographies, books on contemporary or historical issues -- is its immediate relevance. It adds to my general knowledge and often helps in work-related situations. Whether it’s a book, an article, or a documentary, I value what it teaches me about the world around us.

LEARNING THROUGH FICTION

Fictional stories are often read for relaxation or entertainment. But good fiction can also educate. Though the plot itself might be imaginary, the details through which it unfolds are often grounded in fact.

Take Arthur Hailey, for instance. His novels are among my favourites because he researched extensively before writing. Each of his books is set in a different industry. For example, cars, tourism, finance, media, medicine, and so on. His stories are not only entertaining but also informative, giving readers insights into how different industries operate.

This is what makes storytelling so powerful: even when the theme or plot is fictional, it illuminates the real world.

STORYTELLING: THE COMMON THREAD

Whether fiction or non-fiction, storytelling lies at the heart of it. After all, both forms narrate something that has happened, or could have happened.

That’s why news reports are also called “stories” in journalistic parlance, though they are based on real-life events. Storytelling, in any form, aims to inform, educate, and / or entertain.

Image source: Pixabay

WHAT MAKES ME PICK A BOOK

If I am familiar with the work of a particular author, that makes choosing the book easier. But if it’s the first book, then I tend to be a bit sceptical.

For me, the plot or the theme should be appealing, something that I can relate to. Even if the plot is unreal, really far removed from reality, I should still be able to connect with it at some level. 

However, what matters to me the most is the clarity of narration. Even if the plot is really good, if I am not able to understand the way the story is told, I tend to lose interest. In a crime thriller, for example, one might not even understand what is happening, but if the language is clear and impactful, that’s enough to keep me turning the pages.

THERE IS NO TEMPLATE

Creative works don’t have a template. It’s very difficult to establish why a book or a movie has been liked by a lot of people. It’s difficult to define “a good plot or a good theme”. It’s a lot about emotions, how one relates to the central piece of work. Each person has their own preferences and inclinations.

It would be nice to know what your reading preferences are.

(This post is part of Blogchatter's Blogchatter Blog Hop)

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Thank you!

This is a cross-post from LinkedIn.

---------------------------------------------------------

On April 30, I stepped into a new phase of life after my superannuation from The Hindu.

Interestingly, The Hindu was also the first newspaper I worked with — as an intern in Thiruvananthapuram, during July and August of 1987, while pursuing my post-graduation in Mass Communication and Journalism (MCJ) at the University of Kerala.

After completing my BSc in Chemistry, it was a tough call: should I go for a master’s in Chemistry, which would have been the obvious next step, or take a completely different route with MCJ?

After a lot of contemplation, I chose the latter.

That was back in 1985. What tipped the scale was my deep interest in current affairs (General Knowledge was a favourite subject in school) and my growing love for news.

Three years later, I got my first job — and since then, it has been an exciting journey of learning and discovery.

Journalism gave me the opportunity to understand so many aspects of the world around me — its social fabric, historical complexities, traditional routines, cultural nuances, political compulsions, business dynamics, personal stories, and technological transformations.

I couldn’t have asked for more.

In this new phase, I know I’ll miss the newsroom. But the compensation is a slower, more relaxed pace of life — one where I hope to do many of the things I had to put off all these years.

Though I may no longer be part of a media organisation, my passion for current affairs remains as strong as ever. I’m sure the many exciting developments around the world — especially in technology, which continues to fascinate me — will keep me engaged.

Journalism, after all, is not just about events. It's also about language — the vehicle that carries the message. So I know I’ll continue to be obsessed with adjectives and adverbs, clauses and conjunctions, punctuations and prepositions!

I’m deeply grateful to the six news organisations I worked for in six cities, and to everyone I’ve had the privilege of meeting and/or working with. I’ve learned so much from them all.

Looking forward to staying connected.

Thank you once again!

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December reflections

Another year is winding down, and we are in the final stretch of 2024. In just a couple of weeks, this year will be over.

December always feels like the world hits the pause button. The usual hustle and bustle slows to a relaxed rhythm. Offices are quiet, with many employees away on vacation. People are travelling to spend time with family and friends, and life takes on a cosier vibe.

This is also the season of celebrations. Christmas and New Year’s Eve dominate the month. Everywhere you look, from stores to streets (especially in Bengaluru’s Central Business District), there’s a festive sparkle. Soon, carols will fill the air, holiday lights will glow, and Secret Santa gifts will be exchanged.

December is more than just festivities, though. It’s a time for reflection — to look back at the year gone by and think about what lies ahead. It’s a chance to be grateful, forgive, and set goals. It’s also the perfect time to unwind, recharge, and gear up for the new year.

WORK AS USUAL

That said, December doesn’t feel all that different for me. Work continues as usual, maybe even busier than other months because of reduced staff. Not everyone can take leave at the same time, after all.

Sometimes, though, December brings major news events that make it busier.

December 31, 1999, for instance. Remember the Y2K bug? Everyone was worried that computers worldwide would crash because they weren’t programmed to handle the switch from 1999 to 2000. Software engineers worked around the clock to prevent chaos. Thankfully, the world entered the new millennium without disaster.

December 24, 1999, was another when Indian Airlines flight IC 814 was hijacked. The plane landed in Kandahar, Afghanistan, on Christmas Day, and the crisis dragged on until New Year’s Eve. The Indian government had to negotiate with the hijackers and release prisoners to secure the hostages’ freedom. It was a tense, heartbreaking time — one passenger lost her life, and many were injured. Those days were really anxiety-ridden days for everyone following the news.

Another unforgettable moment was December 26, 2004, when a massive tsunami struck the coasts of South Asia following an earthquake near Sumatra. It was devastating, claiming around 228,000 lives across 15 countries. For journalists, it was an all-hands-on-deck situation, with many being called back from holidays to cover the tragedy.

A BIT DIFFERENT THIS TIME

For the first time in a while, I have something big to look forward to in the New Year. In April 2025, I’ll be retiring after 36 and a half years of work. It’s a milestone that feels both exciting and bittersweet. I’ll still keep writing and editing — it’s my passion, after all — but I won’t be clocking in as part of a formal job anymore.

As I look ahead, I feel a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. The journey so far has been rewarding, with its share of challenges and triumphs. 

Retirement will undoubtedly mark a new chapter, one where I can live life at a slower pace, explore new interests, and devote more time to the things I’ve always loved to do but never got the time.

Writing, connecting with this wonderful blogging community, and exploring others’ stories will be at the heart of it all. 

Here’s to savouring the present, cherishing the past, and stepping into the future with hope and excitement. Let’s make the most of what lies ahead, one day at a time!

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No space to fill

Forms are an integral part of our lives, aren't they? You find them at airports, railway and bus stations, government offices, banks, hospitals, and post offices. 

On these seemingly innocuous sheets of paper, we have to fill in important details that will help offices grant us access, validate our identities, or facilitate transactions. 

But rarely have I found a form that had adequate space to fill in all the necessary details.

If they are asking us so many details, why aren't they leaving enough space?

They don't realise the consequences. When space is scarce, our handwriting suffers. We squeeze letters and abbreviate words. Illegible entries lead to errors, delays, and frustration.

Insufficient space also could mean my inability to give some detail or context to the answer I am providing.

So, it's better for all if they keep us customers in mind and leave enough space.

Or, better still, switch to digital. No problem of illegibility. Expandable fields provide enough space. We will save lots of paper as well. 

What are your thoughts on this issue? Have you ever struggled with cramped forms?

(Image credit: Freepik)

Surprise

Around 8 pm, the doorbell rang. My wife was wondering who might have come at that hour. 

Upon opening the door, there was my son's friend VB at the door. (My son works in Sydney, Australia.)

My wife was pleasantly surprised to see VB and told him, "Come on in!"

But VB sort of hesitated and told my wife, "There is someone who has come with me to meet you."

For a moment, she thought, who could it be.

There is a common friend of my son and VB who we knew was in the city. So, my wife's first thought was it must be him. 

And then, from behind, emerged our son, with his baggage and all.

It was supposed to be a big surprise, and it very much was!

Only a few days ago, he was on one of the regular video calls with us! And here he is!

It was so surreal; my wife couldn't believe what was happening.

I was in my office, and I wasn't told about our son's arrival. 

When I returned home from work at 2 am, as I always do, I couldn't believe it when I saw my son!

He had booked the flight tickets as early as October, and he didn't give us even the slightest hint all these months. 

Only two of his friends knew, and they all kept it a well-guarded secret.

Have you been surprised like this? Or, have you surprised someone?

(Illustration from Freepik)