My Voice, My Space

  In the heart of Chennai, where steel meets spirit, Indian Railways has etched a new chapter in its legacy— the successful trial of India’s first hydrogen-powered train coach . As someone who works quietly behind the scenes in coach repair, I feel a surge of pride. This isn’t just a technological feat—it’s a signal that our industry is evolving, and we’re part of that story. 🌱 Green Power, Global Glory Forget diesel. Forget overhead wires. This train runs on hydrogen fuel cells , producing only water vapor as its byproduct. With a 1,600 HP engine and a capacity of over 2,600 passengers , it’s now the most powerful hydrogen train in the world . And it’s not just powerful—it’s long. The rake includes 10 units , making it the longest hydrogen train globally . 🛤️ Route to the Future The train will debut on the Jind–Sonipat route in Haryana , a symbolic start for a technology that could soon scale to heritage and hill routes like Kalka–Shimla and Nilgiri. The government has e...

In   Legacy of Courage Across Generations As the Himalayan wind whispers through the folds of our flag, it carries stories. Stories of soldiers whose courage didn’t end in 1999 but lives on in every salute, every child’s curious question, and every parent’s quiet answer. Bravery isn’t always on battlefields. Sometimes, it’s in the way we choose to be kind when the world is cruel. 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Unsung Heroes Beyond the Battlefield Behind every headline, there were families waiting. Mothers at prayer, children scribbling notes for fathers they hoped would return. Soldier isn’t always wrapped in medals; it’s also in the everyday roles played with devotion. On this day, we salute not just the soldiers—but everyone who stood behind them, quietly holding the line. ✍️ Letters That Time Forgot What might a soldier have written from Kargil? "Tell Ma I saw the snow sparkle this morning. We may not win every inch, but we stand firm, because someone must. I’m scared sometimes, but I walk a...

In the early morning haze, as city roads begin their daily hum, a familiar scene unfolds. Whistles blow, hands wave, and a traffic policeman stands firmly at the junction—not to ease the jam, but to pull aside riders for fines. Helmet? No. Insurance? No. Triple seat? Yes. The challan app beams in his palm while vehicles back up into a snarl behind him. It’s a scene as common as the sun rising over Hubballi, and yet—rarely questioned. 🧾 Rules That Bind, But Don’t Balance Government mandates are firm: No helmet: ₹1,000 No insurance: ₹1,000 Vehicle in no-parking: ₹3,000 Drink and drive: ₹10,000 Triple seat riding: ₹2,000 Phone use while driving: ₹2,000 No pollution certificate: ₹1,000 Entering “No Entry”: ₹5,000 They sound like pillars of safety—and in part, they are. But the foundation begins to crack when these fines exist without equal accountability from the system itself . 🚧 The Uneven Road to Justice Who pays the fine when: A pothole throws a rider off balance and d...

  Dear Guardians of Our Roads and Rules, Every morning, I take to the streets not just with a helmet, license, and an alert mind—but with faith. Faith that the road will not betray me with a pothole, that the drain won’t overflow and disguise danger, that the traffic officer will balance his whistle with watchfulness. We citizens have accepted fines in the name of safety. We agree that helmets matter, that insurance is necessary, and that triple riding endangers lives. But safety is not a one-way contract. It must be shared. Please consider: Setting time-bound repairs for dug-up roads and damaged footpaths Creating an accountability portal for infrastructure grievances—with real follow-up Training traffic officers for dual roles: enforcement and facilitation Publishing transparent data on how fine collections are reinvested into public safety Every life on the road matters. Every hurt caused by civic neglect carries weight—emotional, financial, and moral. Let safety be a s...

  I n the soft corridors of a once-bustling home, a father now walks alone. He raised three children—two sons, now leading prestigious medical institutions in the United States, and a daughter happily married. Life has blessed them all. They visit when visa rules allow, they send money, they call with updates. By any external measure, the family's arc is a success story. And yet, following the passing of his beloved wife, this father chooses something surprising—not the care of his accomplished sons, not the silence of his spacious home, but the company of strangers in an old age home. There, he seeks not nurses or luxury, but companionship : someone to share a laugh, recall a lyric from an old Kannada movie, speak of youthful mistakes and monsoon memories. What does this choice say about us? 🏡 The HUF: A Family Built on Togetherness In the past, Hindu Undivided Families (HUF) weren’t just a legal arrangement for shared assets—they were a living rhythm. Grandparents, paren...

This week, something extraordinary happened. Not one, but two Indian minds—GM Koneru Humpy and IM Divya Deshmukh —ascended to the finals of the FIDE Women’s World Cup 2025 . For a country once a silent observer in the global chess arena, this is nothing short of an awakening. Humpy , the emblem of perseverance and quiet power, returns to the final stage like the rhythm of a timeless hymn. Her grace under pressure speaks not just of talent, but of resolve steeped in legacy. Beside her stands Divya , fierce and fearless. She plays with the spontaneity of youth, yet the depth of an old soul. Her win isn’t just a personal milestone—it’s a statement for an entire generation. But this moment isn’t built in isolation. It rests on shoulders that have lifted the weight of expectation for decades: GM Praggnanandhaa, 2nd youngest Grand Master in the history,  the elegant disruptor who leaves legends fumbling for answers. GM Gukesh , Current World Chess Champion , the quiet storm, whose ...

ಆ ಷಾಢ ಮಾಸದ ಕೊನೆಯ ದಿನವನ್ನು  ಆಷಾಢ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆಯೆಂದು ಕರೆಯಲಾಗುತ್ತದೆ.  ಈ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆಯ ದಿನವನ್ನು ಭೀಮನ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆ ಅಥವಾ ಜ್ಯೋತಿರ್ಭೀಮೇಶ್ವರ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆ ಎಂದೂ ಕರೆಯಲಾಗುತ್ತದೆ. ಈ ದಿನದಂದು ವಿವಾಹಿತ ಮಹಿಳೆಯರು ತಮ್ಮ ಪತಿಯ ದೀರ್ಘಾಯುಷ್ಯವನ್ನು, ಉತ್ತಮ ಆರೋಗ್ಯವನ್ನು ಕೋರಿ ಪಾದ ಪೂಜೆಯನ್ನು ಮಾಡುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಅದೇ ರೀತಿ ಅವಿವಾಹಿತ ಮಹಿಳೆಯರು  ಸ ದ್ಗುಣ ಸಂಪನ್ನನಾದ ಪತಿಯನ್ನು ಪಡೆದುಕೊಳ್ಳುವುದಕ್ಕಾಗಿ ಈ ವ್ರತವನ್ನು ಮಾಡುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಭೀಮನ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯಯೆಂದರೆ ಅದು ಮಹಾಭಾರತದ ಭೀಮನಲ್ಲ. ಬದಲಾಗಿ, ಶಿವನ ರೂಪವಾದ ರುದ್ರನ ಇನ್ನೊಂದು ಹೆಸರು ಭೀಮನಾಗಿದೆ. ವಿ ವಾಹಿತರಿಗೆ ಆಗಿರಬಹುದು ಅಥವಾ ಅವಿವಾಹಿತರಿಗೆ ಆಗಿರಬಹುದು ಭೀಮನ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆ ಎನ್ನುವುದು ತುಂಬಾನೇ ಶ್ರೇಷ್ಠವಾದ ವ್ರತ. ಈ ದಿನದಂದು ವಿವಾಹಿತ ಮಹಿಳೆಯರು ಪತಿಯ ದೀರ್ಘಾಯಷ್ಯವನ್ನು ಕೋರಿ ಶಿವ ಮತ್ತು ಪಾರ್ವತಿಯನ್ನು ಪೂಜಿಸುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಭೀಮನ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆ ದಿನ ದೇವರ ಪೂಜೆ ಮತ್ತು ಪತಿಯ ಪಾದ ಪೂಜೆ ಮಾಡುವುದು ಹೇಗೆ? ಭೀಮನ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆ ಅಥವಾ ಜ್ಯೋತಿರ್ಭೀಮೇಶ್ವರ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆ ಪೂಜೆ ಮಾಡುವುದು ಹೇಗೆ.? - ಭೀಮನ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆ ದಿನದಂದು  ನೀವು ಮತ್ತು ನಿಮ್ಮ ಪತಿ ಮುಂಜಾನೆ ಬೇಗ ಎದ್ದು ಸ್ನಾನ ಇತ್ಯಾದಿಗಳಿಂದ ಶುದ್ಧರಾಗಿ ಮನೆಯ ದೇವರ ಕೋಣೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ದೇವರನ್ನು ನಿಯಮಾನುಸಾರ ಪೂಜಿಸಬೇಕು. - ಈ ದಿನ ಕುಲದೇವರನ್ನು ತಪ್ಪದೇ ಪೂಜಿಸುವುದು ಒಳ್ಳೆಯದು. - ಒಂದು ಮರದ ಮಣೆ...

Some people believe the weather is random. I believe it has a wicked sense of timing—especially during office hours. 🌧️   Morning Madness: The Ride to Remember It all begins with a drizzle. I gear up, hop on my bike, and head toward the office like a determined warrior. But the moment I hit the main road— boom —the skies open up like someone hit the “monsoon mode” switch. Puddles splash, my raincoat flaps like a superhero cape, and visibility drops to “guess and go.” By the time I reach the office, I’m soaked, squelching with every step. I walk in like a waterlogged legend and stood in front of the biometric scanner.   And just like that... the rain stops. Coincidence? I think not. 🕒 The Great Biometric Rain Switch It’s almost as if the rain was waiting for me to clock in. I imagine a weather god somewhere chuckling, “Alright, he’s in. Turn it off.” The day goes on. Files, meetings, coffee. The sun peeks out. Birds chirp. I start to believe the worst is over. But th...

In a sunny little village, there lived a Girl named SIRI who had a mango tree in her backyard. It wasn’t just any mango tree—it was the tallest, juiciest, most mango-filled tree in the whole village! Every summer, the tree would burst with golden mangoes . Siri loved them so much that she’d pick the ripest ones, and eat them all by herself. She’d even hide a few in her room so no one else could find them. One day, Siri’s friend SINDHU came over. She looked up at the tree and said, “Wow! So many mangoes! Can I have one?” Siri frowned. “They’re mine. I waited all year for them.” Sindhu nodded sadly and walked away. That night, Siri had a dream . The mango tree spoke to her! It said, “Siri, do you know what makes mangoes truly magical?” Siri shook her head. The tree smiled, “They taste sweeter when shared.” The next morning, Siri woke up and thought about the dream. She picked a basket full of mangoes and ran to Sindhu’s house. “Want to share these with me?” she asked. S...

  In a world quick to point fingers, the most radical act might just be saying, “It was me.” We live in a culture where blame is passed around like a hot potato. When something goes wrong, the instinct is often to say, “You did this,” or “He messed up,” or “She should have known better.” Rarely do we pause and ask, “What was my part in this?” This isn’t about self-blame or taking on guilt that doesn’t belong to us. It’s about reclaiming agency. When we say “me,” we’re not just accepting responsibility—we’re stepping into our power to change, to grow, and to lead by example. The Blame Game: A Childhood Habit I wasn’t always someone who believed in taking responsibility. In fact, like many kids, I was a master of the blame game. Growing up, I used to play with my neighbours and cousins almost every day. And whenever something went wrong—someone got hurt, something broke, or tears started flowing—I had a go-to move. Before the crying kid could even open their mouth, I’d jump...

  Aashada Masa —the fourth month of the Hindu lunar calendar—ushers in the monsoon, the festival season, and a wave of excitement across homes and markets. Saree sales bloom like rain-fed flowers, and families flock to shops with joy and anticipation. This year, our family too joined the celebration, unaware that beneath the surface of festivity, fate was quietly preparing a test of resilience. 🛍️ Sarees and Smiles My younger sister and her family were among the first to embrace the season’s spirit. She picked three beautiful sarees, and my brother-in-law chose a new pair of jeans, a shirt, and a blazer. Their joy was contagious, and they encouraged me to send my own family to shop as well. It felt like a gentle beginning to the festive months ahead. 🏥 A Sudden Turn Just days later, our mother was admitted to the hospital with gall bladder stones. My brother-in-law postponed his business trip to Davanagere to stay by her side—a gesture that spoke volumes of his characte...

  There was once magic at the back of the classroom. A place where jokes travelled faster than chalk, where whispered stories competed with lectures, and where friendships brewed like warm tea during winter mornings. The backbenchers—ever playful, sometimes rebellious—brought colour to the grey walls of academic routine. They were the pulse of every classroom’s heart. But change, when thoughtful, carries promise. Kerala’s new circular seating arrangement marks a quiet revolution. It doesn't just rearrange furniture—it reshapes perspectives. It declares: no more front and back , no more forgotten corners . Every child now shares equal visibility, equal accountability, and equal dignity in learning. Yes, we’ll miss the backbenchers’ chuckles and coded conversations. But maybe joy will find a new shape—still mischievous, still tender—just... more inclusive. As a parent, I see how seating shapes not just posture, but prese...

  A reflection on fandom, tragedy, and the need for fan safety. The 18th edition of the Indian Premier League ended in joy for Royal Challengers Bengaluru. After 17 years of waiting, they lifted the trophy for the first time—a moment etched in the hearts of fans and the legacy of the franchise. To commemorate the historic win, a victory parade was held at M. Chinnaswamy Stadium on June 4, 2025. But celebration turned into catastrophe. A stampede broke out, claiming 11 lives and leaving dozens injured. In a single, chaotic moment, the festiv e cheers were replaced by cries for help. 🎭 The Glitter and the Gap The players walked away with fame and fortune. The franchise basked in global attention. Social media buzzed, merchandise sold, careers soared. But what did the fans—those who spent money, time, and passion—receive in return? The ones who lost their lives went home to silence. Their families got no stardom, no privilege, no compensation worthy of their loss. And among ...

  Intro: This Guru Poornima brought more than rituals—it brought reflection. While my daughter Siri offered Paada Pooja to her mother in school, I was beside my own mother in a hospital ward. I couldn’t attend the ceremony, but I lived the lesson. And maybe, just maybe, I received a different kind of blessing—one whispered between generations, carried silently on the breath of love. 📝 Reflective Piece Guru Poornima came wrapped in sacred ritual this year—but not in the way I’d imagined. As Siri bowed to her mother’s feet, offering "Paada Pooja" with reverence and grace, I stood beside another guru: my own mother, fragile and healing, her wisdom etched deep into my soul. I wasn’t physically present for the rituals at school. Doctors made their rounds, and my feet couldn’t move from the bedside. Yet somehow, my heart stretched across places—blessing my daughter from afar, guiding my wife with quiet instructions, reminding her to wear saree and uphold tradition as our liv...

  Intro: Yesterday was Guru Poornima—a day that reveres the teachers and guides who illuminate our paths. For me, this sacred occasion unfolded in the most personal and profound way. My mother, who had been in the hospital, returned home. Her recovery felt like a divine reminder: that the most powerful gurus aren’t always found in temples or teachings, but in the quiet wisdom of those who raise us, guide us, and walk beside us every day. “Some gurus don’t preach—they simply return home, carrying silence that heals.” Closing Note: As I sat beside my mother last night, I couldn’t help but feel the quiet resonance of grace. Her journey through illness, and her gentle return, renewed a truth I’ve often felt but never written—healing isn't just about medicine; it’s about presence, timing, and faith. Her arrival on Guru Poornima was more than coincidence. It was an affirmation. To those reading this: look around. Perhaps the guru you're waiting for has already been there, smi...

  🧸🌸 02.07.2025 – Pink Day at School There are some days that arrive dressed not just in color, but in pure joy—and for Siri, Pink Day was one such day. The moment her class teacher announced it on June 30th, Siri’s little heart latched onto it with uncontainable excitement. “Teacher told us to come in pink attire!” she repeated all day, her voice sparkling with anticipation. And then the day came. She woke up earlier than usual, tucked herself eagerly into a bright pink outfit, hugged her pink teddy (whom she lovingly calls Pinky ), and marched off to school beaming. The campus had transformed into a pink wonderland. Every corner echoed with shades of rose and magenta. From Nursery to UKG, every child wore pink like a badge of belonging. All the pink items the children brought from home were thoughtfully displayed in a special celebration room. And class by class, they posed for photographs—tiny blossoms blooming under a bubble of happiness. Later, in their classr...

  🗓️ 06.07.2025 "Love doesn't always arrive on time. Sometimes, it stumbles in late—with pizza and cake—but its presence is no less profound." It was July 6th—our seventh wedding anniversary. But instead of waking up with flowers and a warm wish, I stirred under the weight of cold, cough, and medicine-induced drowsiness. Two days of discomfort had blurred the date, and I forgot the very day that had changed my life years ago. My wife had quietly hoped, waited... and then, as I later found, left a tender anniversary message on WhatsApp before drifting into a nap. That moment hit me hard—guilt crept in like a shadow. I hadn't just missed a date—I’d missed her anticipation. In that quiet remorse, I tried to find my own little way of making things right. I ordered a butterscotch cake and pizza—not just for her, but in honor of the whole family. Siri had been asking for pizza for days, my mother was moments away from asking for an evening snack, and perhaps—I ho...

  This morning, we lost a colleague. A man like any of us. On a bike, headed to work. A sudden skid. A speeding bus. A heartbeat silenced before the sun had risen high. He had just become a father. The weight of that truth stopped me. Somewhere, a baby waits to grow up hearing stories instead of memories, searching for the face of someone they’ll never truly know. I ride the same road. I, too, have two small daughters—Siri and Sindhu—waiting for me every evening. When I heard the news, I imagined myself in his place. My girls waiting... but no door ever opening again. It shook me. And from that ache, two truths emerged: 🔴 1. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. It seems small—until it’s everything. We often skip it: it’s too hot, too rushed, too uncomfortable. But sometimes that one decision is all it takes to turn fate. 🕒 2. The Biometric Clock. Our shift starts at 07:15 AM. It’s non-negotiable. We race against time, ag...