Category: Personal

The Sunrise Never Came. The Waterfall Made Up for Everything.


This was the final day of our 30-hour trip with Santhanam’s family. The day did not go exactly as planned, but it ended up giving us some of the best moments of the trip.

No Sunrise, But the Kids Got Their Morning Swim

Santhanam’s family and my wife went to the Kanyakumari sunrise point early in the morning. Unfortunately, it rained and there was no sunrise to see.

I stayed at the hotel with the kids. At around 7:30 AM, I took my children and Santhanam’s daughter to the swimming pool. My son enjoyed the pool so much that he continued swimming until he became completely tired.

We then went back to our rooms, took a shower, packed our things and checked out of Hotel Rajeshwari International.

A Wonderful Breakfast and an Unexpected Temple Visit

We stopped at Hotel Chitra and had a wonderful breakfast. We ordered poori, masala dosa, uthappam and coffee.

Inside Vivekananda Kendra, there was also a temple with large statues of Shiva and Hanuman. We visited the temple and walked through an exhibition showing stories from the Ramayana.

We went there only for breakfast, but we also got to spend some peaceful time inside the Kendra before leaving.

A Huge Queue Changed Our Plan

Our original plan was to visit Vivekananda Rock Memorial and the glass bridge. But when we reached there, the queue was huge. We did not want to spend several hours waiting, so we cancelled the plan and started driving towards Thirparappu Waterfalls.

It was around a 90-minute drive from Kanyakumari.

The Children’s First Waterfall Experience

Because of Onam, we got a combined ticket for the waterfalls and boating for just ₹60 per person.

This was the first waterfall experience for both my son and daughter. The water came down with good force, and my wife, the kids and I had a wonderful time standing under it.

Yamuna with Aradhya and Advaith enjoying their first waterfall experience at Thirparappu Waterfalls
The children’s first waterfall experience at Thirparappu.

After all the walking and driving during the trip, the force of the water helped reduce our body pain and body heat. We felt fresh and relaxed when we came out.

We then went boating. The place was surrounded by trees and greenery, and the children enjoyed the boat ride as usual.

Both families enjoying a boat ride surrounded by greenery at Thirparappu
Boating together after our time at the waterfalls.

Cancelling the Vivekananda Rock plan and coming to Thirparappu turned out to be a good decision.

Padmanabhapuram Palace Was Closed

From the waterfalls, we drove for around 40 minutes to Padmanabhapuram Palace.

The palace was closed because of Onam. We spent some time near the entrance and then left. We could not see the palace this time, so that is something we can plan for another visit.

A Quick Visit to My Aunt’s Property

From there, I went to see my aunt’s property in Nagercoil, located next to Canara Bank. I wanted to check its present condition and make arrangements to find a tenant.

After completing the visit, we started our return drive to Madurai.

One Last Stop Before Reaching Home

We stopped at Hotel Haris for dinner. By then, all of us were damn tired, so we had a light dinner.

The hotel had a play area, and we allowed the kids to play for some time. I am still not sure how children find the energy to play when all the adults are already waiting to crash!

After dinner, we continued the journey and finally reached home.

Thirty Hours, Two Families and No Regrets

With this, our 30-hour, two-family trip came to an end.

We missed the sunrise, cancelled the Vivekananda Rock visit because of the crowd and found Padmanabhapuram Palace closed. Still, there were no regrets.

The kids experienced a waterfall for the first time, we enjoyed boating, visited the temple and Ramayana exhibition, ate good food and spent quality time together.

It was a short trip, but it was a truly rejuvenating experience for both the mind and body. We returned home fully tired, but also fully satisfied.

Coffee, Coastline and a ₹5,000 Hotel Deal: Our Kanyakumari Escape


Tuesday, 25 August 2026

Waiting for the Green Signal

The day began quietly at home. I stayed back until around 2 PM so Yamuna could finish her office work without pressure. Once she was nearly done, I went to Delhi World Public School and picked up the children early.

Onam Outfits Saved the Clock

By the time we returned, Yamuna had packed everything and was ready. The children had attended school in their Onam attire, so there was no changing, dressing or last-minute preparation. Our neighbours and close friends, Santhanam and his family, joined us—and by 3 PM, our Kanyakumari escape was underway.

Coffee for Us, Ice Cream for Them

Our first break was at Sri Krishna Pannai Paal. The adults settled for the comforting combination of coffee, chai and hot vada, while the children naturally chose ice cream. Refreshed and recharged, we returned to the car and continued south.

When 250 Kilometres Felt Like 25

I drove the entire distance—nearly 250 kilometres—but it never felt like a long journey. Interesting conversations with Santhanam’s family, mixed with the children’s chatter and excitement, made the kilometres disappear. Sometimes, the right company is better than any playlist.

Santhanam versus the Hotel Tariff

We reached Hotel Rajeshwari International at around 6:30 PM and asked for two deluxe rooms. That was when Santhanam revealed his negotiation talent. The original quote was ₹4,800 per room, but he managed to secure both spacious rooms for a total of ₹5,000!

Peace Beside the Highway

The hotel turned out to be a pleasant surprise—large rooms, a peaceful highway location away from the town’s congestion, and even a swimming pool for the children. The setting was calm and comfortable. The food, however, did not appear to be its strongest attraction.

Returning to a Reliable Dinner Table

Instead of experimenting with the hotel food, we returned to Hotel Chitra Pure Vegetarian Restaurant. It was our second visit, and the restaurant proved dependable once again. We enjoyed a good, satisfying dinner before heading towards the sea.

Where Three Seas Meet

After dinner, we walked around Triveni Sangamam and visited the iconic tip of the Indian mainland. The roaring sea, cool night air and illuminated Thiruvalluvar statue gave the place a completely different character after dark.

Anand Nataraj, Yamuna, Santhanam’s family and the children near the illuminated Thiruvalluvar statue at Kanyakumari
Two families, one memorable evening beside the sea at Kanyakumari.

Messi, Ronaldo and a Little Shopping

The children’s excitement continued through the nearby shops. We bought them IPL, Messi and Ronaldo T-shirts and stopped for a lively photo session. Between the shopping, laughter and photographs, the evening gained the cheerful disorder that only a family trip can create.

Aradhya standing beside the rocky shoreline and powerful sea at Kanyakumari at night
A quiet encounter with the powerful night sea.

A Bench, the Sea and a Mental Reset

The most peaceful part of the evening required no activity at all. We sat on a park bench facing the sea and allowed the sound of the waves to slow everything down.

Santhanam and I had a relaxed conversation. Yamuna and Santhanam’s wife became absorbed in theirs, while the children remained happily occupied. Everyone had their own little space, yet we were enjoying the moment together. It was a genuine mind detox.

The Fastest Check-In Was into Sleep

By the time we returned to the hotel, the driving, walking and excitement had caught up with us. There was no energy left for late-night conversations or elaborate plans for the morning. We reached our rooms, settled in—and everyone simply crashed.

Some journeys are remembered for the destination. This one will be remembered for how effortlessly 250 kilometres passed—in conversation, laughter, food, friendship and a few quiet minutes beside the sea.

The Summer That Stood Still


The Summer That Stood Still

Every year, summer vacations come and go. But once in a while, a summer arrives that feels different—a season you know you’ll remember long after it ends.

For me, this year’s summer vacation began on April 26th. What followed wasn’t just a holiday for the kids; it became nearly two months of uninterrupted family time, laughter, road trips, and moments that money simply cannot buy.

The adventure started with a four-day trip to Munnar, followed immediately by four days in Bengaluru. From there, we spent two weeks in Chennai, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together without deadlines, meetings, business calls, or schedules dictating our lives.

The journey didn’t stop there.

We moved between Madurai and Chennai, attending tuition programs, reconnecting with family, and most importantly, giving the children something increasingly rare in today’s world—time with their cousins. There were sleepovers, endless conversations, shared meals, games, inside jokes, and the kind of bonding that only happens when children spend weeks together instead of a few hurried hours during festivals.

One of the highlights was another trip to Munnar, this time with cousins joining the adventure. Watching the children create memories together was perhaps more enjoyable than the destination itself.

As the school reopening approached, reality slowly began knocking on the door. We attended the first day of school, squeezed in another quick Chennai visit, and then, for the final few days, stayed together once more before my sister’s family prepared to leave India.

Yesterday was the hardest part.

There were long hugs, emotional goodbyes, and that silent understanding that everyone was trying to be brave. The children held on a little longer than usual. We adults did too. By evening, we were on the road back to Madurai, reaching home close to midnight.

And just like that, the summer was over.

Looking back, I realize this wasn’t really about Munnar, Bengaluru, Chennai, or Madurai. It was about something much simpler—being present. Being available. Being together.

As parents, we know these summers are not permanent. Every year, our children grow a little older. Soon, academics, friendships, college plans, and their own lives will naturally take center stage.

Perhaps that’s what made this summer special.

It reminded me that childhood is not measured in years; it is measured in the number of summers we get to spend together before life gently pulls everyone in different directions.

For now, my heart is full of gratitude—for the journeys, the laughter, the cousins, the family, and the memories.

And if God is willing, may there be many more summers like this.

The destinations will fade from memory. The hugs, laughter, and time spent together never will.

Friends, Politics and Social Media: Can We Disagree and Still Coexist?


There was a time in India when people with completely different political opinions still remained close friends.

One person voted Congress.
Another supported BJP.
Someone else supported DMK.
One was deeply religious.
Another was secular.

Yet:

  • they attended weddings together,
  • worked together,
  • helped each other in business,
  • had tea shop debates,
  • argued loudly,
  • and still remained connected.

Politics was just one part of life, not the entire identity of a person.

But social media slowly changed this culture.

Today, a political opinion is no longer seen as “just an opinion.” It has become an emotional identity marker. The moment someone openly supports a political party or reacts to a religious issue, people start placing them into categories and labels.

This is where the real pain begins.

In my case, I have many close Muslim and Christian friends — friends from work, business, ex-employees and social circles. I never questioned their religious practices or political preferences. I never had a problem if they supported Congress or DMK.

But when I openly supported BJP or reacted when I felt Hindu beliefs were mocked or insulted, suddenly the reactions changed.

Some called me and expressed disappointment.
Some unfriended me silently.
Some stopped engaging completely.
Some branded me a “Sanghi.”

That word itself is often used today as if it is meant to socially isolate someone.

The irony is: supporting a political party in a democracy should be normal.

is not a banned organization or an underground movement. It is a democratically elected political party, just like or .

Then why has society become emotionally uncomfortable with political differences?

That is the bigger question.

I realized this issue is no longer just about BJP, Congress, religion or ideology. The deeper issue is that society is slowly losing the ability to coexist despite disagreement.

Earlier we had emotional maturity to separate:

  • friendship from politics,
  • people from opinions,
  • relationships from ideology.

Today social media mixes everything together.

Algorithms reward outrage.
Politics becomes identity.
Identity becomes emotion.
Emotion becomes division.

Even normal people slowly become emotionally reactive online.

A person who would happily sit and have coffee with you in real life may still get disturbed by your political post online.

That is the strange contradiction of the social media era.

The dangerous part is not disagreement. Disagreement is healthy in a democracy.

The dangerous part is emotional isolation.

When people stop expressing openly:

  • resentment builds silently,
  • echo chambers grow,
  • society becomes polarized,
  • and friendships become conditional.

Maybe a healthier society is not one where everyone agrees.

Maybe a healthier society is one where:

  • people openly express opinions,
  • disagree strongly,
  • debate emotionally,
  • cool down,
  • and still remain human with one another afterward.

India survived for centuries because of coexistence despite differences in:

  • religion,
  • language,
  • caste,
  • food,
  • region,
  • and politics.

“Unity in diversity” is not about similarity.
It is about emotional maturity despite differences.

Social media has tested that maturity.

Now society must evolve again.

Because if friendships cannot survive political disagreement, then politics has become bigger than humanity itself.

Manifestation vs Astrology: Can Positive Thinking Control Life?


For a long time, I had one big question in my mind.

If manifestation is real, why do people still suffer even when they think positively?

Today, manifestation has become a popular word everywhere:

  • law of attraction,
  • visualization,
  • positive vibration,
  • subconscious programming,
  • energy alignment.

Different names. Same core idea.

The belief is simple:

“Your inner state influences your outer reality.”

And honestly, I do believe thoughts matter.

Positive thinking can:

  • improve confidence,
  • sharpen focus,
  • increase persistence,
  • help people notice opportunities,
  • and emotionally keep them moving forward.

But life also teaches something equally important.

Positive thinking alone does not prevent every storm.

That is where astrology and manifestation become an interesting discussion.

If astrology is true, then life moves through timing cycles.

Some phases bring:

  • growth,
  • opportunities,
  • momentum,
  • support,
  • expansion.

Some phases bring:

  • delays,
  • pressure,
  • emotional heaviness,
  • setbacks,
  • karmic corrections.

Like seasons.

Manifestation may not completely control those seasons.

Instead, it may influence how we move through them.

The best analogy I found is this:

  • Astrology is the weather.
  • Manifestation is how we sail the boat.

A skilled sailor cannot stop the storm.

But the sailor may still survive the storm better than someone who gives up mentally.

That perspective changed my understanding completely.

Modern manifestation culture sometimes oversimplifies life by saying:

“If you think positively enough, nothing bad will happen.”

Real life clearly disproves that.

Because reality also includes:

  • other people’s actions,
  • health,
  • economics,
  • legal systems,
  • timing,
  • randomness,
  • emotional maturity,
  • and consequences.

No mindset fully controls all of that.

At the same time, mindset still matters enormously.

When I look at people who survive difficult phases and rebuild repeatedly, there is usually one common factor: they never fully lose belief in tomorrow.

That belief itself becomes fuel.

So today, my understanding is this:

Manifestation is probably not magical control over destiny.

It is more likely a force that shapes:

  • endurance,
  • direction,
  • choices,
  • emotional resilience,
  • and persistence.

Astrology, if true, may describe the season.

Manifestation may describe how consciously we move through that season.

And honestly, life itself feels like a constant balance between:

  • effort,
  • belief,
  • timing,
  • and reality.

Border Towns Don’t Follow Politics, They Follow People


Hosur has always fascinated me.

Politically, it is part of . But culturally, it feels like a beautiful mix of Tamil Nadu, , and all living together in one place.

Recently, I visited an branch in Hosur, and that is where I saw this reality in action.

The staff members were speaking Telugu among themselves very casually. A customer before me was spoken to in Kannada fluently. When my turn came, they immediately switched to Tamil and continued the conversation naturally.

No hesitation. No language politics. No “Which state are you from?” moment.

Just communication.

That small incident made me realize something important about border towns in India.

Maps may divide states, but people don’t live their lives based on political borders.

Historically, Hosur, Denkanikottai, Royakottai, and nearby regions were always culturally mixed zones. These places saw Tamil, Kannada, and Telugu influence for centuries through kingdoms, migration, trade, and later through British administration under the old Madras Presidency.

When states were reorganized in 1956 based on language, these regions became part of Tamil Nadu. But culture does not change overnight just because a line was drawn on a map.

Even today, Hosur carries:

  • Tamil political identity
  • Kannada cultural influence
  • Telugu community presence
  • Bengaluru’s economic energy

all at the same time.

In fact, Hosur today behaves like a Bengaluru extension economically, while emotionally and politically remaining Tamil Nadu.

That is what makes places like Hosur special.

In many cities, people struggle with language barriers. But in border towns, multilingualism becomes survival, habit, and eventually culture itself.

A bank employee switching between Telugu, Kannada, and Tamil within minutes may look normal there. But if you observe carefully, it actually tells the story of South India itself — connected, blended, adaptive, and practical.

Sometimes, history is not visible in monuments or textbooks.

Sometimes, history is visible in a simple conversation inside a bank.

My Maid Election Predictor: Better Than Opinion Polls?


Over the last three Tamil Nadu elections, I accidentally discovered my own election prediction system.

No exit polls.
No survey agency.
No political strategist.

Just… asking my maids whom they would vote for.

And strangely, every single time, their answer matched the eventual winner.

At this point, I’m seriously wondering whether I should stop watching political debates and simply do “Maid Josiyam” before every election.

In 2016, the overall perception around me was that DMK would come back to power. Social media discussions, public conversations, and political analysts all leaned toward a DMK comeback.

One day, I casually asked my maid:

“Whom will you vote for?”

Without even thinking for a second, she replied:

“Amma.”

That was it. No analysis. No manifesto. No policy discussion. Just emotional conviction toward .

AIADMK won.

Then came 2021.

This time the political atmosphere was different. Amma was gone. Again, I casually asked another maid whom she would vote for.

Her answer:

“Till Amma was there, my vote was for Amma. Now my vote is for DMK.”

Once again, simple answer. Straight from the heart. No overthinking.

That year, DMK won.

Now comes 2026.

Again, the broad perception in many circles was that DMK would comfortably return to power. But by now, I had started trusting my unofficial election forecasting model more than TV channels.

So I asked my maid:

“Who are you voting for?”

She smiled and said:

“My grandchildren asked me to vote for Vijay. So I’ll vote for Vijay.”

At that exact moment, I got goosebumps.

Three elections.
Three different maids.
Three different emotional reasons.
Three winning waves.

At this point, this no longer feels like political discussion. It feels like Tamil Nadu-style kili josiyam.

Like those roadside parrots that pick one card and silently predict your future.

Only difference here is: instead of parrots, my maids are predicting Chief Ministers.

What fascinates me is that these conversations happen completely outside political noise. No one is trying to sound intellectual. No one is quoting data. These are raw emotional voting signals from ordinary homes.

And Tamil Nadu politics has always been emotional:

  • MGR
  • Amma
  • Kalaignar
  • cinema charisma
  • welfare connection
  • family influence

Maybe elections are not decided in TV studios after all.

Maybe somewhere inside kitchens, while making coffee and discussing family matters, Tamil Nadu quietly decides its next government.

The Night My Neighbour Disappeared — And My Heart Became Light


For years, I believed some relationships would survive everything.

Not because they were perfect, but because they were built during difficult times.

In 2019, my next-house neighbour slowly became one of my closest friends. What started as casual conversations became a deep family friendship. Our wives became close, our kids played together almost every day, and we shared countless small but beautiful moments that only neighbours understand.

During one of my toughest phases in life, he even helped me liquidate a property and break a local real estate syndicate issue that had become a major headache. Naturally, trust grew.

Then came the unexpected turn.

About a year later, he asked me for money from the property sale, promising that he would return it whenever I asked. Since trust was strong, I never overthought it.

Initially, he repaid in small parts. But one day, when I firmly asked him to settle the amount completely, he casually said he couldn’t.

That moment hit differently.

It was not just about the money. Life had already shown me betrayals before, and during 2021, I was emotionally exhausted and financially strained. I didn’t have the strength for another emotional war. So I stayed silent, absorbed the loss, and slowly maintained distance.

Still, life is never black and white.

His wife had supported my family immensely during my wife’s second pregnancy, especially when we had almost no parental support around us. Our children remained close too. Because of all this, the friendship never completely broke. It simply became quieter.

Years passed.

Then last week, something strange happened.

Around midnight, he vacated the house and disappeared without informing anyone nearby. The security later mentioned that he had given notice earlier and that bank recovery agents had been visiting frequently over the past few months.

When my wife told me the news, she was shocked and worried because she still maintained friendship with his wife.

But my reaction surprised even me.

I suddenly felt… light.

Not happy.

Not victorious.

Not sad either.

Just light.

For a few moments, it genuinely felt like some invisible weight had left my body and mind.

Later, I started thinking deeply about why I felt that way.

The answer slowly became clear.

From 2021 onwards, that friendship had stopped being a normal friendship inside my mind. It had silently transformed into an emotional burden made up of trust, betrayal, gratitude, anger, guilt, memories, and unanswered questions.

Every time we casually met, spoke, or crossed paths, my mind probably reopened that unresolved emotional file for a few seconds.

For five years, I was unknowingly carrying that emotional weight.

Then suddenly, overnight, the chapter ended on its own.

No confrontation.

No arguments.

No explanations.

No fake smiles.

No awkward future encounters.

My mind probably interpreted it as something simple:

“The burden is over.”

That is why I felt light.

The Silent Exit


There is a strange kind of pain in life.
Not the pain of losing money.
Not the pain of struggle.
Not even the pain of betrayal.

It is the pain of realizing that some people quietly walk away from your life without even the courtesy of a goodbye.

Almost nine years ago, a man entered my life as a tenant. Over time, he became a neighbour. Then somewhere along the way, he became a friend.

Life hit him brutally during COVID.

Three months before the pandemic, he had taken the bold step of quitting his job to become an entrepreneur. Like many dreamers, he believed hard work and courage would be enough. But COVID did not spare dreamers.

Within months, he lost almost everything.

Money disappeared.
Business collapsed.
Respect vanished.
Even peace inside his home broke apart.

I watched a man slowly get crushed by life.

During those days, he borrowed money from me. Not a small amount. Even after six years, only about twenty-five percent has come back. But honestly, the money was never the biggest issue for me.

When someone is drowning, you don’t stand near the shore calculating percentages.

You help.

And I did.

Not because I was rich.
Not because I expected returns.
But because humanity should not become a transaction.

I stood beside him during a phase where even his own confidence had abandoned him. I do not want to list the support I gave him, because kindness loses meaning the moment it becomes an invoice.

Then life slowly started improving for him.

Business recovered.
Confidence returned.
The wounds of survival slowly healed.

And that is when something else quietly started happening.

Distance.

Calls became shorter.
Conversations became formal.
Meetings became accidental.

Still, I never held it against him. Life changes people. Success changes priorities. I understood that.

But last week, he vacated the community and moved to Coimbatore.

No message.
No visit.
No handshake.
Not even a simple:
“Anna, I’m moving. Thank you for standing by me.”

I called him after hearing about it.
He did not answer.
He did not call back.

And strangely, that hurt more than the unpaid money.

Because after everything life has shown me — failures, losses, betrayals, pressure, humiliation — one thing I still struggle to understand is this:

Why do some people lose courtesy the moment they stop needing us?

A goodbye costs nothing.
Gratitude costs nothing.
Basic human acknowledgment costs nothing.

Yet for some people, these become the hardest debts to repay.

Maybe this blog is not about him alone.

Maybe many people reading this have silently experienced the same thing — standing beside someone during their storm, only to become invisible once the skies cleared.

And if someday he happens to read this, I do not want him to feel insulted.

I want him to feel something heavier.

Guilt.

Not for the money.

But for forgetting the hands that held him when life pushed him to the floor.

The 78 vs 26 Story: How TVK Hurt DMK More Than ADMK


The Real Story Behind the Numbers

If we strip away all the noise and look at the data calmly, one number stands out:

👉 78 vs 26

Out of the 108 seats won by TVK:

  • In 78 seats, DMK came second
  • In 26 seats, ADMK came second
  • Remaining 4 were split among others

This is not just a statistic — it tells us where the real competition was.

What This Actually Means

In simple terms:

  • In 78 constituencies, the fight was: 👉 TVK vs DMK
  • In 26 constituencies, the fight was: 👉 TVK vs ADMK

So, TVK wasn’t evenly cutting votes across the board.

👉 It was primarily disrupting DMK’s winning chances

If TVK Was Not in the Race

Let’s think practically.

  • In those 78 seats, DMK was already the runner-up
    👉 So DMK is the closest to victory
  • In the 26 seats, ADMK was second
    👉 So ADMK benefits there

Now the key insight:

DMK has 3 times more “near-win” seats than ADMK (78 vs 26)

The Strategic Conclusion

This clearly shows:

👉 TVK’s presence hurt DMK significantly more than ADMK

That part of the analysis is solid and fact-based.

Where the Analysis Overreaches

The next step in the viral claim says:

“If TVK votes split 50–45, DMK would reach 147 seats”

This is where it becomes assumption-heavy.

Because:

  • Not all TVK voters will shift uniformly
  • Every constituency behaves differently
  • Local factors matter more than averages