Pampered Memories

  Every morning, my drive to Kannur Dental College follows a familiar rhythm,  a quick breakfast, keys in hand, the engine humming to life, and the same winding route through the quiet stretches of Tazhe Chovva - Anjarakandy. But today, the rain had rewritten everything.  It had started raining sometime during the night, not the loud, stormy kind, but a steady, soaking monsoon rain that seemed to cleanse the air and slow the world down. As I started the car, the wipers began their lazy dance across the windshield. The road from home to the college that usually stood still on either side of the road now swayed gently, droplets falling from their leaves in slow motion. The red earth had turned darker, and little streams had started to form along the edges of the road, gurgling playfully. The usual bustle was muted. Fewer people stood at bus stops; Schoolchildren with plastic raincoats and colourful umbrellas   walked along the edge of the road, their movements cut...

  I’m writing this while waiting at Bengaluru airport, midway at through a long and tiring connecting journey with  eyes heavy, body aching.   In search of something comforting, I grabbed a hot filter coffee from Rameshwaram Café an outlet near Gate 35. It was strong, rich, with that signature South Indian aroma that cuts through the fatigue. Having a sip of that cofee , my mind took me to my PG days - Standing on a chilly mornings at weekends  at Bhupathi Coffee   the tiny roadside stall  opposite Egmore Railway station ,that served what still remains the best coffee I’ve ever had    Bhupathi’s wasn’t glamorous. No fancy décor,  Just a steel boiler, a weathered counter, and the man himself ,with his no-nonsense pouring technique and quiet efficiency. But come 5 a.m., the place was alive with the smell of roasted beans and the sleepy chatter of people who come in and  out of Egmore railway station . My mind took me to PC,( parr...

 I grew up glued to the TV news in the 1980s and 1990s. Back then television in India meant one thing ie Doordarshan. For many of us, it wasn’t just entertainment; it was an education, a window to the wider world, and a steadying influence in our homes . The news readers were not just presenters, they were trusted voices in our homes. Names like Salma Sultan, with her trademark rose tucked neatly in her hair, or Neethi Ravindran, with her calm authority, immediately come to mind. Gitanjali Aiyar, elegant yet precise, and Rini Simon Khanna, with her measured tone, defined what it meant to be a newsreader. Even Usha Albuquerque and others brought the same composure. Tejeshwar Singh, with his deep, baritone voice, brought a gravitas that could make even the dullest parliamentary bulletin sound weighty. What united them all was their demeanour. They did not dramatize, they did not impose their opinions, and they never raised their voices. News was read, not screamed. Even when they ann...