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The Narcissist Chameleons of Our Times

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Friendships can be the most beautiful - and the most brutal - stories we live. Some bonds are like deep-rooted oaks, bending but never breaking through life’s storms. Others are like fireworks — intense, dazzling, and gone before you even blink. But the most dangerous ones? They’re the friendships that oscillate between love and hate, loyalty and betrayal, until you can’t tell whether it’s affection or warfare. These relationships are not just emotionally exhausting; they’re psychological thrillers in disguise. T here are people whose loyalties shift faster than weather in April. One day, they’re inseparable — talking for hours, sharing secrets, and making you believe in “forever friendships.” Then suddenly, you ask about one of them, and the other mutters a vague, uncomfortable sentence. Just like that, the dream duo has vanished into thin air. You don’t even need to ask what happened. Life, as always, moves on - cruelly, quietly, without explanation. Some relationships, though, have ...
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The Phantom Cord: Why Motherhood Never Really Lets You Go

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They say the umbilical cord is cut at birth — but what if it never truly is? This blog traces the invisible cord that ties mothers to their children long after delivery — a cord woven from love, guilt, expectation, and the quiet erasure of the woman she once was. Between sleepless nights and missed deadlines, between ambition and affection, lies the untold story of every mother who wonders:  Did I really get free that day, or did I just get tied in a new way? She once studied Biology. She knew all about the umbilical cord — that fragile, miraculous lifeline connecting a baby to its mother. It carries oxygen, nutrients, and life itself from one body to another. And then, at the moment of birth, it is clamped and cut — a symbolic act of separation, or perhaps, liberation. But no one tells you that the cord never really disappears. After the delivery, though biologically detached, the baby remains utterly dependent — feeding, sleeping, breathing through the rhythm of its mother’s hear...
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Green Anarchy: The Secret Life of Unruly Plants

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In every manicured garden and landscaped lawn lies an unspoken story of control. We prune, we weed, we shape — believing beauty belongs only to what we can tame. But beyond these boundaries, in the cracks of concrete and the edges of forgotten fields, wild plants thrive — irreverent, anarchic, and free. This blog is a tribute to that green insurgency — to the shrubs, creepers, and weeds that defy the authoritarian aesthetics of order and productivity. They remind us that life’s true vitality often blooms in defiance, not in discipline. Wildness, after all, is not chaos — it is resistance. Wild plants are nature’s green army — a brigade of shrubs, herbs, creepers, and climbers, marching through the manicured lawns of civilization. They slip between cracks in the pavement, sprout from forgotten corners, and challenge the dictatorship of design — a rebellion against the authoritarian logic of beauty, order, and control. The world of curated gardens is a performance — trimmed, arranged, an...
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Violence Doesn’t Always Bleed

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We often imagine violence as something loud, visible, and external — a gunshot, a slap, a scream. But there exists another kind of violence, quieter and far more insidious, that seeps into the folds of everyday life. It’s the violence we inflict upon ourselves when we internalize the world’s gaze — when we allow other people’s opinions, expectations, and definitions of “success” or “peace” to rewrite the script of our lives. This violence does not draw blood. It drains vitality. It comes disguised as discipline, perfection, politeness, or self-control. It is the violence of shrinking to fit, of choosing silence to avoid conflict, of striving endlessly to meet invisible standards that promise worth but deliver exhaustion. This poem emerges from that realization — that  violence is not only what the world does to us , but also what we do to ourselves in the name of peace, perfection, and belonging. It’s about the inner wars that wear gentle faces, the quiet murders we commit in the n...
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When Life is Translated into Numbers, What Do We Lose?

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We live in a world obsessed with counting—marks, trophies, likes, shares, gifts, outcomes. Almost everything in life today is documented, measured, and reduced into data. But what happens to those experiences that cannot be captured by numbers - the in-between shades of colour, the fleeting emotions, the depth of relationships, or the quiet beauty of silence? This piece reflects on how the culture of quantification risks erasing the unmeasurable rhythms of life, and why it is often the immeasurable that makes us most human. If words are windows to the world, then their edges frame the way we see, shaping, defining, confining our worlds. Education teaches us to put life into words: colours into neat labels - red, blue, green, black. tastes into categories - sweet, sour, bitter, salty, spicy. emotions into single terms - love, happiness, sadness, desire. relationships into roles - father, mother, sister, brother, friend. And soon, words themselves are reduced to numbers. Quality is asses...
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Walking Out, Quietly: Women’s Subtle Acts of Resistance

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What does it really mean to “walk out on family”? At first glance, the phrase sounds straightforward and even gender-neutral. But through the lens of culture, it carries a heavy weight - especially when the one doing the walking out is a woman. Society often condemns such acts as selfish or unnatural, reducing women to caricatures when they step outside the strict boundaries of family life. Yet not all walkouts are loud or dramatic. Many women resist quietly, in fleeting moments of refusal, carving out hidden spaces of selfhood within the folds of patriarchy. This blog reflects on these subtle, everyday acts of defiance - resistances that may appear invisible, but which hold profound power. When we say someone “walked out on family,” do we ever pause to ask:  who do we imagine doing the walking out ? The phrase sounds gender-neutral, but through the lens of culture it rarely is. The act becomes deeply political the moment the subject is a woman. For women, to walk out on family is ...
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From Caste to ‘Taste’ - The Unfinished Story of Kerala’s Clothing Protests

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Kerala loves its Renaissance. Navodhanam rolls off the tongue in cultural festivals, political speeches, and school textbooks like a badge of collective pride. It is the word that animates our sense of being modern, secular and progressive. A convenient shorthand for a heroic leap from caste darkness into the light of equality. But what if this Renaissance is not the neat, linear saga we’ve been told? What if its symbols - upper cloths, nose-rings and fine cotton saris - tell a more tangled story, one woven not just with reform but with resistance, repression, and erasure? This blog invites you to read Kerala Renaissance not as a procession of noble reformers but as a contested terrain of bodies, fabrics, and forbidden desires. Through the lens of Foucault’s political technology of the body and Bourdieu’s aesthetics of taste, we peel back the glossy narrative to expose its seams - those stitched together by ezhava women and forgotten rebels like Arattupuzha Velayudha Panickar, with t...
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