Capturing the Politics and Poetics of Everyday Life....

This Is How It Began This space is dedicated to my father — who taught me that strength is not volume, boldness is not noise, and conviction often demands the courage to stand alone. Between 2010 and 2024, I learned how easily a self can be scattered— across care, caution, and the quiet weight of expectation. What appeared as duty slowly became erosion. I misplaced parts of myself to gendered scripts, to professional unease, to the soft, persistent hum of political silencing. Somewhere in that long drift, I ceased to be my father’s daughter. And then—almost without announcement— this blog began. What began in 2024 as a digital experiment has become something far more enduring. This blog is a relic I choose to carry with me through time—an archive of thought, dissent, hesitation, and becoming. There are moments when one’s thoughts arrive too early, too sharp, or too uncontainable for the world. In such moments, having one’s voice heard— unedited —can feel like an ordeal. This space exis...

What does it say about our universities when a legally mandated body meant to address sexual harassment is misnamed—confidently, publicly, and repeatedly—by those who claim expertise? In classrooms and seminar halls, acronyms circulate with authority, but authority without accuracy is a dangerous thing. This reflection emerges from a seemingly casual conversation with a former teacher that exposed a deeper malaise within higher education: a troubling indifference to legal literacy, a casual approach to women-centric laws, and an academic culture more invested in procedural comfort than ethical responsibility. At stake here is not a terminological error, but the hollowing out of justice itself. This blog is a continuation of my reflection on the Internal Complaints Committee (ICC) and the crucial role of the external member. Since I am relatively new to this digital space—and since thoughtful responses to academic writing are increasingly rare—I did not expect that my previous post woul...

What happens when an institution proudly announces that it has an Internal Complaints Committee—yet justice never quite makes it past the door? In recent years, ICC has become a familiar acronym in Kerala, especially amid public reckonings in the cultural and creative industries. But familiarity has bred complacency. The presence of a committee is increasingly mistaken for proof of safety, and compliance is routinely confused with accountability. This blog asks an uncomfortable but necessary question: when does the ICC function as a mechanism of justice, and when does it merely perform legality? By focusing on the most neglected yet decisive element of the POSH framework—the external member—this reflection exposes how institutions convert a transformative law into a ritual of silence, and why justice collapses the moment independence is compromised. The phrase Internal Complaints Committee (ICC) entered Kerala’s public vocabulary with unusual force in the aftermath of a series of ruptu...

Merit is supposed to speak for itself. Motherhood is supposed to come naturally. Institutions are supposed to be fair. And yet, many of us learn—slowly, painfully—that excellence often needs translation, care work remains invisible, and power rarely announces itself loudly. This is not a story of triumph. It is a reflection on delay, endurance, ethical refusal, and survival—written from the intersection of womanhood, academia, care labour, and institutional silence. If you have ever felt behind despite doing everything right, this may sound familiar. A Note on Time, Serendipity, and Beginnings To those who pause to read my writing, I offer my deepest gratitude—for in a world addicted to speed, attention is the rarest form of generosity. This blog was not born out of strategy or ambition. It emerged through serendipity—unplanned, unannounced, almost accidental. Then, perhaps not so accidental after all. Those who know me personally are few—countable on fingers. They are familiar with f...

No one tells you this when you begin: that your body will be evaluated before your work, your tone before your thought, your obedience before your brilliance. This is an essay about learning those rules the hard way—and about what it costs to remain visible without being devoured. In the early years of a profession, competence is often mistaken for currency. It is not. Skill, efficiency, and diligence may secure entry, but they rarely guarantee survival. Institutions demand more subtle forms of literacy—those written not in manuals but in gestures, silences, and calibrated compliance. The novice body is read before the novice mind. Posture, tone, pauses in speech, the choreography of asking for approvals, the ritual of submitting requests—these become decisive. One learns quickly that professionalism is not merely what one does, but how legibly one performs obedience while appearing autonomous. Strength, paradoxically, must be practised discreetly. Visibility is permitted only when san...

Not thinking politically is the most political choice you can make today. In an age of algorithmic opinions and ready-made ideologies, party loyalty often replaces political thinking. This blog is about resisting that comfort—about choosing critique over camps, responsibility over allegiance, and ethical vigilance over ideological certainty. We live in a time when not thinking politically is itself a deeply political choice. The everyday rhythms of our lives—what we consume, how we communicate, what we fear, what we ignore—are increasingly scripted by social media capital, market logics, and algorithmic reason. In such a moment, political vigilance is no longer a specialised activity reserved for party workers or activists; it is an ethical demand placed on every citizen. Yet paradoxically, this is also an age that rewards ideological laziness. It is easier to float along with a herd, to inherit ready-made political labels, to pledge lifelong loyalty to a camp and outsource critical th...

Somewhere between the hum of notifications and the glow of screens, we seem to have misplaced our sense of stillness. The clock no longer ticks in seconds but in swipes, and silence—once a space for thought—now feels like an interruption. We live in a world that celebrates motion more than meaning, presence more than depth. Every click promises connection, every scroll, a sense of purpose. Yet, beneath this shimmering web of speed and access lies an unnerving void—a quiet fatigue of the mind and a dull ache of the spirit. We are faster than ever before, but perhaps never have we been so  mentally scattered, emotionally fragile, and ethically adrift. We live in an age of  supersonic speed and hyperconnectivity , where being fast is mistaken for being efficient and doing more is confused with doing better. Information is no longer something we seek to understand - it’s something we consume, endlessly and often mindlessly. The sheer access to an infinite pool of data has made us ...

We live in a time when democracy should mean debate, dialogue, and dissent. Yet, more often than not, we see self-obsessed leaders turning systems into personal empires. What happens when leaders stop grooming successors and start worshipping their own reflections? Here’s a reflection on power, ego, and the silent collapse of institutions. When Power Consumes Itself: The Anatomy of Modern Megalomania “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” wrote Lord Acton in 1887 — a truth that continues to haunt democracies across the world even today. Where parliaments and offices should have been filled with debate and dissent, we now find a disturbing parade of megalomaniacs — self-proclaimed saviours of systems who make everything about  themselves : their ideas, their interests, their friends, and their loyal followers. They take on the air of godfathers and godmothers — mentoring the next generation of leaders only to ensure those successors remain indebted, loyal, and con...