Maithily's Scribblings

Pongal has always been my favourite festival, not just for its traditions but for the emotions it carries. This year, I am far away from my family, and I find myself missing my father-in-law deeply. He kept telling me that he would come home to Vadodara for Pongal 2026, and that thought stayed with me throughout the festival. I truly miss him. Pongal is a sweet festival in every sense, and I have always loved enjoying the sweet Pongal my dad prepares. As far back as I can remember, it has always been my dad who cooks both sweet Pongal and ven Pongal on Pongal morning. He does it before sunrise, on a makeshift firewood stove, with so much care and love. My dad’s recipe is the tastiest Pongal I have ever had. It is one recipe I learned wholeheartedly, and it has never failed me. I used to eagerly wait for Pongal just to eat that delicious sweet Pongal my dad taught me to make. This year, there were no big celebrations. Still, I prepared my favourite Pongal at home, and it turned out wond...

I’ve been living in Gujarat for about seven months now. New city, new rhythm, new everything. The only thing that hasn’t quite caught up with the change is my Hindi . I know a few words. Very, very few. Enough to survive. Not enough to understand panic. The Evening at the Play Area One evening, I took my daughter down to the play area in our apartment. The usual scene—kids running around, laughter echoing, parents standing in small groups, half-watching, half-unwinding. I was standing right in the middle of the play area, keeping an eye on my daughter, when one little boy suddenly started running towards me. As he ran, he kept shouting: Aunty,  “ maar raha hai!” He ran past me. Came back again. And again. Every single time, the same line: Aunty,  “ maar raha hai!” Me vs My Very Limited Hindi Now, with my limited Hindi knowledge, my brain immediately translated this into something like:   Aunty, move… you’re blocking us… So I did what any polite, slightly confused adu...

The trip we took on the 1st of January 2026 gave me something far more meaningful than just memories. It gave me strength, calm, and a deep sense of happiness that lingered long after we returned home. Visiting the Statue of Unity had been on my bucket list ever since we moved to Vadodara, and welcoming the new year with this journey felt just right. We started early, leaving home at 7:30 AM in our personal vehicle, and reached the Statue of Unity by around 9:30 AM. The weather was exceptionally kind to us. It was winter, crisp and gentle, making the entire drive feel comforting and inviting. The roads from Vadodara were perfect for a long drive. Smooth, scenic, and peaceful, they made the journey as enjoyable as the destination itself. The cotton plantations lining the route were a pleasant surprise, something we had never seen back in Tamil Nadu. They added a quiet charm to the landscape and stayed with us long after we crossed them. We kept things simple for breakfast, carrying brea...

Every year, we change the calendar and pretend life has magically refreshed itself. New dates. New year. Same alarm. Same routine. Same responsibilities waiting for us the very next morning. And honestly? That’s okay. Because a new year was never meant to change our lives overnight. It was meant to pause us—just for a moment—and ask us to look back. Think about this time last year. What were you worried about? What were you excited for? What did you promise yourself you’d “definitely do this year” ? Some things happened. Some didn’t. And that doesn’t make you lazy or unsuccessful—it makes you human. We often forget that even a race doesn’t begin without a signal. The clap. The whistle. The gunshot. The New Year is just that—a signal. Not pressure. Not judgment. Just a sound saying, “Whenever you’re ready, begin.” You’ve already run one full lap called last year. You’ve learned where you slowed down, where you rushed, where you almost gave up, and where you surprised you...

 Parent–Teacher Meetings. Three letters that still make my heart race. When I was a kid, PTMs were never a good day for me. I was an average—sometimes below-average—student, and every meeting followed the same script. Teachers would patiently explain that I needed to work harder. They were kind, mostly. But what waited for me at home was another story altogether. Once we returned, everything I loved was taken away. No TV time. No snacks. No family time. I was isolated with books and expectations, and that routine continued until the next PTM—where the cycle would repeat again. At one point, my teachers themselves started worrying about PTMs. If I failed, I’d be yelled at in school, in front of other parents. If I just managed to pass with bare minimum marks, I’d still be yelled at. That’s something teachers usually discourage, but it happened anyway. And the worst part? Once the PTM was over, the teasing began. Students would talk about how my parents reacted. How I st...

It’s been three weeks since we moved to Vadodara. Every morning since, I’ve unknowingly built a quiet ritual—coffee in hand, eyes on the sky, watching planes take off from Vadodara Airport, which I can see clearly from our balcony. There's something calming about it. Hopeful, even. A small moment of stillness as the world begins to move. But today… today was not like the other days. Around noon, news broke about the Air India crash at Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Airport, Ahmedabad. And everything I felt in those quiet, breezy mornings shattered into something heavier, more fragile. It’s strange how suddenly a routine can take on new meaning and how quickly something comforting can start to feel ominous. My husband used to be a frequent flyer to Ahmedabad in the months before we settled down here. I was right there at that same airport with my dad and daughter, barely three weeks ago. I still remember my first visit to Ahmedabad and I wasn’t particularly excited. It felt temporary. ...