Maithily's Scribblings

This happened around the 18th of July, 2014. We were newly married, still learning about each other, slowly trying to become friends before anything else. My husband usually returned home around 8:30 or 9:00 PM. So when the doorbell rang at around 6:00 PM, I casually assumed he had come home early. But when I opened the door, it wasn’t him. It was his colleague, Sharma. He handed me my husband’s mobile charger and casually asked how he was doing. I was confused. I told him my husband hadn’t returned home yet. That’s when he said something that froze me. “There was a small accident at the office. Something fell on his head. He left in the morning itself.” My heart stopped. I didn’t know what to think. Tears started flowing instantly. Seeing me cry, Sharma tried saying something to calm me down and left. With trembling hands, I kept calling my husband. After a few attempts, he finally answered. He said he was at the guest house with his friend — the place where he used to stay ...

In these twelve years of marriage, as far as my memory stretches, my husband has never once told me what he wanted to eat. Never asked for a special dish. Never made a request. But on 10th February 2026 , something changed. For the very first time in twelve years, he said he wanted to eat green gram gravy. And I don’t know why… but it felt so incredibly special. On one hand, I was already running out of ideas about what to cook. And on the other hand, this man — the man I love so deeply — had finally asked me to make something just for him. There was no grand celebration. No dramatic moment. Just a simple request. I hurried into the kitchen with a smile I couldn’t hide. I prepared the green gram gravy with extra care, and for a change, I even made urad dal rice — something I was trying for the first time. The entire process felt different. Warm. Meaningful. Personal. It wasn’t just about cooking. It wasn’t just about food. It was about being needed. It was about being asked....

I am someone who loves celebrating my birthday. As a child, it was exciting. But after becoming an adult, it became something deeper, a day I consciously set aside for myself. A day where I felt special. A day where I allowed myself to enjoy the little things that make me happy. But in August 2025, my birthday carried a different weight. On the 28th, my father-in-law passed away. It was one of the most devastating moments of my life. He was not just an elder in the family; he was my guide, my guardian, someone whose presence anchored us all. His last rites were planned for the 29th. My birthday. I was shattered. I was grieving. I felt lost. Gowri Athai was with me throughout. She picked me up from the Chennai airport, brought me to Cuddalore, and took care of me like my own mother. In that moment, when I had lost someone so significant, she became my quiet strength. Even while I was mourning, my phone kept lighting up. Friends and relatives were calling and messaging to wish me....

It feels strange to even write this in the past tense. I am a below-average cook. I say that without hesitation. The curries I make taste good not because of my skill, but because of a secret ingredient — a special chilli powder. But this wasn’t just any chilli powder. It was formulated by my father-in-law. Ground in his own mill. Packed in his own shop. Made with precision, patience, and pride. Traditional South Indian Kulambu milagai podi,  but to me, it was simply mama’s masala . After I got married, I never worried about buying chilli powder from outside. All I had to do was make one phone call. “Mama, milagai podi venum…” And he would prepare it fresh for me. My brother-in-law Suresh would carefully pack and courier it. If someone travelled from Cuddalore to Mangalore or Chennai, I would request them to bring a packet. It travelled across cities with me like a silent family member. I must thank my father-in-law for this — whether I learned cooking or not, his masala n...

Based on my daily experience with my four-year-old daughter... Daily Chaos Honestly, I wish knives became blunt the moment tiny hands touched them. I wish lipstick and nail polish would instantly dry up if kids picked them up. I wish the handwash dispenser allowed exactly one pump—no more, no less. I wish bathrooms were extremely inviting only until bath time was done, and then immediately stopped being interesting. And once they stepped out of the bath, I wish kids magically came out dry , especially the long, dense hair they absolutely refuse to dry, because patience is clearly optional at that age. Very Important Invention A device that tells me the exact time my child will need to use the bathroom. I could plan my entire day around it. Productivity would skyrocket. An I nvisible-to-Kids Rack A rack where chocolates, snacks, juices, and junk food are clearly visible to adults but completely invisible to toddlers. Because no matter where I store these things, they somehow g...

Today, 9th February 2026, marks our 12th wedding anniversary , and my heart feels full in the simplest, most beautiful way. The day became special right from the morning because a few people remembered. My husband’s friend Jeevan , Uma Chitti , my cousin Sandhiya anni , my Wipro friend Lakshmi, and Selvaraj mama  took a moment to send their wishes. That thoughtfulness alone made me feel so happy and deeply blessed. What made the day even better was my husband reaching home early from work — a rare and precious gift in itself. Together, we visited Shri Jai Ambe Karthik Swamy Temple, Vadodara , and the experience was calm, divine, and grounding. As a small token of love and gratitude, we donated ₹1,000 to the temple and requested them to prepare evening prasadham for two days . It felt peaceful and meaningful. After the temple visit, we did a little shopping at the Tamil shop below — picking up Thangaiah mixture, Mysorepa , and a few groceries. Those familiar flavours always bring...

Some structures don’t just serve a purpose—they quietly stand as reminders of human intelligence, patience, and vision. The Mathur Aqueduct , located near Thiruvattar in Kanyakumari district , is one such marvel that continues to amaze visitors decades after it was built. Often referred to as the Mathur Hanging Trough , this aqueduct is one of the longest and tallest aqueducts in Asia . Constructed in the late 1950s, its primary purpose was to carry water from the Pahrali River to irrigate agricultural lands in the surrounding villages. What makes it extraordinary is not just its size, but the fact that it still performs its duty efficiently even today. A Structure Ahead of Its Time The aqueduct stretches for nearly 1 kilometer and is supported by massive concrete pillars, some rising to a height of over 100 feet . Built across a deep valley, the structure looks almost suspended in air, earning it the name “hanging trough.” Despite being exposed to sun, rain, wind, and decades of ...

My daughter studies at Kidzee, Sayajipura, Vadodara , and one thing I truly appreciate about her school is the emphasis on healthy food. Over time, she has naturally adapted to Gujarati meals, and as a mother, that makes me incredibly happy. Once a month, the school celebrates a home feast —a day when children can bring healthy food prepared at home. Every month, I try to make something thoughtful and nourishing. In the past, I’ve packed her kolukattai, paniyaram, poori , and a few other homemade delicacies. But this January, I wanted to do something different. Something colourful. Something fun. The night before the home feast, my daughter and I sat together scrolling through YouTube, hunting for cooking inspiration. After watching several videos, we finally decided to try a healthy, vibrant idea inspired by this video: 👉 YouTube inspiration : https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=7kToQQB1jj0 We made purées using spinach, beetroot, and carrot , and used them to prepare the ...

The Smell of Soil in a Distant Land In 2026, living far away in Gujarat, I watched the movie Kadaisi Vivasayi . As the scenes unfolded, something stirred inside me. The wells. The farms. The animals. The festivals. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Gujarat anymore. I could smell the soil of Supparayapuram. I could hear hens clucking, cows mooing, goats bleating, temple bells ringing. Tears filled my eyes — not of sadness, but of longing. Immediately, I called the tenant staying in our Pandarapuram house and asked about the goats, cows, cats, and hens. It felt like checking on family. That day, a thought took firm root in my heart. I wanted to do some kind of farming in our village home. Not for profit. But for connection. So every year when we visit, I could look forward to seeing something grow. So my daughter could taste vegetables fresh from the soil. So she could know the joy I once knew. In a world rushing forward, I wanted to hold on to something timeless. Because roots, once nur...

Life Returns to the Village In 2025, we visited the Pandarapuram house with the family. My husband’s brothers, their wives, and children — all together. Laughter filled the rooms again. Footsteps echoed. The house felt alive. Just like my grandfather’s home once did. I realized something then. Homes don’t die. They only sleep — waiting for families to return. ** To be Continued**

A New Home, A New Beginning In 2024, something unexpected happened. My father-in-law had been trying to sell his ancestral house in Pandarapuram , near Sathankulam in Tuticorin district. With no luck, he finally decided to gift it to us. My daughter was thrilled. When we visited, I felt an instant connection. It was the house where my father-in-law was born and married. Where my husband’s brothers’ wedding rituals took place. Where grandparents once lived, laughed, and prayed. The neighbors shared beautiful stories. They told me my mother-in-law used to perform Kanni Pooja there — a ritual I myself have been doing devotedly for over ten years. They also said that during Aadi Thiruvizha , our family deity used to visit that very house. It stood close to our family temple. The house wasn’t just bricks and walls. It had devotion woven into it. It felt like destiny welcoming me back to my roots. **To be Continued**

The House That Aged With Time Our ancestral home, built in 1964, slowly weakened. Years of low maintenance made it unsafe. Now, when we visit the village, we only stand outside and look at it. The walls are tired. The roof fragile. We don’t dare enter. Yet every crack holds laughter. Every corner holds memories. It waits quietly — like an old guardian watching generations move on. **To be Continued**

Where My Mother Now Rests In 2015, my mother passed away. Her ashes were taken to our ancestral village. As per Hindu customs, a grave was built there, beside my great-grandparents and grandparents. From that day onwards, when I thought of the village, the first image that came to my mind was not the garden, not the house, but my mother’s resting place. We had chosen that spot intentionally. So that no matter how busy life became, we would return to the village at least once a year. That land held my roots. My mother’s mother was born there. My father was born there. My grandfather was born there. It was not just soil. It was history. **To be Continued**

   A Festival and a Truth Too Heavy In 2013, when my wedding was planned for the following year, we decided to visit the village for the temple festival — the oor kodai . It was my first time truly experiencing it. I participated in rituals like Mulai Pari and the grand Thaer Thiruvizha , where the chariot rolled through the village streets. Food was served three times a day in the temple itself. Those who couldn’t attend — especially the elderly — received food at their homes. The village still followed traditions with love and care. But behind my smile, a storm was brewing. Just before we left for the village, my sister and I had accompanied my mother to the doctor. That was when we heard the truth. My mother had a severe heart condition. She had only a few months to live. As the drums played at the festival, my heart felt heavy. As people celebrated life, I was silently preparing for loss. That festival was both beautiful and painful — joy and sorrow walking s...

When Silence Entered the Courtyard Not long after, my grandfather passed away. Without him, the heart of the house seemed to stop beating. My grandmother moved in with my chittapa and stayed with us occasionally. Slowly, the ancestral home began to remain empty. With my father busy with work and business, our village visits reduced. Temple festivals were missed. Family gatherings stopped. The house that once held generations now stood quiet. Walls aged. Plants overgrew. Memories remained. **To be Continued**

A Celebration Like the Movies  In the early 2000s, something special happened. My grandfather wished to conduct my puberty ceremony in our village home. My father agreed — believing it would be a beautiful cultural experience for me. Relatives poured in from everywhere. For two whole days, the entire village was fed — breakfast, lunch, and dinner — in grand traditional style. There was the turmeric bathing ceremony, the Thaimaman Seervarisai , music, dance, laughter, and rituals that felt straight out of a Tamil movie. In fact, whenever I think of it now, I remember scenes from the movie Kadhal — because my celebration was nothing less than that grandeur. The house was alive again. The courtyard echoed with voices. The kitchen worked nonstop. The village became one big family. I didn’t know then that those golden days would slowly begin to fade. **To be Continued**

 Summers of Togetherness Our village visits were incomplete without my cousins. They would arrive from Tuticorin, Madurai, and Salem, and suddenly the quiet house would burst into laughter. We bathed under the pump set, screaming when the cold water hit us. We fetched water from the well, carefully pulling up the heavy buckets. Sometimes we used the municipality pump when the elders allowed. We ran barefoot across the courtyard, played hide and seek behind coconut trees, and sat together sharing stories under the open sky. My grandfather’s house was the first one when you entered the village. Right opposite stood a small primary school. During breaks, teachers would come to rest at our house. My grandmother would serve them hot coffee, snacks, and sometimes meals. She always sent them back with tender coconuts, lemon pickle, or vegetables from the farm — not as charity, but with deep respect for their role in shaping young minds. As children, we would sit in the classroom with vi...

The Two Worlds of My Childhood I was born in the late eighties in Chennai. My days were filled with the hum of buses, the rush of people, school bells, homework, and the comfort of an upper-middle-class life. Our home had modern conveniences, clean floors, neatly arranged furniture, and meals that arrived on steel plates. Life was fast, predictable, and busy. And rarely, we would travel to my dad's birthplace - a small village called Supparayapuram , in the Tuticorin district. The moment we entered the village, everything changed. The air smelled of wet soil and fresh leaves. The roads were narrow and dusty. And standing proudly at the entrance of the village was my grandfather’s house — a large ancestral home with a wide courtyard in the center, open to the sky. It was not just a house. It was a universe. There was a garden where my grandmother grew almost everything we ate — tomatoes glowing red in the sun, brinjals hanging shyly from plants, curry leaves that scented the ...

Disclaimer: This blog is based on my personal experience only. No brand paid or asked me to write it. My Early Menstrual History I got my first period in 6th grade (age 12) in 2000. I then had very regular cycles (roughly 28–30 days) with about 3 days of moderate flow. From the start, my mom introduced me to a leading sanitary pad brand’s maxi pads, and I stuck with that brand exclusively for nearly 25 years. I tried all its versions (thin, thick, soft, clean, long “night” pads, etc.) and never had leaks or discomfort until after childbirth. During non-period days, I used panty liners (mostly Bella, and sometimes Sirona, Femisafe, PeeSafe aloe vera, Evereve, Plush, etc.) with no irritation.  I always wore comfortable hipster-style cotton underwear (Jockey hipsters: size L/XL before marriage, XXL after), which kept pads in place. In short, for decades, periods meant that one brand’s pads and I got along perfectly – awful cramps and backache, yes, but no pad problems. Postpartum B...

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...