Gs. Subbu's Blog

A MOMENT OF STILLNESS 

I stood outside on the balcony trying to beat the claustrophobic indoors and as the first signs of light appeared uncovering the drenched roads from the overnight rain, drowsiness crept in and I made my way back inside, to my bed. As had happened many times before, I went to sleep and to a world of my own and to my dreams. I woke up three hours later, still drowsy. I had my morning coffee and wrote ‘Stillness’. That was fourteen years ago. I remembered the previous evening when on my evening walk along the seashore there was a moment when I felt the Stillness. I explored all those moments which stood frozen in time, those moments of joy, ecstasy, of alienation a snapshot of all those pictures. Years have passed and I still seek the stillness as an extension of ‘Moments of Happiness’. When will these moments ever last? Is it when I find the silence in my heart, and in the stillness of my mind? In fleeting, unguarded moments, it has come like a gentle presence that simply is.

I have felt it while sitting in silence, gazing across distant mountains, my eyes resting on their quiet grandeur. There was no thought, no attempt to grasp or understand—only a still, wordless amazement. The mountains did not speak, yet they seemed to hold within them an ancient, unmoving truth. In their presence, something within me softened and grew quiet, as though I too belonged to that vast stillness.

It returned to me once again by the seashore. The waves, which usually move with a ceaseless rhythm, seemed to hesitate—as if they had forgotten their endless dance. The wind stilled, the horizon blurred into a seamless expanse, and for a brief moment, everything rested in an unfamiliar calm. There was no separation between the observer and the observed—only a single, undivided presence.

On another day, while walking alone in the rain, I sensed it yet again. The droplets fell softly, yet it seemed as though they paused mid-air, suspended between sky and earth. The sea grew silent, the world hushed itself, and within that strange and delicate suspension, I too became still. It was not an effort; it was not a state I entered—it was simply what remained when all movement, inner and outer, came to rest.

As the sun set and darkness slowly descended, the world appeared to withdraw into itself. The colors faded, sounds softened, and life seemed to retreat into a deeper quiet. A bird, perched upon a tree, ceased its song—not abruptly, but as though it had gently dissolved into silence. That silence was not empty; it was full, rich, and alive—a presence that spread quietly through everything, touching all without distinction.

There have been other moments—moments that stand in stark contrast to this stillness. Amidst the restless movement and noise of crowds, I sometimes find myself strangely alone, inwardly untouched by the chaos around me. There is a stillness there too, but it is fragile, fleeting. For as the world resumes its rhythm, as voices rise and footsteps quicken, I feel myself drawn back into the current—carried along almost against my will, as though I had never truly left.

And then, there were those rare and tender instants so subtle that they can easily be missed. When I looked through her eyes and sensed a depth of unspoken feeling, a quiet tenderness that asked for nothing and yet revealed everything. In those moments, something within me had stirred, not with restlessness, but with a gentle ache, as though touching something infinitely precious and infinitely fragile.

It is in those instants that a question arises—not from the mind, but from somewhere deeper: can time not pause here, if only for a while? Can this moment not linger, untouched by the passing of seconds? But even as the question forms, I know the answer. Stillness cannot be held, cannot be preserved or prolonged. It comes and goes as it wills, like a whisper in the vastness of existence. Stillness is not something to be found or kept—it is something to be recognized. It is always here, beneath the surface of all movement, quietly waiting—not to be attained, but to be seen.

 

Take refuge in silence. You can be here or there or anywhere. Fixed in silence, established in the inner 'I', you can be as you are. The world will never perturb you if you are well founded upon the tranquility within. 

Silence is truth. Silence is bliss. Silence is peace. And hence Silence is the Self.

Ramana Maharshi

A MEDITATION ON SILENCE

There are moments in life when silence descends upon us unexpectedly. It is not planned, nor deliberately sought. It simply arrives, quietly and without ceremony. Perhaps that is the nature of silence—it does not announce itself; it just happens.

There was an all-pervading sense of isness. There was only me, and myself. The familiar sounds of the world seemed to have withdrawn beyond the walls. No distant traffic, no voices, no mechanical hums disturbed the stillness. It felt as though the night itself had wrapped the space in a gentle cocoon of quietude.

Within that stillness I began to take a walk within myself. An inward walk, the kind we rarely allow ourselves in the rush of everyday life. Our days are filled with movement, responsibilities, conversations, and distractions that keep our attention directed outward. Rarely do we pause long enough to wander through the corridors of our own inner landscape.

As I turned inward, the mind, which is usually so eager to speak, had grown strangely quiet. The usual chatter of the mind had simply faded away.

At first this quietness felt unfamiliar. We are so accustomed to the noise within our own heads that silence can feel almost unsettling. But as I lingered within it, the discomfort dissolved. What remained was a gentle awareness—an alert but unforced presence.

It was during this quiet inward walk that a realization dawned upon me, this was meditation. It was the meditation that happens when the mind stops struggling and simply rests within itself. I understood that meditation is not always something we do. Sometimes it is something that happens when we stop doing everything else.

Silence at first glance  appears empty, almost barren. Yet the longer one remains within it, the more one begins to sense its quiet richness. What once seemed like emptiness gradually reveals itself as a profound fullness. It is as though silence is not the absence of sound, but the presence of something deeper. Within silence the mind loses its compulsion to perform. It stops explaining, analysing, judging, and narrating every passing experience. Awareness begins to settle into a simple state of being. And within that state of being, a subtle transformation occurs.

The boundaries that usually separate us from the world begin to soften. The distinction between observer and observed becomes less rigid. Instead of standing apart from life, we begin to feel quietly immersed in it.

It was during such a moment that I experienced something I can only describe as a quiet encounter with the sacred. 

The coolness of the winter air seeped gently through the stillness. When I looked out of the window, the moon hung high in the sky, bathing the world in a soft, luminous glow. Its light did not glare or demand attention. It simply illuminated everything with quiet generosity. Shadows moved gently along the walls and across the ground outside. They seemed almost alive, drifting silently as the breeze stirred the branches of nearby trees. The rustling leaves whispered softly, like a secret conversation between the night and the earth.

That night, I discovered God.

There was only the quiet presence of the night, the cool touch of the air, the luminous calm of the moonlight, and the gentle movement of shadows.

And within all of it, there was silence. It was in that silence that I sensed something profoundly sacred.

Perhaps the divine has always been present in the small, unnoticed details of existence. Perhaps it is we who are too preoccupied to notice. We begin to realize that beneath our worries, ambitions, and identities lies a deeper stillness. That stillness is not empty, it is alive with awareness. And within that awareness, one senses a mysterious connection with everything around us.

For a brief moment that night, I felt a part of that silent unity. In that moment, it felt like God, a subtle presence that permeates the very fabric of existence. And it revealed itself through silence.

We do not need to search for meaning of God. we only need to pause long enough to listen to the silence that patiently waits within and around us. It is there, in that gentle stillness, that we sometimes discover truths that words can never fully express.

 

It’s been nine years since my book Darkness and Beyond - A Medley of Many Lives was published. Of all my books I found maximum fulfillment writing this. For it covers nine different people and their stories and I hover in the background travelling along in a bid to understand the common thread running through them. While a number of my friends did buy the book and some even put in a review, I can understand that there is a vast majority out there who have missed it, may be due to lethargy or a lack of reading habit. In any case I decided that this book needs rejuvenation and may be in the process motivate them to get and read it, of course I will be all the more elated if they leave a review- a feedback, for that is what the author looks forward to.

So I decided to introduce and tell you what the book is about. Since a number of you would have read the book I am putting this as a recap. So read on. It only gives a peep into each story. May be you will get interested, may be you will buy it and put up a review. In any case read this post. Thank you.

DARKNESS AND BEYOND - A MEDLEY OF MANY LIVES
A RECOLLECTION

It was a late December evening in 2013. As I began my walk back home, I watched the sun sink into the western horizon—a reddish glow slowly dissolving into the gathering dusk. Neon lights flickered on, one by one. When I paused and looked back along the beach road, I saw alternating stretches of light and shadow marking the path I had traversed. In that moment came an overwhelming realization: life itself unfolds in much the same way—an oscillation between light and darkness, between joy and suffering, each marking the passage of our existence.

Though darkness evokes in us a primal fear—the anxiety of dissolving into nothingness—we surrender to it every night, trusting that dawn will return. For a man sustained by hope, it seems only natural to believe that just as night yields to morning, there exists something beyond the darkness of death. We may not know what lies there, but it is hope that sustains us, that renders life meaningful. Without it, the very prolongation of existence would seem absurd.

It was from this reflection that Darkness and Beyond – A Medley of Many Lives was born.

This work is not merely about aging or the acceptance of life’s final passage. It is about those who have journeyed through darkness and found light—those who have discovered meaning, fulfillment, and authenticity in their existence. Whether it is the revolutionary fighting for the oppressed or the seeker in pursuit of ultimate truth, the quest remains the same: to dispel darkness—of suffering, of ignorance—and move toward light. Understanding and acceptance, in themselves, become the path to overcoming suffering.

Just as a medley in music weaves together different tunes into a continuous whole, so too is life—a confluence of many lives, many experiences, seamlessly intertwined.

I was barely six months old when my grandfather passed away. I am told he would quietly peer into my cradle, just to catch a glimpse of his sleeping grandson. From fragments of memory shared by elders, I have come to sense something deeply mystical about him. He was, by worldly standards, an ordinary man—simple and unassuming. Yet, in essence, he was extraordinary. He lived guided by an inner calling, a spiritually elevated soul held in quiet reverence.

*****

Roots traces my journey back to the village of my ancestors—a journey toward belonging, toward connection. It is a fictional biography of a man I never knew, reconstructed through memory and imagination. While the circumstances and characters are imagined, I believe the essence remains true.

It is also a meditation on what we have lost—the gradual movement away from our roots in pursuit of opportunity, and the disintegration of the joint family system that once anchored us. In rediscovering the past, we begin to understand the present.

*****

Sometimes, life alters course through the simplest of encounters. In The Old Man and I – Darkness and Beyond, an incidental meeting grows into a meaningful bond. The old man, standing at the twilight of his life, accepts his approaching end with remarkable calm. Sustained by hope, he reflects:

“I do not know what lies beyond. But just as light fades into darkness and darkness dissolves into dawn, I believe there is something beyond—and that belief is the hope I carry.”

It is a quiet affirmation of faith in the face of the unknown.

*****

As our children move away in search of their own futures, we are left to confront an unsettling reality—the possibility of growing old alone.

What does it mean to have a dignified end?

This question becomes urgent when we witness the slow erosion of a loved one—physically and mentally—through age and illness. Dementia, paralysis, and the gradual fading of identity reduce a person to a state of existence without presence. It is one of life’s most painful experiences: to watch someone you love disappear while still alive.

In Waiting for Deliverance, I attempt to explore both perspectives—the sufferer and the caregiver. The anxiety is universal:

“We are growing old. When my time comes, I wish it to be swift. I dread becoming a burden… Love should never be tested that way.”

There are no easy answers. Only questions that linger.

*****

The turbulence of youth and ideology finds expression in Master Moshai, set against the backdrop of the Naxalite movement. It reflects a clash between violent revolution and transformative change through awareness and education.

Those were years of unrest—the Vietnam War, cultural upheavals, and closer home, the birth of Bangladesh and the Naxalite uprising. I witnessed fragments of this as a young observer. Though the story is fictional, its emotional and historical grounding remains real.

*****

Relationships, too, are fraught with complexity.

In A Man and A Woman, I explore the fragile balance between commitment and individuality. There is no perfect relationship—only imperfect individuals attempting to coexist.

Perhaps conflicts arise less from circumstance and more from the absence of empathy. And sometimes, choosing to walk away is not failure, but a form of liberation.

*****

Music, unlike any other art form, has the power to transcend the senses.

When we close our eyes to listen, we heighten our awareness of sound. For the visually impaired, this becomes a gateway to experiencing the world.

A Light in the Darkness follows the life of a boy born blind, whose parents help him discover meaning through music—a reminder that deprivation in one sense can awaken depth in another.

*****

In The Patriarch, Periyachamy rises from deprivation to become the head of a large family. His life rests on two pillars—faith and loyalty. Through struggle and perseverance, he discovers that even the deepest darkness can be dispelled by hope.

*****

The idea of transformation finds a powerful echo in the story of Raju from Guide. A flawed man, shaped by circumstance, ultimately finds spiritual fulfillment—not through miracles, but through surrender.

“I am doing what I have to do; that is all.”

In that surrender lies liberation—the erasure of ego, the acceptance of purpose. Not all who seek truth become saints. Some, like the Buddha, arrive at it through deep introspection. Others have sainthood thrust upon them. And some merely assume its appearance.

Ekant, The Savant, belongs to neither category. He is simply a seeker—one who understands that true renunciation is not an act, but a state of being.

“One does not renounce. One simply outgrows the need to possess.”

*****

Finally, Tonsured – A Tale of Two Widows revisits a painful chapter in our social history—the marginalization of widows. Though reformers like Raja Rammohan Roy and Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar fought against such practices, remnants persist even today.

This story is one of suffering, resilience, and eventual redemption—a journey from darkness into light through human compassion.

*****

At its heart, Darkness and Beyond is not about death, but about life—about how we endure, evolve, and find meaning. It is a tapestry of human experiences, a medley of many lives. And through it all runs a single thread: That no matter how deep the darkness, there is always—somewhere, somehow—a light.

 

GROWING UP WITH Dr. AMBEDKAR
Kamal and NG Uke        

A book by Varsha Uke Nagpal

There are two reasons why it took me such a long time to go through this book. The first was due to unavoidable personal inconveniences and the second and more important reason was that as I started reading the book it took me some time to wade through the labyrinth of characters and make connections to integrate myself with the flow. In the process I was astonished  at the minute details etched out whether it be of the individual characters or the places involved. I would term this work of Varsha as a labour of love delving deep into understanding her roots. I myself have tried to do that but found the process tedious and found myself lost in making connections and so it lies incomplete. That is where Varsha’s attempt to go back nearly a hundred years and stitch together in a cohesive manner the biography of her parents - Kamal and NG Uke.  and the relationship they enjoyed with Dr. Ambedkar.

I have a question for Varsha - 

What was her motivation to attempt such a work? At some point in our lives there comes an yearning in us to understand where we came from and and authenticate our identity. Motivation is one thing and sustaining that urge requires a commitment. Most of us give up midway through the process. That is where Varsha stands out. I am astounded at the extent of commitment and perseverance she has displayed in completing what she started. I am sure that it must have taken her number of years to compile the data especially the family tree, not in any sense an easy job, for after completing the book you get a feeling that she has lived through the entire period of her forefathers lives as an observer to every single event. The description is so authentic that though the number of people who inhabit the book is large, as you read they come alive in front of you. This requires a high degree of sensitivity and kudos to Varsha for having been true in her narration without melodrama or exaggeration.

It would be necessary for me to quote the very first paragraph of Chapter 1 BEGINNING -

‘It was a fine morning, just like any other morning when the sun rises from the east in all its majesty. The sky turned pink, then a shade of orange, and then with a golden glow, suddenly a ball emerged from the horizon and announced to the whole world that another day had just begun. The birds chirped all around and having plenty of time to myself, I decided to embark on a leisurely journeyto the place where I belong- Kurud’

A perfect beginning, lyrical and and the intent made clear. I presume that it took her three to four years chronicling not only the lives of her ancestors but travelling to the places where her parents, grandparents and other relations lived. She describes Kurud as a very tiny village located in the Naxalite infested district of Gadchiroli in Maharashtra. 

In fact the story starts nearly 275 years ago around the year 1740 CE when one of her ancestors Kaho and two of his brothers left Kondha Kosara village of Bhandhara district and moved southwards in search of employment. They travelled along the Wainganga river. That is how Kaho and his brothers reached a dwelling area named Kurud. While both his brothers moved on, Kaho decided to settle down at Kurud. And that is where our story starts.

It was Gomaji her grandfather who grew up to be a nonconformist, with an inquisitive nature and a questioning attitude, traits he seem to have passed on his third son Narayan. While it is not my intention to trace the life of Narayan here, there is enough information in the book to help one to travel along with him and admire his sheer persistence, hard work, and support from the family, Narayan was able to a secure a scholarship from the British Government to go to London for higher studies, a rare privilege for a boy from a Primary school in Kurud. In fact in the Preface to the book Varsha describes her father Narayan as a staunch atheist and would discuss the existence of God. 

While much is written about Narayan and his family and like I said earlier, one tends to get lost in the slew of characters, I have found many portions of the book fascinating, especially Narayan’s journey to London by ship, his life in London and the life changing meetings with Dr. Ambedkar.

Chapter 13th of the book details the journey of Narayan to London. It is Varsha’s master stroke to reproduce the notes in the Blue Diary  maintained by her father. This pushes the reader to experience the travel of 15 days to London along with Narayan. Each day during the journey has been chronicled in detail. All the 14 days 0f the journey in fact reads like a Captains log. The description of the journey is a highpoint in the book, for as you read you feel you are also on that ship ‘

It is the Blue Diary that meticulously chronicles the life led by Narayan in London, the people he met, the friends he made. And it is this diary that introduces us to Dr. Ambedkar. 

In the the chapter ‘Musings of a Young Heart’ Narayan gives us a glimpse of the emotions while leaving after having spent his first summer vacation in the UK and where he had formed close friends and relationships and experiencing the pain of separation. He writes ‘All memorable things in this world end soon. They are a matter of some moments and seconds only. What is life? Nothing but a bubble of air in water, As to when it will finish no one knows’. This chapter brings out the sentimental and empathetic side of Narayan. 

But perhaps the most important portion in the book are the meetings he had with Dr. Ambedkar and coming under his tutelage. His views on life and and politics being shaped by him.  

For me and to a vast majority of us, we have known Dr. B.R. Ambedkar as the chief architect of the Constitution of India, a visionary leader who championed social justice, equality, and human rights, especially for India's marginalized communities (Dalits). He served as India's first Law Minister, fought against untouchability, advocated for women's rights, and led mass conversions to Buddhism, leaving a profound legacy as a jurist, economist, social reformer. But it is through this book one gets a peek into the person Babasaheb was through Narayan’s Diary.  

The second part of the book details the life of Kamal Uke, the author’s mother. In the Preface to the book Varsha says that her parents were as different as chalk and cheese with respect to their background. Narayan was from a remote tiny village while Kamal was born in the urban city of Nagpur. Whereas Narayan was a staunch atheist, Kamal believed in one superstition. So it is of interest to note that their union was brought about by Dr. Ambedkar who was close to both the families. 

Varsha’s book not only tells the story of her parents but covers the entire Uke and Meshram family. It is a book that covers not only their lives but also the political, social and cultural history of those times. Written in a simple and structured narrative, the book motivates the reader to go in search of one’s own roots and understand the great achievements and sacrifices of their ancestors. Summing up it is a classic work of genealogy. 

 

A Motivational Session at St. Patrick’s High School – 23rd January 2026

It all started during a casual conversation with my dentist. When he asked me where I did my schooling from, I replied ‘St. Patricks High School, Adyar, Chennai’, he was pleasantly surprised and said “Sir I am also a Patrician”. Thus started the reconnect with my Alma Mater after six decades. 

I was asked by the Alumni of St. Patricks High School, Adyar to give a motivational talk to the students of the 11th and 12th standards. Being an Alumnus myself, having passed out of the school in 1965, it was an opportunity and an honour to interact with the students who were on the threshold of stepping out into the future that would determine the course of their lives. The school itself had grown in size with the addition of more buildings and hostels. But what pleased me most was that the old building stood there intact with the classrooms where once we had attended classes, and carrying memories. The school had completed 150 years since it was established. The campus is beautiful with a lot of green cover and situated on the banks of the Adyar river. In a lighter vein it appeared that I was perhaps one of the oldest members in the Alumni. I also noted that many of the members were not even born when I passed out of school in 1965.

I couldn’t recollect when I had last addressed a gathering, but I am sure it was when I was in active service in the bank. Maybe some seminars, farewell speeches and the like. This was different, this was supposed to be a motivational session where the audience consisted of a generation far removed from my own, whose knowledge levels, aspirations and expectations were more demanding, growing up in an atmosphere of extreme competition and opportunities. Initially it was daunting, but then I realized that whichever generation we belong to, the basic emotions and instincts would remain the same. 

I was clear that this was not going to be a speech or a lecture for there is always the danger of it ending up as a sermon or a monologue and I did not want to do either of them. So I said ‘let us have a talk’ for it ensures there is a dialogue and participation. And that’s what I did.  

And this is what I talked -

“Standing here today is deeply emotional for me. Exactly sixty years ago, I walked out of these gates as a 15-year-old boy — slim, serious, slightly confused, but absolutely convinced that I was destined for something “big”! At that age, of course, we all think we know everything. We have strong opinions. We have big plans.

When I was in Class X, the most dangerous question an adult could ask was:

“So… what do you want to become?” In my time, the options were very limited. You were either going to be a doctor or an engineer. That was it. No data science, no AI, no entrepreneurship, no content creators, no start-ups. If you said you wanted to “explore,” people would look at you as if you needed medical attention! Since I was reasonably good at Mathematics and Science, I confidently announced, “Engineer.” It sounded impressive. It satisfied relatives. And it saved me from further questioning.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder — did I choose engineering, or did engineering quietly choose me? But let me tell you something important: at 15, it is perfectly fine not to have all the answers. In fact, if you think you have all the answers at 15, life will soon correct you — gently… or sometimes not so gently!

When I think of my journey, I realise something very clearly: whatever I became later in life had its roots here. It was within these classrooms that I began to discover my strengths. It was on this playground that I learned teamwork. It was under the guidance of our teachers that I learned discipline. They didn’t merely teach us subjects. They shaped our thinking. They insisted on punctuality. They corrected our grammar. They demanded neat handwriting — something many of you have successfully escaped thanks to keyboards! But beyond academics, they instilled something far more valuable — character.

I love what Salvador Dalí once said: “At the age of six I wanted to be a cook. At seven I wanted to be Napoleon. And my ambition has been growing steadily ever since.” That quote always makes me smile. Because it is so true. Dreams change they evolve as you grow and that is perfectly natural. The key is not to panic when your dreams change. The key is to grow with them.

My Journey took me from St. Patrick’s High School, to Loyola College, and later to IIT Kharagpur. It was not all smooth sailing. There were moments of doubt. There were exams that did not go as planned. There were nights of anxiety before results. And yes, there were days when I wondered whether I truly belonged there.

What I learned was that talent may open the door but discipline keeps you in the room. Success is usually the result of small, consistent efforts repeated every day. There are no shortcuts, the real progress happens quietly through persistence.

One of the biggest challenges you face today is competition and  comparison. As someone who has seen six decades of change from a youth just out of school to where I find myself today, the biggest hurdle I have faced is comparison. It robs us of our joy, confidence and potential. Growth is not a competition; it is a personal evolution. We all want to grow, to be loved and held in high esteem. We work towards realizing our full potential and fulfillment

Ambition is important. Without ambition, we drift. But ambition must be balanced. When I talk of ambition I look at it as -

Personal growth – To become healthier, wiser, more confident, emotionally balanced, understand , empathize and accept. 

Career growth – To excel in your chosen field, whatever it may be.

Social growth – To contribute, to give back, to uplift others.

At different stages in our life success undergoes a transformation- from winning to earning, to stability and ultimately you will understand success as significance.

I have narrowed down on five words which could perhaps help you to focus on the journey ahead and achieve your goals -

Persistence, Patience, Purpose, Passion, Principles. And of course there is one ‘P’ which should be avoided and that is Procrastination.

As I stand here today, sixty years after I left these gates, I feel — Gratitude to this institution, to my teachers, to my parents and lastly to life itself. When I left St. Patrick’s as a boy, I carried dreams. Today, I return carrying memories… and immense respect for the foundation this school gave me.

One day, many decades from now, one of you will stand here — perhaps as a leader, a scientist, an artist, an entrepreneur — and you will say, “It all began here.”

My journey began here. Yours is unfolding now. Make it meaningful, ethical, and joyful. Before I end I shall leave it to you to answer for yourself at some stage in your life -

What difference did I make?

Whose life did I improve?

Did I live by my principles.

Thank you, and may your future be bright and purposeful”.

 

MEMOIRS, JOURNALS ANDCONVERSATIONS

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

                                                                                    ― William Wordsworth,

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”

                                                                                    ― William Wordsworth

BLURB

GS. Subbu puts together bits and pieces, slices of life, in metaphors, in conversations, and in humor, to arrive at an understanding of the world we live in, of relationships and empathy, a journey of learning,  an inquiry into life, and an acceptance of reality,. Memoirs, Journals, and Conversations’ is metaphorical in its contents, whether it is the author  talking to himself or with objects surrounding him, leading one to serious introspection. The author in his own words says “I pause to reflect on what I have seen and experienced, what I have understood about life, and what it means to live”. Appreciation of Art, The Dream of a Disturbed Man a short science fiction story, Homage and A Tribute to All Parents also form important portions of the book

PREFACE

When I reflect on my journey as a writer, I feel fulfilled and satisfied that I have been able to say what I wanted, an outlet for my feelings, views, and explorations into territories that had eluded me before. I now await to venture into fresher pastures. But before that, I wish to share with my readers and seek their indulgence to undertake the journey along with me, for after all, it is they who have pushed me from milestone to milestone.  

I found in the process that I could explore all those things that I have been passionately interested in like art – painting, and music. It was on the way, on that journey, I saw things with a new perspective, a perspective that had been sharpened by the experiences on the way. I came across two amazing books that played a large part in my development as a writer and helped me become a published author from a blogger – ‘On Writing’ by Stephen King and ‘Fallen Leaves’ by Will Durant. I learned from Stephen King that “If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut. Good writing teaches the learning writer about style, graceful narration, plot development, the creation of believable characters, and truth-telling. We read to experience the mediocre and the outright rotten; such experience helps us to recognize those things when they begin to creep into our own work and to steer clear of them. We also read in order to measure ourselves against the good and the great, to get a sense of all that can be done. And we also read to experience different styles.” 

To this day I fall back upon Will Durant and it becomes more relevant as you age and the years pass you by. ‘Fallen Leaves’ is considered his most personal book and the last, presenting his own opinions on the major problems of life, politics, religion, and society. I have taken the liberty to reproduce  from the Preface to the book where he writes-

“Vanity increases with age. Here I am, going on ninety-five; by this time I should have learned the art of silence, and should realize that every educated reader has already heard all opinions and their opposites; yet here I set out, fearful and rash, to tell the world – or one hundred millionth of it – just what I think on everything. It is all the more ridiculous since at my age, a man is deeply rooted in the ways or views of his youth, and is almost constitutionally incapable of understanding the changing world that assails him, and from which he tends to flee into the grooves of the past or the safety of his home.” 

There has been a perceptible slowing down, especially after 2020, and I recognize that. Maybe I can no longer run, but still capable of pushing my way to the next milestone, and like Durrant says, I am also learning the art of Silence.

I pause to reflect on what I have seen and experienced, what I have understood about life, and what it means to live. I ask myself whether it is vanity that forces me to write. Maybe it is there in some measure, but to be truthful, I have found that my writing is a mirror I hold in front to understand the lessons that life has taught me. It has taught me that each day is a celebration. As you wake up to see the sun streaming through the windows and you stretch your limbs, re-enacting the very process of being born again and living one more day, it is a CELEBRATION. 

I feel indebted to all those authors and their books for having shown me the way whenever I faced a wall. I find it necessary to list here the learning points and processes I underwent while reading them, especially Stephen King’s ON WRITING and Will Durant’s ‘FALLEN LEAVES’ 

The need to arrive at a comprehensive view of life through my own and the lives of others has been my inspiration. I see stories in every person I meet and every place I visit, and they inspire me.

When I look back at the road I have traveled, I keep discovering those little joys, some sadness, successes, failures, and questions about life.   

All writers undergo the same process: an idea, giving it form, writing it down, reading, editing, re-reading, re-editing, and the final product. It is an iterative process until you are satisfied that you have nearly put down what you wanted. Research becomes an integral part when you write across different locations and timelines.

The most fulfilling aspect of writing is the ability to translate emotions, ideas, and perceptions, which are intangible, into words. It is an outlet for your imagination and a world of your own where you are the creator. Imagery is an essential part of storytelling. I have relied on it to capture the mind of the reader and enhance their reading experience so that they can visualize the setting on which a story is based. 

This book is essentially a selection from my writings over the years. I thought it fit to group them in the form of memoirs and journals to give a wholesome picture and bring it out in the form of a book. I am sure the reader will find it seamless and travel on the journey with me. 

This journey of selecting from what I have written over the last fifteen years and editing and putting them together has been rewarding and, at the same time, a satisfaction of evaluating how far I have traveled on my journey to self-discovery.

AUTHOR BIO

This is the sixth book of GS.Subbu (the others being- ‘I am just an Ordinary Man’, ‘Darkness and Beyond- A Medley of Many LIves’, ‘Autumn Leaves- Seasons of Life’, ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ and ‘Secrets of the Soul’. An Engineer by qualification and a Banker by profession, Subbu started his journey in writing as a blogger, after his retirement. His blog ‘Sublimation’ has been the backbone of his writings. ‘Memoirs, Journals and Conversations’ is a compilation of a selection of his writings over the last decade and half, exploring various aspects of life. 

The book is now available on

https://www.amazon.in/dp/B0G8FHTDV7

https://direct.notionpress.com/in/rea...

 

Painting by Maitreyi

A CELEBRATION OF THE 300th POSTING ON MY BLOG

MILESTONES: THE JOURNEY CONTINUES

As the year 2024 nears its end, I sit back to reflect on my journey as a writer. It has given me fulfillment and satisfaction that I have been able to say what I wanted, an outlet for my feelings, views, and explorations into territories that had eluded me before. I now await the dawn of a New Year to venture into fresher pastures. But before that, on reaching a milestone of 300 posts on my blog, I seek to share with my readers and seek their indulgence to undertake the journey along with me, for after all, it is they who have pushed me from milestone to milestone.  

A long-felt desire came true when I created this blog fifteen years ago in October 2009 and named it SUBLIMATION. For me, it meant merging with greatness, an expanse beyond compare, beyond beauty, transcendental; and Sublimation, the process of becoming sublime. Did I hope to achieve this by expressing my thoughts, feelings, reactions, and relationships? Was it going to be a mirror reflecting the distortions that I had failed to see, recognize, and accept? Time will tell. There were too many questions to start with-

What do I write? How will I sustain the flow? If I am to to put myself in the public domain will I be able to pull myself out of my personal space?  

When I first became active on my blog it was more of an inward journey and more for myself. However, a few inputs from some of my well-wishers made me realize that when I write something that I place in the public domain, it has to have a certain interest to the reader. I was and am interested in people reading what I write. A valuable input came from one of my friends. He said “You write well but most of it is philosophical excursions, the only thing I can say is that I like them by way of comments but that does not really mean anything. With your varied interests, you should be able to write on things which the reader can connect with”. I took him seriously and changed my approach. I found in the process that I could explore all those things that I have been passionately interested in like art – painting, and music. I found that slowly the number of page views increased and I knew that I was now connecting.  I also found that there is a joy in sharing, a satisfaction of a need to be understood, and a need for adulation. This is especially true of any creation that is put up in the public domain for consumption. 

In an earlier post of mine ‘In Need Of Appreciation’ I mentioned that the reason why the need for sharing arises is the same as the reason you start conversations: to connect with the people who may resonate with you. Therefore appreciation and feedback, even a critical one... anything that starts a dialogue is most welcome.

It is important to set a goal for oneself, for that is what makes you move forward. I had never really set myself a goal, it just happened. When I realized that over a period of four years, I had reached that figure of a hundred postings, it gave me satisfaction and confidence that I could write. When I wrote my 100th post on 20th February 2013, I called it ‘A Celebration of my 100th Posting’. Yes, it indeed was a celebration for it was the first milestone in my journey as a writer.   It was on the way, on that journey, that I started seeing and experiencing things that I had never really understood before. I saw things with a new perspective, a perspective that had been sharpened by the experiences on the way.

Three years later in March 2016, I celebrated once again when I reached the 200th post and called it a ‘Celebration of Life’.  During this period I also managed to complete my first two books. Perhaps it was my most productive time, another milestone in my journey as a writer.

During this period, I came across two amazing books that played a large part in my development as a writer and helped me become a published author from a mere blogger – ‘On Writing’ by Stephen King and ‘Fallen Leaves’ by Will Durant. I learned from Stephen King that “If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut. Good writing teaches the learning writer about style, graceful narration, plot development, the creation of believable characters, and truth-telling. We read to experience the mediocre and the outright rotten; such experience helps us to recognize those things when they begin to creep into our own work and to steer clear of them. We also read in order to measure ourselves against the good and the great, to get a sense of all that can be done. And we also read to experience different styles.” 

To this day I fall back upon Will Durant and it becomes more relevant as you age and the years pass you by. Fallen Leaves is considered his most personal book and the last, presenting his own opinions on the major problems of life, politics, religion, and society. I have taken the liberty to reproduce  from the Preface to the book where he writes-

“Vanity increases with age. Here I am, going on ninety-five; by this time I should have learned the art of silence, and should realize that every educated reader has already heard all opinions and their opposites; yet here I set out, fearful and rash, to tell the world – or one hundred millionth of it – just what I think on everything. It is all the more ridiculous since at my age, a man is deeply rooted in the ways or views of his youth, and is almost constitutionally incapable of understanding the changing world that assails him, and from which he tends to flee into the grooves of the past or the safety of his home.” 

It has taken me eight more years to reach this next milestone of three hundred postings. It has not given me the same elation as earlier though I did publish two more books keeping to my time schedule of one every two years, but it is now four years since I wrote ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ and the promised sequel is only partially done. There has been a perceptible slowing down, especially after 2020 and I recognize that. Maybe I can no longer run, but still capable of pushing my way to the next milestone, and like Durrant says, I am also learning the art of Silence.

Now, when I am on the verge of reaching the next milestone in my journey of 300 postings with more than 1,30,000 page views, I pause to reflect on what I have seen and experienced, what I have understood of life, and what it means to live. I ask myself whether it is vanity that forces me to write. Maybe it is there in some measure, but to be truthful I have found that my writing is a mirror I hold in front to understand the lessons that life has taught me. It has taught me that each day is a celebration. As you wake up to see the sun streaming through the windows and you stretch your limbs re-enacting the very process of being born again and living one more day, it is a CELEBRATION. 

As I reflect on my journey as a writer I feel indebted to all those authors and their books for having shown me the way whenever I faced a wall. I find it necessary to list here the learning points and processes I underwent while reading them, especially Stephen King’s ON WRITING and Will Durant’s ‘FALLEN LEAVES’ 

The need to arrive at a comprehensive view of life through my own and the lives of others has been my inspiration. I see stories in every person I meet and every place I visit, and they inspire me.

When I look back at the road I have traveled, I keep discovering those little joys, some sadness, successes, failures, and questions about life.   

All writers undergo the same process – an idea, giving it form, writing it down, reading, editing, re-reading, re-editing, and the final product. It is an iterative process until you are satisfied that you have nearly put down what you wanted.

Research becomes an integral part when you write across different locations and timelines.

The most fulfilling aspect of writing is the ability to translate emotions, ideas, and perceptions, which are intangibles, into words. It is an outlet for your imagination and a world of your own where you are the creator. 

Imagery is an essential part of storytelling. I have relied on it to capture the mind of the reader and enhance his reading experience so that he can visualize the setting on which the story is based. To give an idea, let me reproduce a passage from my book ‘The Diary of Mriyunjay’-‘For two days I had watched the Himalayan heights through a veil of mist and sheets of rain from the common verandah on the first floor of the lodge where I was staying’. It was necessary to build up this imagery as a precursor to the disaster that follows. The other type of imagery that I have used in my books is by way of dreams. The main purpose has been to take the reader through the dreamlike state to the reality of the present. The river has been used extensively in the book as symbolic of the flow of our life and destiny. The river plays an important role in the book. The creative force of its serenity and the destructive nature of its turbulence on its journey to merge with the ocean are but allegorical representations of our journey through life. 

Before I end this post,  let me wish everyone out there and their families  A WONDERFUL 2025- FULL OF HAPPINESS, FULFILLMENT, PROSPERITY, PEACE, AND GOOD HEALTH.

Acknowledgements:

The Theme painting DRAGONFLY is by my daughter Maitreyi

The symbolism of the Dragonfly has been taken from https://dragonfly.org/the-symbolism-b... Source - The Symbolism, Biology and Lore of Dragonflies -The dragonfly, in almost every part of the world symbolizes change and change in the perspective of self realization; and the kind of change that has its source in mental and emotional maturity and the understanding of the deeper meaning of life. 

 

THE DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY-PART TWO
A GLIMPSE

With 2024 nearing its end, I am hoping that I will be able to complete Part 2 of ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ in 2025 and I hope I shall keep up this resolution, unlike others which have fallen by the wayside. I knew I had a promise to keep- Mrityunjay had given a glimpse of a sequel at the end of the book and this is where I restarted, to maintain the continuity and make it easier for the reader to connect. While I have already posted the Preface on my blog some time ago, I thought I would give a glimpse of a portion of the prologue to create some interest among my readers. I have included some portions from the Epilogue to the first book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ to ensure continuity to Part 2 and help the reader connect.

DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY - PART 2

PROLOGUE

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. –Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities,

They were difficult times. They were testing times. It was surreal; I thought that this was the stuff one reads in books and sees in movies: of future catastrophes and the race to save mankind from decimation.  Decades ago I read Albert Camus’s allegorical novel ‘The Plague’, which tells the story of a plague sweeping the French Algerian city of Oran. It asks a number of questions relating to the nature of destiny and the human condition. A passage from the book reads -

Everybody knows that pestilences have a way of recurring in the world; yet somehow we find it hard to believe in ones that crash down on our heads from a blue sky. There have been as many plagues as wars in history, yet always plagues and wars take people equally by surprise.

My thoughts went back to Mrityunjay and the words from his book The Diary of Mrityunjay resonated -

‘It’s normal to feel ‘fear’. The fear of extinction is very strong. We are afraid that we may be wiped out before our search is over without finding an answer to this riddle called life. The instinct for survival is predominant in all of us and we are always in search of different ways and means to ensure we continue to survive.’

2020 happened leaving behind a deep scar on our collective psyche. I was sure that the long silences of Mrityunjay were because the scar would have further ignited his passion for exploration, understanding the effect of the calamity, and what his role would be in alleviating the misery. That’s how he was.

It was the beginning of a new year; 2022 started off on a more promising note, not that the calamities of 2020 which carried over to 2021 had completely subsided, but there was hope that the worst was over and now there was mobility and the vaccine program seemed to have had considerable effect. Still the more prudent of us did not dispense with the basic rules of social distancing and wearing masks. 

The last time I met Mrityunjay was in November 2019 when he came to Chennai. Thereafter, we did keep in touch through occasional phone calls. But in 2020 and subsequently, there were long periods of silence which soon petered out into no communication. I knew people were picking up the pieces of their life that lay scattered and putting them back together again. 

Through the year 2021, though there were a few calls and emails from him, these soon petered out. I did not hear from him for more than a year. I wondered whether he had once again gone away as was his wont in search of something elusive. I had reckoned that he had settled down to his rediscovered life, but you could not say anything definitive about him, for that was who he was, calm outside but a restless spirit inside.

That’s for now, friends.

WISHING YOU ALL AND YOUR FAMILIES A GREAT, HEALTHY, HAPPY AND FULFILLING 2025

 

THE ROAD TRAVELED - MILESTONES

A JOURNEY OF LIFE’S LESSONS- PART 7

When I published my first book, ‘I Am Just An Ordinary Man,’ a decade ago,in 2014, it was as if I had foreseen where the path would lead. I think it fit to reproduce here the first few lines of Chapter 3 (Sublimation) of the book-

‘My movements have slowed down over the years. I recognize that. My walks have become shorter in distance and in time. It is normal I guess, as one grows older. But it is when my daughter tells me, “Papa, you have started forgetting things” that I start to ask myself what is wrong. You see I used to be absent-minded before, but that was my normal state and it was accepted as a part of the person I was. But now they think this is serious for they fear I have started suffering memory loss. I was going through what I had written twenty years ago and recalled what my daughter said then, about my being in la la land or in other words in dreamland. Even I had accepted that I was a dreamer. “But wasn’t I always like that?” I asked her. She replied “No, then you consciously avoided remembering things, because you did not pay attention to what was happening around. Now things do not register in your mind even when you are actively there.’

A decade has elapsed since then, and now I find myself again sitting on a milestone staring at the path ahead. It happened then also and I had chosen the path less travelled. I then had the courage and the energy to push forward and explore and find answers which had been eluding me, to the questions which had been pushed to the background.  Though the first stirrings occurred five decades ago when the existential question of ‘Who am I’ arose prompted by the teachings of Ramana Maharishi and perhaps due to my stepping into untested waters after graduation and what lay ahead, I settled slowly into a normal life, a pattern familiar and secured. The questions of identity were pushed aside for I thought I had found mine - a normal man, well settled, married, and a family. Though there were periods of discontent and an evaluation of one’s worth, these were not serious enough to make me deviate from the normal. 

That was the first crossroads I encountered and I chose the well-traveled one. And, after that, it was the straight road I stuck to, pausing here and there at milestones, to gaze at what I had left behind and with it a part of myself. But that was the process of traveling towards goals which appeared to be shifting every time I thought I had reached one. Not that I did not encounter further crossroads, but they were inconsequential given my desire to move ahead and a reluctance to move away from the normal.

It happened in 2010 when the first break from the normal happened when I retired, veering away and rejoicing in newfound freedom, looking ahead at a new normal. But that didn’t happen. Soon, the stirrings that had occurred nearly four decades ago reappeared - the same existential questions. This time I had the choice to explore or continue as I was. And I chose to explore. So I slowly moved away from the milestone where I had rested for a while towards the road less traveled. 

My explorations were translated through my writings, first through my blog and then my books.  That is how my first book happened- an inner exploration and an evaluation of what I was. The first few lines of the book are indicative of the state of my mind -

“Sir, you asked me who I am. What shall I say? I have been

asking myself this question for quite some time and reached

Nowhere.”

‘I Am Just An Ordinary Man’ was a journey to understand the questions that arose out of the angst of existence and finally to accept the reality of living and the finality of death. It was the world as I saw it; it was my world. I also believed that these were questions that plagued every other individual. 

I learned a lot from interacting and observing the world outside my being without being judgmental. ‘Darkness and Beyond- A Medley of Many Lives’ was a journey into the external world, being part of a larger process of experiencing, understanding, and acceptance. Each chapter is a slice of life, in search of a meaning that would define existence; in search of the ‘Beyond’ of this ‘Darkness’. It has been a journey, an exploration of life in its many facets, taking me closer to a better understanding of what this life is all about,  Hope.

An inconsequential meeting with an old man turned into a meaningful relationship. In ‘The Old Man and I – Darkness and Beyond’, the old man accepts his transition through the twilight zone of his life with equanimity, spurred on by the hope that there is after all something beyond this approaching darkness; the dawn of a new life beyond - ‘I do not know what lies beyond, but since light fades into darkness and the darkness melts away with the dawn of a new morning, I believe that there does exist something beyond this darkness and that is the hope I carry with me.’

 

The reality of aging and loneliness is predominant, the younger generation moving still further away and the older ones slowly learning to cope with being by themselves. In ‘Autumn Leaves-Seasons of Life,’ I explored the reality of the disintegration of families from what was once a joint one with a ruling patriarch and the other members strewn around not far away, to single units ultimately spread out in far and distant lands; the slow but perceptible shifting away in distance and relationships and acceptance of which as a reality was unalterable. 

It was then that Mrityunjay happened. I paused between milestones to re-evaluate my life and try to move forward towards resolving the angst that had all the while enveloped me. It was Mrityunjay who taught me,  what it is to live and what it is to love, content in the knowledge that life is not only gathering knowledge of the self but that there is a deeper purpose that embraces humanity and giving back in the form of service, compassion, and empathy. ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ is a journey of self-discovery. It was my journey within, that manifested itself in Mrityunjay.

That was four years ago and ever since I have been languishing at a crossroads again. A certain listlessness and inertia had crept in. And now today, as I sit on this milestone contemplating, I have been asked ‘What happened to Mriyunjay?’ by people who have followed my explorations, that it dawned on me that the journey of Mrityunjay had to continue for life with its infinite possibilities never stops and the road never really ends.

I recollect a passage from Will Durant’s book ‘Fallen Leaves’ - “I know that life is in its basis a mystery; a river flowing from an unseen source and in its development an infinite subtlety; a ‘dome of many-colored glass’, too complex for thought, much less for utterance.” 

 

OF IDLI, SAMBHAR, AND CHUTNEYS
“Arrey bhai,”I heard a voice calling out from behind me. I turned around wondering whether it was addressed to me. It was a Sardarji sitting behind and he was calling out to the waiter.

“Ek plate idli aur do plate sambhar,” he ordered (One plate Idli and Two plates Sambhar).

That was years ago when I lived in Chembur and breakfasted in Geeta Cafe. That was when an additional plate of sambhar was a bonus and did not cost anything. Things have changed now, the hotels started charging for the additional plate of sambhar. Maybe the realization struck them later that more quantities of sambhar were being consumed than the idlis ordered. Not that any specification was given regarding the amount of sambhar needed to immerse the idli. 

Ever since my post on ‘Samosas and Tomatoes’, it has come to my attention that Samosas sales have increased significantly. In this connection, I was pleasantly surprised when I received a call from the ‘Samosa Seva Sangh’ thanking me profusely for my efforts to promote the sales of samosas. They also added that they were organizing a samosa-eating competition and inviting me to be the chief guest. Of course, I had to politely refuse saying that it would not be possible since I was suffering from indigestion. But like every silver lining has a darker shade, the price of tomatoes shot up and there were complaints that the vegetable vendors were making a fast buck putting the entire blame on the shortage of supply of tomatoes in the market. Discreet inquiries revealed that there was no shortage but an increase in demand. I was told this had happened because some bloke had come out with a new recipe for substituting Gulab Jamuns with Sugary Tomatoes, a cheaper, healthier, and tastier option. You guessed it, I kept my mouth shut.

Pardon me for veering away from what I started with. Now coming back to the main topic for today -Idlis, Sambhar, and Chutney, you may wonder why this sudden fascination for all things eatable. Well, for some time now my taste buds have been overreacting to external stimuli of the eatable kind and I am sure you are also in the same boat, going by the reactions I received for my last post. You may ask why Idli, Sambhar, and Chutney. Well, I had them for breakfast today(at home of course).

Well, my affair with Idlis goes back a long time to my childhood. We lived in Visakhapatnam in Andhra Pradesh at that time. I was a kid nine years old and you know that is the time of your first growing up(the second time would be the teens), that is when you get into scraps at school with bullies who would try to bulldoze you by calling you names( a nicer name for abuse) and taunting you. So it was, that I was called ‘Idli Sambhar’ by a Telugu-speaking classmate who thought that was the ultimate insult forgetting that most of their ilk would be at Mani’s Cafe having Idli Sambhar. But to this date, I have not understood why they should do that when it was also the staple diet in their homes (in fact when I am in Hyderabad I would go to Chutneys and order for Guntur Idli. Well more of that later). So I came home and asked my brother who was much older to me why we were called Idli Sambhar. He laughed and said, “Next time he calls you that, you respond by calling him ‘Gongura Chutney’ and he will shut up”.  For the ignorant and that includes me,  Gongura chutney is a chutney made out of Gongura leaves. That doesn’t tell you much, so I had to seek the help of my Wikipedia( in case you are confused this is as I am writing all this) and this is what he had to say - Smaller Gongura leaves offer a mild green and tangy flavor, whereas more mature specimens are robust and acrid. Warm temperatures also affect the taste of the leaf because the hotter it gets, the sourer the leaf will taste. Well, I am not going to waste precious writing space describing a chutney. So you get the hang of it?

And so it was, armed with a fresh weapon of my choice ‘Gongura Chutney’ I took on all the predators, till we called for peace and and sealed the issue at Mani’s Cafe with Idli, Sambhar, and of course Gongura Chutney.

Well coming back to the Idli and Sambhar issue, as you travel far down south from Chennai, you are served Idlis (of course Dosas and Vadas included along with Pongal) on banana leaves placed before you. Then the server comes with a bucket of Sambhar and with a ladle pours it over your Idli generously. Though you are thankful for the generosity, you spend half the time ensuring that the Sambhar does not run out of the banana leaf. But like our Sardar friend would say this takes away the pleasure of seeing Idli sink in a plate of Sambhar and after you finish eating your Idli you can drink the plate of Sambhar and savour its taste.

As for the Idli itself, they come in various levels of hardness. The thicker and harder ones will sink to the bottom of the Sambhar and do not go easy on the palate. The softer, fluffier ones are the best and taste much better, and of course, they drink more Sambhar than you. And you end up eating more of the idlis. It all comes down to the proportion of idli rice and lentils(urad dal) in the batter mix and how well it is ground to a paste in the grinder. Not everyone gets the proportions right. And like every time I never fail to acknowledge that my wife gets it right (After all, like I mentioned in my previous post, she is a good cook, and also I know she will be reading this post). I guess that the hotels would have standardized the procedure. But I have given you the thumb rule to distinguish a good idli from a bad one.

My wife does not relish the ready made batter Idlis (Idli dosa batters are available at all stores). She says they are for people who do not have the time or do not want to put in the effort. And then she will go into the economics of making the idli at home (but we cannot deny that we do enjoy going out to a restaurant and ordering a plate of idli accompanied by Sambhar and chutneys, the added advantage is that the Sambhar is also brought in a separate stainless steel cup so that you can drink it if you missed pouring on the Idli).

Though now we have Rava Idli, Semiya Idli, Oats Idli, Ragi Idli etc being served, there is nothing to beat the good old white and a perfect circular shaped Idli which would sink into the Sambhar. But I should acknowledge that with other accompaniments like Coconut chutney, Mint chutney, tomato Chutney, It tastes just as great. But the Mulagai Podi (Chilly Powder, which some refer to as gunpowder) made at home beats them all. A paste of Mulagai Podi and til oil evenly spread over the idly, a batch of six to eight idlis pressed into a box and which you can eat anytime you want. In fact when we went visiting Disney land, my cousin brought a huge pile of them. That is what we had and relished there at lunchtime. Yummy! they were delicious (I could have called it Idlis at Disneyland). When in Hyderabad do not miss to eat Guntur Idli - a copious spread of Chilly Powder and Ghee. Wow! Tasted excellent. Mini Idlis is another great option, six or seven of them floating in a pool of Sambhar. Great sight, great taste.

Well having spoken so much about Idlis I cannot ignore the Sambhar. They have their own avatars - Vengai Sambhar(Onion Sambhar), Murungakai Sambhar(Drumstick Sambhar), Mulangi Sambhar(Radish Sambhar), Each with its own flavor and taste. Well take your pick.

You may ask why I am so obsessed with Idlis. For one I had them for breakfast today and a another compelling reason -

“Idlis are a preferred choice for health-conscious individuals due to their low-fat and calorie content. They make for a light and nutritious meal that can be enjoyed guilt-free. Moreover, the absence of saturated fats in idlis makes them heart-friendly, contributing to a well-balanced diet”.

After my first post on Samosas and Tomatoes, there have been requests for - Parattas and Potatoes, Cabbages and Cauliflowers, Fafda and Jalebis, and so on. May be I shall explore further.

However, right now it is midnight 27th July 2024 and I am feeling hungry. Maybe I shall make a tomato sandwich (my wife will come to know only in the morning since she is already asleep)

So till next time with the hope that there will be a surge in demand for Idlis, Good night.