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A-TULA

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Once, there was a family that lived together and grew together. Two sons were raised under the same roof, loved equally—but measured constantly. Skin tone, height, marks, abilities—nothing escaped comparison. Marriage did not end it. It only changed shape. Gold, beauty, status, respect—quiet questions replaced loud ones: Are we less? Are we enough? Believing he was behind, one son chased “ahead.” The joint family thinned into a nuclear one. Open spaces shrank into an apartment. Many plates became four. Husband and wife worked—not out of greed, but to support each other. They stretched their wings together. Money came. Stability came. A maid came. A nanny came. Then something else arrived. The children ran first to the nanny’s arms. She knew their fears, their habits, their favourite colours. The parents did not. The father was no longer the man of the house—only a partner in a system. The home felt less like a family and more like a workplace. Conversations needed appointme...
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Room no.906

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Room Number 906 The sound of the door opening was heard. I quickly turned around; the speed of the light struck my eyes sharply. A dark shadow entered, and soon after, a doctor appeared in a white coat, a stethoscope hanging around his neck like a garland. Had I been promoted to a new room, or transferred from the ICU? Was this good news, or something to be understood or explained? It was beyond comprehension. The doctor held my hand, and I came fully back to my senses. “Why is your palm blue?” the doctor asked. At once, I looked at my mother’s face, then turned my pale face toward the doctor. He glanced at my clothes and said softly, “First, wash your hands.” My mother, holding the IV bottle, walked with me to the washbasin. The entire blue color washed away with water. The doctor laughed and said, “This is just the effect of your blue kurti.” Hearing this, everyone’s breath eased. Just then, I noticed a new face peeking at us from behind the curtain. Parvati. On the patients’ chart p...
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రూమ్ నెంబర్ 906

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రూం నెంబర్ 906 తలుపు తెరుచుకున్న శబ్దం వినిపించగానే నేను వెనక్కి తిరిగిచూశాను. ఒక్కసారిగా వెలుగులు నా కళ్లను తాకాయి. ముందుగా ఒక నీడ మాత్రమే కనిపించింది. కొద్దిసేపటి తరువాత తెల్లని కోటు ధరించిన, మెడలో స్టెతోస్కోప్ వేసుకున్న వైద్యుడు లోనికి అడుగుపెట్టాడు. “నేను కొత్త గదికి మార్చబడ్డానా? లేక ఐసీయూ నుండి బయటికి వచ్చానా? ఇది శుభవార్తేనా లేక వేరే కారణమా?” – నా మనసు అనేక ప్రశ్నలతో అలమటించింది. వైద్యుడు నా చేతిని పట్టుకున్నప్పుడు నేనంతా చైతన్యంతో నిండిపోయాను. “నీ అరచేతులు నీలంగా ఎందుకు కనిపిస్తున్నాయి?” అని ప్రశ్నించాడు. నేను తల్లివైపు చూశాను. ఆమె ముఖం క్షణంలో తెల్లబడింది. మళ్లీ వైద్యుని వైపు తిరిగి చూశాను. ఆయన నా దుస్తులవైపు చూపించి, “ముందుగా చేతులు కడుక్కోండి” అన్నారు. తల్లి సలైన్ సీసా పట్టుకొని నన్ను చేతి కడుక్కునే చోటుకు తీసుకెళ్లింది. నీటిలో కడిగేసరికి ఆ నీలి రంగు అంతా తొలిగిపోయింది. వైద్యుడు స్వల్పంగా చిరునవ్వు చిందిస్తూ, “అది నీ నీలి రంగు కుర్తీ వలన” అన్నాడు. అంతటితో అందరి ఊపిరి పీల్చుకున్నట్టయింది. అప్పుడే తెర వెనుకనుండి ఒక కొత్త ముఖం తొంగిచూసింది – పార్వతి. తలుపు దగ్గర అతికించిన రోగుల...
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Room no. 906 English Version

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Room No. 906 The sound of the door opening was heard. I quickly turned around; the speed of the light struck my eyes sharply. A dark shadow entered, and soon after, a doctor appeared in a white coat, a stethoscope hanging around his neck like a garland. Had I been promoted to a new room, or transferred from the ICU? Was this good news, or something to be understood or explained? It was beyond comprehension. The doctor held my hand, and I came fully back to my senses. “Why is your palm blue?” the doctor asked. At once, I looked at my mother’s face, then turned my pale face toward the doctor. He glanced at my clothes and said softly, “First, wash your hands.” My mother, holding the IV bottle, walked with me to the washbasin. The entire blue color washed away with water. The doctor laughed and said, “This is just the effect of your blue kurti.” Hearing this, everyone’s breath eased. Just then, I noticed a new face peeking at us from behind the curtain. Parvati! On the patients’ chart past...
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DAD

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Dad's Photography Location: Alleppey, Kerala Here's a short story behind my dad's passion for photography. He enrolled in a certificate course in photography around the time I was about to be born. He wanted to preserve those precious memories through photographs. Soon after, he began capturing my pictures—one of the earliest was a photo of me eating Cerelac in Hyderabad. That very photograph was selected by Nestlé as the third cutest baby photo in 1996, and we received a cash prize of ₹3000. My father couldn’t believe his eyes, wrote a postcard  to my grandmother in Andhra Pradesh. Neither could my grandfather believe , who travelled all the way from Andhra Pradesh (present-day Jharkhand) to Bihar just to see the newborn baby girl who had arrived in the Balivada family. A baby girl hadn’t been born in our family for three generations, so the news brought immense joy. And in those precious moments, reels rolled on, capturing the raw emotions, smiles,...
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This Saree

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The confidence i can carry in a six yards saree impeccable which i can never match to any other attires... Every yard accross the body makes you conquer... The touch of mother land , the spirit of nation is always cherished in a Saree... This saree covers Faces of women and women on every inch.... Let's make it normal to drap a saree in a very comfortable way...let it be rooted...let it be loved on body than in cupboards... Let's the Pallu fly in air and let your wings fly higher  My dear Women🤍
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My Grandfather from Guttavalli

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This is the untold story of a village cradled in the embrace of lush greenery, far away from the rush of the city. In the courtyard, a little granddaughter plays, while on a cot nearby, her doll lies under the open sky, counting countless stars as Grandpa’s stories fill the night. Under the silver moonlight, tales of seven princes and seven fishes unfold, carrying the young girl into a world of dreams. Grandpa’s cherished granddaughter, a radiant source of joy for the entire village, becomes the center of every gathering. With her tiny hands painting her nails red, she charms everyone with her innocent grace. The courtyard soon transforms into a meeting place for villagers, where they gather to watch television together, and Anandrao Master’s granddaughter becomes the beloved playmate of many households. The highlight, however, is the granddaughter’s delightful talent for adorning her nails—something so simple, yet it creates a stir throughout the village. Neighbors gather just to witn...
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