Author: Neethu Joy

The Day Ruth and the Universe Had My Back

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At home, I have an Indie dog named Chillumi. She actually goes by many names, and I’m pretty sure she’s often confused because her human keeps calling her different ones. Still, she happily responds to anything I call her. She is my four-legged minimalist with strong opinion about food. She refuses to eat anything other than rice with chicken. No fancy dog food, no treats, no experiments, just her classic comfort combo.

Thanks to our friends Peter and Cynthia, we found a little chicken shop in Coimbatore that sells chicken bones for dogs. It has now become part of our routine. Whenever Cynthia travels to Coimbatore, she never forgets to call and check if Chilumi needs her supply. When she starts from Coimbatore, I also begin my short drive so we can meet halfway at Bethany Hospital. Sometimes, we even share a quick evening tea before parting ways.

Furry mastermind behind today’s chaos

Today was one of those days. I took a quick shower, got ready for the mini mission, and asked my brother if he wanted to tag along. He said his legs were hurting, which I ignored the first time, but for some reason, I asked again. This time, he agreed. Usually, I prefer going alone but something told me to take him along.

Everything was fine until I stopped at Anaikatti, right on the Tamil Nadu–Kerala border, to buy a bucket. My brother didn’t want the frozen chicken to drip water inside the car, so the bucket was his idea. I got the bucket and as I was waiting for the change, a familiar discomfort started to stir in my stomach. At first, I thought I could manage, after all, I have survived worse cramps during my monthly cycles. But within minutes, the situation escalated from a hint to a full declaration.

The place that turned a mini crisis into a funny story

I asked my brother to drive, explaining the urgency. He took his own sweet time switching seats, even joked about “drifting into Bethany” to make it dramatic. Meanwhile, I was silently calculating how many seconds it would take to reach the hospital. I was also reminded of a similar incident when my brother had been in a similar situation and I had made fun of him. I guess that’s karma in action.

Finally, we arrived at Bethany Hospital. I dashed in, confident that my rescue was seconds away, only to discover the universe had one last twist planned: no water anywhere! The hospital was undergoing plumbing work, and all water connections were temporarily shut off. Perfect timing, right?

Parked or drifting? Luckily, just parked!

Just as I was about to take my mobile to call Ruth, (doctor by profession, who also manages and oversees the hospital), I heard her voice calling my name. Talk about perfect timing. She appeared out of nowhere, like a guardian angel. I blurted out my situation (in the most dignified way possible) and without a moment’s hesitation, she whisked me away to the maternity ward, where thankfully, there was still running water. She even sent someone to fetch a bucket for me, absolute angel behaviour.

When the universe sends angels, they look like Ruth

When I stepped out, I told Ruth that I would forever be grateful for her timely rescue. I also told her that if there was ever a single moment in my life that made me truly glad to have met her, it has to be today. Silently, I thanked all my stars for bringing her into my life. Later, she mentioned that the hospital had been struggling with water issues and had just installed a new borewell. I silently sent a little prayer to the universe, “May Bethany Hospital never run out of water again!”

After the whole adventure, we didn’t end up having our evening tea. After hearing my story, everyone seemed to feel a hint of the same discomfort and wanted to rush home. We parted ways, and I drove back with a smile on my face, still laughing at how this little trip had turned into such a memorable story.

As for Chillumi, she was waiting back home, tail wagging, completely unaware that her humble chicken bones had triggered one of the most memorable adventures of my week. Because sometimes, life doesn’t need grand plans to create stories. It gives you stories you don’t plan to tell and yet, they make you laugh every single time you remember them.

A Day at Maranatti Falls Attapady: Nature, Memories, and Reflections

/ Neethu Joy / 2 Comments

Through this blog, I want to take you to yet another beautiful location in Attapady. Today, Ruth’s friends (Dr. Febin and Liz Maria) had come over, and she wanted to take them somewhere special. Initially, we thought of visiting our plantation, but plans quickly changed. Ruth suggested a place, while my brother mentioned Maranatti Falls. The idea sounded perfect, so we packed ourselves into two Mahindra jeeps and set off. Ruth thoughtfully carried a parcel lunch for all of us, which added to the excitement.

Some beauty is meant to be felt, not just captured

Before heading out, my brother called up a local friend, Saneesh, to check if the jeeps could make it all the way to the falls and whether it was raining in that area. He gave us the green signal, reminding us once again that it is always best to have a four-wheel drive when planning a trip to Maranatti.

Some wonders are for the heart, not the camera!

The roads leading to the falls are narrow and can be tricky, especially if a vehicle comes from the opposite direction. And just as we expected, we had one such encounter. Luckily, Saneesh happened to be driving behind us. He stepped out without hesitation, guided us patiently, and made sure the oncoming jeep crossed without any trouble. Moments like these always take me back to my childhood, when the locals around our village were our first and strongest support system.

Good samaritan Saneesh helping us cross the tricky spot

There was a deep sense of community then people never thought twice before lending a helping hand. If a tree had fallen across the road during the rainy season, someone would step forward to cut and clear it. If a jeep got stuck in the slush, men would rush to push it out, never mind soiling their clothes in the process. Helping was second nature, and selfishness never seemed to exist. Sadly, many of those families have since sold their land and moved to cities in search of better education for their children. but those memories of unity and community spirit still stay with me.

Our family, too, had lands around Maranatti, including my father’s brother. Driving through that familiar route again was nostalgic and brought back so many childhood memories. This time, though, we had to park the jeeps about 200 meters away because the locals had blocked the road to the falls. It was a sensible decision since constant tourist vehicles on the muddy road would make it difficult for the residents.

Roads on pause! Locals protecting the path from frequent jeep traffic

From there, we walked. As we got closer, the roar of the falls grew louder, and finally, the breathtaking sight appeared before us. Words simply cannot capture the beauty of Maranatti Falls. A few homes stood nearby, and I couldn’t help but think how blessed the people living there are, surrounded by such natural splendor. Of course, life there comes with its challenges, but for the moment, I chose only to admire the beautiful side.

A house nestled among arecanut trees near the falls – Lucky souls living close to nature

Ruth’s friends and family happily got into the water and had their share of fun. Ruth, a little uneasy with heights, chose to stay back, and I too decided not to step into the water but simply take in the beauty around me. The sound of cicadas filled the air, instantly transporting me back to the vacations in my plantation. That familiar screech often marked the end of a workday, when the labourers would leave and a quiet sadness would linger over the plantation. The same sound here stirred memories of that stillness, sadness, and silence, yet it blended beautifully with the steady gush of the waterfall, creating a mix of nostalgia and peace.

Ruth in her own world, soaking in the calm

A few young boys had also come to enjoy the falls. The moment they arrived, their phones were out, and they were busy clicking pictures from every angle. Sometimes I feel people travel more for photos than for the view itself. The “boomer aunty” in me could not help but think this way. Maybe old age is finally catching up with me! We soon settled down to enjoy the lunch Ruth had packed, and food always seems to taste better when shared in the lap of nature.

Me judging Instagram models like a true boomer aunty… but still clicking their pics

On our way back, we visited a friend’s farm, and the view from his hilltop house was absolutely breathtaking. We spent some time soaking in the scenery before making our way home. The day ended perfectly with a stop at Goolikadavu for tea and an easy round of chit-chat.

Nature at its best – The neighbouring hill seen from our friend’s farm

As I drove back, I realized days like these are not just about the destination but about the memories we make along the way, the laughter of friends, the kindness of strangers, and the quiet reminders of the past that nature so effortlessly brings back. Attapady has a way of slowing life down and making me appreciate the simple, beautiful moments that stay with us long after the day ends.

Your Turn to Reflect

  • What small acts of kindness from strangers have stayed with you during your travels?
  • If you had the chance, would you prefer living close to nature with its challenges, or in the comfort of a city?
  • When you travel, do you find yourself reaching for the camera first, or do you take a moment to simply soak in the view?
  • Have you ever had a place stir up childhood memories the way Maranatti Falls did for me?
  • Do you think we sometimes forget to “be present” in our travels because we are too focused on capturing them?

Quick Guide for Visiting Maranatti Falls

  • Best to go with a four-wheel drive
  • Roads are narrow, so be ready to wait for oncoming vehicles
  • Avoid rainy days, as the trail can get slippery
  • Carry food or snacks, as options nearby are limited
  • Respect the locals and their land, and  follow their instructions
  • Carry back your food packets and avoid leaving plastic or waste behind. Keep the place as beautiful as you found it.
  • Stay safe at the falls and  do not attempt tricks or risky stunts, as the waters can be unpredictable.
  • Travel with a local guide to make the most of your visit and learn about the area from those who know it best.

Palayamkodan Pazham Jam and Boarding School Memories

/ Neethu Joy / 1 Comment

Back in my boarding school days, evenings after class were the happiest moments we all looked forward to. Not just for the evening snacks, but also for the laughter, chit chat, and fun we shared. We were always super hungry after school, and there was one little joy that made those evenings extra special. It was Maya’s homemade banana jam and it tasted absolutely heavenly.

This was where morning and night prayers echoed, where newspapers were read after breakfast, and where countless memories were made.

When the jam was finished, Maya had her own bold way of making sure her favorites came back. She would write letters to her parents saying she was ‘starving‘ and ask them to send more banana jam, meat pickle, and sugar. The funny part was that she would hand over these letters to our hostel warden, fully aware that sister would read them first. Every time the word “starving” appeared, the warden would get angry, but Maya didn’t mind.

This is my school, and that white building behind the Pietà was my hostel. The place where I spent my formative years and polished off endless pazham jam.

Sugar was her weakness because she loved mixing it with the cup of curd we got at lunch. She would often ask us in Malayalam, “Thayir kazhichal velukumo?” – “Will eating curd make me fair?” And we would jokingly, reply, “Kudumbam velukum by sending you sugar!” – a pun that meant, “your family will go broke trying to send you sugar.”

This is my friend Maya, the one who shared the jam recipe. Also, now I realise eating that curd with sugar wasn’t just tasty… it made her glow like this too!

We would spread the jam on anything we could find, but our absolute favourite was good old Marie biscuits. That sweet and sticky delight turned even the plainest snack into something special. It is funny how a little jar of jam, a bold letter, and a few silly jokes could fill our evenings with so much joy. Those moments were simple, yet they shaped the warmth I still carry in my heart today.

The Recipe that was Meant to be Shared

One day, I asked Maya if her amma could share the recipe. To my surprise, and unlike many who guard family recipes like treasure, her mother happily passed it on. No hesitation, no missing steps. Just a generous gift of love.

This rich wine-red shade comes naturally, with no artificial colors added.

Over the years, I have met many people who hesitate to share recipes, sometimes even leaving out an important step or ingredient. But Maya’s amma believed in the joy of giving. That kindness has always stayed with me.

Why Palayankodan Bananas?

This jam is made from a banana variety called Palayankodan, which has a naturally rich wine-red color. No artificial colors are needed. Interestingly, these bananas often do not fetch good prices in the market. So instead of letting them go to waste, we turn them into this beautiful jam. A perfect example of turning something ordinary into something truly special.

More than Just a Jam

Every time I make this jam, I think of Maya. I remember our boarding days, our shared laughter over biscuits and jam, and the warmth of her mother’s gesture.

It is hostel nostalgia spread thick.

I have shared this jam with friends and family over the years, and it never fails to bring a smile on their faces. Because some recipes are more than just food, they are memories. When we share them, we are not just offering a taste, but also a little piece of our heart.

Would You Like the Recipe?

If you would like to try making this homemade banana jam, I would be more than happy to share the recipe. It is simple, special, and filled with love. People who have already tasted the banana jam from our home, do share your thoughts in the comments.

Over to You

• Have you ever tasted banana jam made from Palayankodan bananas?

• Do you think recipes should be shared freely, or kept as family secrets?

• Which food instantly brings back memories of your childhood?

From Class Trips to Grown-up Journeys: Ooty’s Magic Never Fades

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Growing up in Coimbatore, the words school trip meant only one thing, a journey to Ooty. Nestled in the Nilgiris, Ooty has always been the most cherished weekend getaway for people in and around Coimbatore.

I loved those trips, but my body did not. The winding mountain roads brought on motion sickness, and the sudden change in weather combined with the high altitude often left me feeling unwell. To make matters worse, I would return home with a sore throat and an infection after almost every visit.

Ooty Lake, when the biggest thrill was finding out our boat mates.

And yet, my love for Ooty never faded. I often wonder why. Perhaps it was because I grew up in a hilly area and certain corners of Ooty reminded me of home. Maybe because most of my school trips were to Ooty, and the place still carries the innocence of childhood days when life felt lighter. Or perhaps it was because I grew up watching Priyadarshan’s feel-good movies filmed in Ooty. Those lush green tea estates, misty mornings, and charming old bungalows on screen always gave me a happy and comforting feeling. Whatever the reason, I always associated Ooty with joy, laughter, and warmth, even if my body protested every single time.

Ooty and old memories.

Even now, I still have motion sickness, but the magic of Ooty has never worn off. The sight of eucalyptus trees swaying in the cool breeze, the scent of fresh tea leaves, and the rolling mist over the hills still make my heart light up.

Recently, my friend Peter, who is a Club Mahindra member, suggested a road trip to Goa. In my mind, I had already decided not to go because I dislike long car journeys. I suggested Ooty instead, but the idea was met with strong opposition. Goa soon became Cherai, and then every other possible Club Mahindra property. Nobody supported Ooty except Peter’s son.

Ooty mornings painted in light and mist.

Finally, the universe seemed to side with me and the location was confirmed as Ooty. My brother, who usually drives me during such trips and whose driving somehow prevents my motion sickness, could not join because he was busy. I was hesitant to travel in someone else’s car, knowing it would make the journey tough for me and possibly for them too. Then I remembered my cousin once taking the train to Ooty and decided to give it a try.

Clicked from my seat, a reminder of journeys that stay with you long after they end.

I booked Tatkal tickets, arranged for a driver to drop me at Mettupalayam station, and took the morning toy train to Ooty. It was my first time traveling alone on the toy train and I completely enjoyed it. The five and a half hour journey was nothing short of magical. The steam train stopped at every little station to refill water, giving about twenty minutes at each stop. I clicked pictures, enjoyed piping hot vada and bajji from small stalls, and watched the hills slowly reveal their beauty.

The toy train ride – slow, scenic, and timeless.

The occasional sound of crying children was the only disturbance, but even that could not spoil the charm. The experience was so enchanting that I even took the train back to Mettupalayam.

During my four day stay, I made new friends, Nikki and Dhvinay and shared conversations that made the trip even better. I realised that making friends at any age is easy when one is open to it. Late night chats and storytelling sessions by Peter added warmth to the cold nights.

Tiny halts that carried us farther.

This trip reminded me that some places never lose their magic, no matter how many times they are visited. For me, Ooty will always be more than a hill station. It is the scent of eucalyptus in the morning air, the freezing nights, and the sight of mist curling over the tea estates. It is a piece of my childhood, my school days, and my favourite movie scenes come to life.

And maybe that is the real beauty of travel, when a place makes you forget the discomfort and simply fills your heart with a feeling that you cannot quite put into words. That is what Ooty does to me, every single time.

What about you?

  • Have you ever loved a place so much that you would visit it despite discomfort?
  • Have you taken the toy train to Ooty?
  • Which hill station holds your most cherished travel memories?
  • Have you ever wished a train ride never ended?
  • Do you still keep a photograph from a trip that meant the world to you?

Under the Same Moon

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I stayed in boarding school since I was a child. Being away from home for so many years was not always easy. While the days were filled with classes, chatter, and routine, the nights often brought a quiet ache. There were many nights when I missed my parents deeply. But whenever I looked up at the night sky and saw the moon shining, I used to feel a bit better.

Taken at 7 pm, but the daylight still lingers.

I would tell myself, “My parents must be looking at the same moon from miles away.” That thought gave me comfort. It felt like the moon was the one thing connecting us, even when we were far from each other. It felt like a quiet bridge between our hearts. That soft silver light became my silent companion, gently reminding me that love has no limits.

At 7:28 PM, twilight gave way to moonlight.

Tonight, when I stepped outside for an unplanned dinner with my brother and cousin, I happened to see the moon again. That same comforting feeling returned, but this time, it felt even deeper. Now, when I look at the moon, I think of all the people I love and all the people who love me, no matter where they are in the world. Friends, family, and even those I do not meet often. We are all under the same sky, sharing the same moment.

Paused for paniyaram – The moon followed me.

The moon has a special way of making the world feel smaller and warmer. It shows me that distance only exists on the outside. Inside, love, memories, and connection move freely, faster than anything else. The same moonlight that touches me tonight is touching those I care about too, wrapping us all in a quiet and gentle connection.

So the next time you miss someone, try looking at the moon. Maybe they are looking at it too. And maybe, just like it did for me all these years, the moon will carry your thoughts to them.

Stopped for dosa and she followed me there too.

Do you ever think of someone when you see the moon?
Have you felt a little less alone when you looked up at the sky?
Who do you feel closest to when the moonlight shines gently around you?

The moon is always there, softly reminding us that love can reach across any distance.

Washed Away, Yet Held Together

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It was October 26, 1990, a date that remains etched in my family’s memory. I was not there when it happened. I was staying at my uncle’s house in Coimbatore and going to school from there. Everything I know about that night is through the words of my mother and father, pieced together like a story that has been told many times but still carries the same weight every single time. That day was like any other. No warnings, no dark clouds, just a quiet day near the banks of the Siruvani river. My parents were at home, a small thatched roof house nestled close to the water. It had not rained heavily, nothing unusual, just the kind of drizzle that one hardly pays attention to.

That open coffee drying yard is where our house once stood before the flood washed it away. If you look closely, you can see just how close the river flows

Around 10 in the night, my mother heard the sound of water rushing past and woke my father. He stepped out with the light of a petromax lamp as we did not have electricity back then to check the water level in the the river. It was higher than usual but still looked safe. They went back to bed. A couple of hours later, around midnight, my mother woke up again. This time, she said it was the sound of boulders being dragged through the water. Maybe it was fear, maybe instinct, but she felt something was wrong. She woke up my father again.

Once our home stood here. Now, a humble kitchen rests on the same ground

The moment he opened the door, water rushed into the house. The river was overflowing. There was no way to escape through the front, as the river had already swallowed the path. The only option was to climb out through a window and head up the hill behind the house. They quickly woke up the nearby worker’s family who lived close by and told them to escape too. My mother waited near the cardamom plantation, drenched in cold rain and shivering in the pitch dark. Suddenly, she felt a presence beside her. It was our pet dog, Jacky. She had no idea how he managed to escape the house. For a moment, she even thought it was a wild animal. But Jacky was there, silently standing beside her in the dark.

This is the hill my father climbed in the dark and rain to find help. The house at the top gave them light and hope that night. You can spot Palathingal house across the river. Home to one of our kind neighbors who swam over the next day to check if we were safe.

My father climbed up the hill to the closest neighbor’s (Sunny chettan) house. He came down with a torch to help them. They left the petromax lamp glowing inside the house and escaped into the darkness, wet and cold. The next morning, my father and Sunny chettan walked down to check what was left of the house. There was no house anymore. The river had taken it all. Everything was gone. The clothes, money, documents, gold, a big tape recorder, torch, cardamom, memories and so on… all washed away in a single night. And yet, what remained was surprising.

  • One basket full of eggs. Not a single one broken.
  • One gold bangle, found tangled in a bamboo.
  • A sari, pulled from the debris.
  • One hen.
  • One horlicks bottle and a bournvita bottle.
  • Muram (winnowing basket) – A kind soul cleaned it and returned it to us.
This Horlicks bottle was found in the debris. It once had a cap with a holder, but that was lost. Even now, we joke that mum might give away the house deed, but not this bottle.

There were no phones or social media back then. Just kind neighbors who showed up when it mattered the most. Two of them (Plathottathil Sunny chettan and Palathingal Madhu cheetan), swam across the river the next day to check if we were safe. Another neighbor, Kaavipurayidathu Jose chettan, carried the news to my father’s elder brother since we did not have landlines or mobile phones. Back then, every piece of news had to travel from one person to another. My father’s brother, Maatha Pappan (P.M. Mathew), came as soon as he heard and brought clothes for my parents. Rajamma chechi, who worked for us, turned up the next morning unaware of what had happened. She was the one who picked up the sari from the debris, cleaned it, and gave it to my mother, so she had something to wear that day.

A newspaper clipping of the incident that appeared in the daily. Amma had saved a copy and kept it safely at home.

My mother’s brother (Jose Karottupulolil) came. So did my father’s brother (Jhonny Mathew) from our native place. Benny chettan, my dad’s good friend, fondly known as Kalkandi Benny or Mulaku Benny ran a small textile shop in Kalkandi, Attapady. He kindly brought fresh clothes for both my mum and dad after the flood. My mother even remembers making omelette from the eggs that survived, serving them to those who came to visit.

A certificate from the Tahsildar, Mannarkkad, documenting the loss of our family home and belongings in the Siruvani floods.

Looking back, my mother says she was not scared. She believes it was God who woke her up that night. That quiet nudge, that inner voice. We lost everything that night, but somehow, we had enough. And more than anything, I am proud of the strength my parents showed that night and in all the days that followed. The struggles they went through are something I can only imagine. But I know this, if I am here today, it is because of them. I owe my life to their courage, resilience, and faith.

The day it made the news — October 28, 1990

Sometimes life does not come with a warning. It arrives in silence, in the dark, and takes away what you thought was permanent. But even in those moments, what stays back is the warmth of people, the strength of instinct, and the quiet miracles that remind you to carry on. In the end, it is not about what you lose. It is about who stands beside you, even in the dark.

This old Bournvita bottle, now holding a plant, once survived a flood. The cap is broken, but its story is still intact. I had no idea it had lived through so much.

We have had growth since that day. We have gained more than we lost. God has been kind. Sometimes I think what if I had lost both my parents at that young age? Who would have taken care of me? It is a thought that chills me even now. But I am here, and they are here, because something greater was watching over us that night.

As I reflect on this story that shaped my family, I am left with a few questions that may speak to you too:

  • Have you ever experienced a moment that changed everything without warning? What did it teach you about strength and grace?
  • When life swept things away, what stayed with you?
  • What stories do your parents or grandparents carry that shaped who you are today?
  • Have you ever felt protected by something bigger than you, a quiet nudge, a gut feeling, or a timely voice?

The Friend I Found Through a Facebook Scroll

/ Neethu Joy / Leave a comment

I have this habit of reading good articles and admiring people who have a way with words. The kind of writers who can take everyday thoughts and shape them beautifully.

Back when I was in Chennai, I stayed in Velachery. It was close to IIT Madras, and our church had students from IIT attending Sunday mass. A few of them had become friends overtime. One day, while scrolling through Facebook, I came across some friend suggestions. Most of them were IIT students, probably because of the mutual connections.

Like many of us do, I started clicking through the profiles out of curiosity. One of them was a guy (let us call him X) who used to come to my church and was studying at IIT. I was going through the posts on his wall and one particular post caught my eye. It was a thoughtful post about how someone had helped him prepare for exams and crack the GATE exam. The tone, the language, the flow, the feel, everything about that post felt different. That post led me to search for the author, and that search brought me to Sreedish.

It all began with this post. The one that made me follow him and changed everything.

He was also from IIT, though not from the Madras campus. The post I had stumbled upon was one of his ‘signature Saturday drunk reflections’, written with the perfect mix of humour and insight. I kept scrolling through most of his posts and found myself enjoying every single one. His writing had a certain rawness, a quiet intelligence, and a dry wit that I loved. So, I followed him on Facebook. He kept writing. I kept reading and liking his posts.

One day, he put up a post saying he was going to make his profile private and only those who liked that post would continue seeing his updates. I hit like immediately. Not just because I enjoyed his writing, but also because I discovered we shared a mutual dislike for a certain political party. That just made the connection feel a little more personal.

His post about going private on Facebook.

What happened next was unexpected.

I received a message from him asking how I had found his profile. He said he had tried every possible combination to figure it out but failed. I explained the whole story, from scrolling through IIT profiles to landing on X’s post and finding him through it. That message turned out to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

This was way back in 2016.

At the time, I had just quit my job and was taking a career break. When he heard that, he asked me to share my resume so he could forward it to some of his friends. I sent him a Word file, and he immediately pointed out a funny mistake, I had written “martial status” instead of “marital status.” He also asked for a PDF version. Since I did not have a personal laptop or system, he converted it himself and passed it on.

That kind gesture stayed with me.

Over time, we kept in touch. We did not speak often, but when we did, the conversations would go on for two hours or more. There was something unfiltered about those chats. No pretence, no judgement, just two people talking about anything under the sun. Over the years, he became someone I looked up to. Someone I trusted.

Sreedish and his wonderful partner in life.

In moments of confusion, especially in personal matters, he was the one I turned to. While I would get stuck in a loop of overthinking and seeing the worst in situations, he had this quiet ability to look at the same problem and find clarity. Talking to him always made things feel lighter. His words would help me take a step back and breathe.

My UK friend, Meta by profession, magic by conversation

Today, he works at Meta in the United Kingdom. Among my close friends, he is simply known as my UK friend.

Yesterday, something strange and wonderful happened. I was lost in a stream of thoughts, and for a moment, he crossed my mind. I smiled to myself and moved on. Just a few minutes later, my phone rang.

Spoke for two hours straight, about life, food, memories, and midlife flourishes.

It was him. We spoke for two hours straight. We touched on everything, from cooking, career choices, and friendships to what we both call our midlife journey. By the end of the call, we agreed that it was not a midlife crisis. It was a midlife flourish. A time of awareness, growth, and quiet transformation.

Looking back, it is beautiful how a simple scroll on Facebook gave me a friend like him. A person I have never met in real life, but who has become such an important part of mine. Friendships like these are rare. They do not shout for attention, but they stay. They grow with time and become steady anchors. So, if you have a Sreedish in your life, someone who understands you, listens with patience, speaks with honesty, and makes you feel lighter, hold on to them. Because not everyone gets to find a friend like that.

Who is your Sreedish? The one you met by chance, but stayed for all the right reasons?

A Fragrance that Found its Way Back to Me

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Today, as I was getting ready to go to the bank, I reached for a bottle of perfume I had not used in a while. It reminded me that sometimes, what is meant for us finds its way back, often when we least expect it. And I felt it was the perfect moment to write this story down. A story about a scent, a memory, and a small bit of joy that came back to me. A few years ago, during a visit to my friend Karthika’s home in Chennai, she gifted me a bottle of body mist. Her brother lives in the United States and often brings her a collection of perfumes from there. She handed me one, and I took it back to my hostel, feeling happy and grateful. I was excited to try it. But when I sprayed it for the first time, I found the scent a bit too strong for my liking. It did not feel like something I would wear, so I passed it on to my roommate Arya, thinking it would suit her better.

I have always had this habit of collecting perfumes and body mists. At one point, I had way too many bottles lined up on my shelf. Then came the corona years, and somewhere along the way, that habit faded. Maybe it was the pause the world took, or maybe it was just age catching up with me. I even gave away a few to my friends, stopped impulsive buying, and made a quiet promise to myself to buy only when I finish a bottle. (Though I do break that promise at times. But whatever said and done, I just have two bottles with me now.)

She came back to me. Smells like fate.

Arya worked night shifts and used the perfume every day for office. Every evening, when I returned from work, the room would be filled with its scent. And slowly, something shifted. What once felt too strong began to grow on me. The fragrance started feeling familiar and comforting. It reminded me of coming back to a peaceful space at the end of a long day. But by then, it was no longer mine. I had already given it to Arya, and I could not bring myself to ask for it again. Determined to get one for myself, I walked into a Bath and Body Works store in Chennai, hoping to find the same body mist. The staff told me the variant I was looking for was only available in the United States. I was disappointed, but not ready to give up.

Soon after, one of my teammates got a chance to travel to Australia for work. I excitedly asked him to check in all the Bath and Body Works stores there. I even kept messaging him regularly, eager for an update. But sadly, he could not find it either. I was upset for a while, and then as time passed, I slowly let it go. About a year later, I visited my cousin Daino in Thodupuzha. As we were getting ready to go out, she paused for a moment and said, “Chechi, your perfume smells good. Can I use it today?” I told her she could take it if she liked. I had used it many times and would not mind parting with it. She insisted on giving me a perfume in return and handed me one from her shelf.

Almost empty, but full of memories.

And there it was. The very same body mist I had been searching for all those years. The scent that had once slipped through my fingers was now back in my hands, given to me with love, without me even asking for it.

Sometimes, what is meant for us finds its way back, not when we go looking for it, but when we are not expecting it at all. That small bottle, almost empty but full of memories, reminded me of how little joys can return in quiet and beautiful ways. It brought back not just a scent, but moments I had forgotten. It made me think of friendships, shared rooms, and kind gestures that stay with us. Some things come back to us just when we are ready to receive them. And when they do, they feel even more special.

I often find myself tying memories to smells. A scent can take me back to a place, a person, or a moment that I had forgotten.

Do you have a scent that takes you back to a special memory? I would love to know. Feel free to share your story in the comments.

To Sr. Rosline, with Love – In God’s Time, we Spoke Again

/ Neethu Joy / Leave a comment

During my college years in Coimbatore, I stayed in a private hostel tucked away near campus. It was not just students from my college but young women from various colleges across the city who shared that space, creating a vibrant mix of backgrounds, dreams, and stories. That is where I met Sr. Rosline.

Sr. Rosline — A nun with a heart full of mischief, kindness, and memories that still make me smile.

She was doing her postgraduation at a different college, and we connected instantly. Perhaps it was our shared roots. She hailed from Idukki, and that simple geographical bond became the foundation for our friendship. We discovered we had so much in common, especially when it came to food. Our taste buds seemed to speak the same language, and we would often laugh about how our friendship could easily revolve around a plate of rice and a good curry.


Since she was a nun, she had a single room to herself. Naturally, that became our space. I was always in her room, chatting, sharing stories, and watching old Malayalam films on her Discman. We would recite dialogues, laugh till our stomachs hurt, and forget the world outside. Every time she returned from a vacation to her convent in Kerala, she would bring back a container of Chakkakuru Manga curry. We would devour it with rice, savoring not just the flavor but the joy of home it brought with it.

Hostel walls, shared stories, and friendships that stood the test of time.

She had a sharp wit and an easy charm. My father adored her when she visited my village home. She was smart, funny, and always stood up for me. I remember when my first mobile, a Nokia 1100, started swelling due to a battery issue. She was the one who called my father and convinced him to get me a Sony phone. That was just who she was !! supportive, bold, and always looking out for those she cared about. I still smile when I think of the little things we used to do during the weekends. I used to paint transparent nail polish on her fingers, and she’d come running to me later, half-laughing and half-scolding, saying her college mates had noticed. We both knew it was all in good fun and it became one of our many inside jokes.

One of my favorite memories is of us sneaking off to pluck mangoes from the nearby convent trees. I always tagged along without a second thought, convinced that if she got caught, nothing would happen, after all, she was a nun. We were each other’s safe space during our Coimbatore days. We traveled together, roamed the city in search of every Kerala hotel that promised a homely meal, and spent countless evenings talking about everything under the sun – especially food and old Malayalam movies. It was a bond built on simplicity and shared comfort.

We believed every mango tree was planted for us to conquer. Mango missions were always led by her with me as the willing sidekick.

One Christmas, our hostel had the usual secret Santa game. Since she was a nun, the warden asked her to begin the event by revealing her Chris Child. She stood up in front of everyone and said, “My Chris Child has the most complete smile in the world.” I knew in that moment it was me. She had always said that I had a complete smile, one that lit up a room. She told me many times that I had been an important part of her life in Coimbatore. What she may never fully know is how much she meant to me too.

After our college days ended, life quietly moved us along different paths. She returned to Idukki to continue her spiritual journey, and I moved to Chennai to begin working. We did not have WhatsApp or easy ways to stay in touch back then, and she did not have a mobile phone of her own. And just like that, the daily conversations faded but not the memories. Not a year has passed without her crossing my mind whenever I think of my Coimbatore days. Once, I even called her provincial house hoping to reconnect. The first time, I was told she was in Africa. The second time, they said she had gone for a 40 day prayer retreat. I kept hoping.

Sr. Anusha – Her call was he beginning of a reunion I had long wished for.

Recently, on June 1st, Sunday, I received a call from Sr. Anusha, another nun who had briefly shared a room with Sr. Rosline during her internship in Coimbatore. We had stayed in touch through email, and I had shared my number with her. That call felt like a journey back in time. We spoke about those beautiful days, the laughter we shared, and the people who had touched our lives in unforgettable ways. Then, with gentle words, she told me that Sr. Rosline had met with an accident and was now bedridden. I was taken aback. It was hard to imagine someone as full of life and energy as her in such a state. Ever since that call, I could not stop thinking about her and wanted to find out where she was and how she was doing.

Who knew this simple photo would travel through hearts and hands to bring two old friends together again? This is the pic I shared with Fr. Wilson

And just yesterday, I reached out to Fr. Wilson, my friend and former vicar from Chennai. and told him how much I wished to find Sr. Rosline. It wasn’t the first time I had spoken to him about her over the years, I must have told him at least thrice how much I wanted to reconnect. I shared everything I remembered (her congregation, the province she belonged to, and even a cherished photograph of the two of us). This time, I told him it truly mattered to me.

Sometimes, God answers through people. Fr. Wilson was that answer for me.

Long story short, thanks to his kind efforts and connections, he was able to find her contact number. This evening, I finally dialed that number,with hope, a little nervousness, and a heart full of memories. And there she was. We spoke for a while. Yes, she confirmed she had met with an accident while in Africa and had been bedridden for some time. But now, with strength and grace, she is getting back on her feet. She is currently serving as the principal of a school in Idukki district.

We spoke about all the memories I had poured into this blog. Our hostel days, mango stealing adventures, Malayalam movie marathons, and the Chakkakuru Manga curry. She laughed, paused, and told me she was truly happy to hear my voice. She said it felt like a little miracle, like God had gently nudged the universe to bring us back into each other’s lives. And maybe He did. Some friendships, no matter how many years pass or how far the roads stretch, always find their way back. I believe ours just did.

Not all angels have wings, some wear a habit, share your rice and curry, and make you feel like home.

If there is someone whose name still lives quietly in a corner of your heart, do not hesitate. Reach out. Sometimes, the universe listens. And sometimes, it responds with a quiet miracle.

Have you ever reconnected with someone after years of silence?
Is there someone from your past who still lives in a quiet corner of your heart?
Do you have memories tied to a place, a plate of food, or a small act of kindness?
Have you ever felt the universe bring someone back into your life just when you needed it most?
If you had the chance to say one thing to an old friend today, who would it be, and what would you say?

You won’t Always find Angels in the Sky, sometimes They are in Scrubs

/ Neethu Joy / Leave a comment

I have known Sister Ferisha since my 7th or 8th grade. Back then, she was the senior nurse or maybe the head nurse at JM Hospital in Coimbatore. I’m not exactly sure of her title, but what I do remember clearly is the comfort she brought me during one of the most painful recurring experiences of my teenage years: my monthly stomach cramps.

Meet Sister Ferisha – The hands that healed me more times than I can count.

Every month during my periods, I used to get intense abdominal pain. It was so bad that I would vomit and often end up being hospitalized. The pain would only subside after an injection and two bottles of IV drip. Since J M Hospital was close to my hostel and my parents used to consult Dr. Elizabeth there, my hostel warden would book a taxi and take me to the hospital. This happened at least three to four times a year.

At the hospital, I never had to take an OP ticket or wait to see a doctor. The minute Sister Ferisha saw me, she would say, “Oh, you have come?” and promptly get a room ready for me. She would walk in to my room with three bottles of glucose in hand, and I’d groan, “Three bottles? Can we make it two, sister?” She would smile and agree. She remembered exactly what medicines to give me, how my body responded, and what would make me feel better. People who know me well know that injections and IVs don’t faze me. Maybe it’s because I’ have had so many over the years that I just got used to it. Or maybe it’s because the angels at JM Hospital always made it feel a little less scary. And by evening, like magic, I would be back to normal and discharged.

This went on until I completed my Master’s. Then I moved to Chennai for work. One of my only worries was, “what if I have one of those painful episodes again? Who will take care of me like she did?” But strangely, I never had that kind of pain again in Chennai. Maybe the universe knew there was no Sister Ferisha waiting there for me, Or maybe the universe decided I had endured enough pain.

Years passed. I lost touch with her. Life moved on. Then in 2023, life brought me back to her. This time not for me, but for my father. He was unwell and admitted in the same hospital. And there she was again, standing by his side, caring, praying, comforting. Her quiet strength and compassion were the same. Not just her, every nurse at JM Hospital reminded us what angels in uniform look like.

One incident from a recent visit to Coimbatore stays with me. I had some personal work and made an impromptu stop at her house, just to say hi. But within minutes, she ordered dinner for us. While we waited, the animal lover in me kicked in and I started playing with her pet cat, and it scratched my hand. I didn’t think much of it at first, but later I began overthinking, what if I get rabies? Finally, I sheepishly told her. Without skipping a beat, she went to the hospital, got a TT injection, and gave it to me right there at her place. That’s just who she is.

And today, she came to our village for some personal work and stopped by to see us. I told her about a recent snake bite incident, and she got so emotional that her eyes welled up. And then she said something I’ll never forget:
“Your dad was a good man. Nothing bad will happen to his kids. God will protect you.”

That’s Sister Ferisha, a nurse, yes. But to me, she has always been a guardian, a quiet constant, and a reminder that some people are placed in our lives by the divine, just when we need them the most. I wanted to take a photo of her to capture these moments. But when you are having a real, heartfelt conversation, taking out a phone is the last thing on your mind. I will share whatever photos I do have of her someday. But for now, I carry her in my heart, the nurse who became family.

Have you ever met an angel in scrubs? Share your story in the comments!