Author: Neethu Joy

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

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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!

The Saturday that Shook us All and Reminded Me how Quickly Life can Flip.

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It was a typical Saturday morning. The kind where you don’t expect anything out of the ordinary. But that day, we decided to clean out our garage. Rats had begun nesting there, chewing through wires and even sneaking into our vehicle. It was long overdue. So Mum, my brother, a worker, and I got down to business, cleaning and helping each other. By lunchtime, we were sweaty and tired, but happy with the progress. After eating, I lay on my bed chatting with a friend when I suddenly heard a scream. It rang out loud and then abruptly stopped. I paused. Waited. Nothing followed. I went back to my call.

Noel — The one who drove, stayed, and stood by.

My cousin Noel was also home that day. A few minutes later, I heard Mum calling out for him, her voice laced with tension. I stepped out of my room and asked what happened. She looked at me and said, “I think a snake bit your brother.” My heart just dropped. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Some panic, some cry… my brother? He laughs at his own scream after a snake bite.

Panic kicked in. I called Noel on his mobile, and he came running. We rushed to the garage. And there was my brother, just standing there. Calm. Quiet. Not an ounce of panic on his face. For a second, I wondered if something was wrong with him because who gets bitten by a snake and stays this cool? Without a fuss, my brother walked to the jeep, got in, and Noel drove him to the hospital. It’s just five minutes away from our house. Mum was trying to stay strong, but I could tell she was breaking. To make things worse, she said, “I think it was a rattlesnake.” That sent my already spiraling brain into overdrive. I had a thousand dark thoughts flooding in.

Meanwhile, the worker had managed to catch the snake. Thankfully, our neighbor happened to be there that day. He and the worker put the snake in a cover and rushed it to the hospital so the doctors could identify it and start treatment quickly.

Not just neighbours – He rushed with the snake, she stayed with our hearts.

At the hospital, they confirmed that the snake was non-venomous and anti-venom is not needed. My brother was admitted to the ICU for observation. Blood tests were done every hour. His vitals stayed steady. No symptoms. No issues. Later, when we visited him in the hospital, I asked, “Weren’t you scared?”
He said, “Nope.”

Our unsung hero who acted fast, saved the day by catching the snake. I wish I had a clearer picture of him.

I turned to my mum and cousins and said, “He’s definitely faking it. No one’s that brave and he must have peed his pants.” But my cousin replied, “No, I don’t think so. His blood pressure was normal the entire time.” Once the chaos had passed and my brother was safely home, I shared the story with my dad’s elder brother. He paused and said, “That’s your father’s courage running in his veins.” And somehow, that felt true in every sense.

What I Took Away from That Day:

  • Stay calm – Even if it’s a snake bite. My brother did just that. Cool as ever. I still think he’s a little crazy for being that calm… but maybe that’s his superpower.
  • Grateful – Noel was home and he was the one who rushed my brother to the hospital. Steady, reliable, and always showing up when it matters most.
  • Location matters – The hospital was only five minutes away and equipped to handle snakebites. Not everyone gets that kind of luck.
  • People who stay – Our worker, who had plans to travel to his hometown that night, chose to stay back instead. Sometimes, kindness comes from places you least expect.
  • Right people at the right time – Our neighbor, who doesn’t even live here full-time, just happened to be around that day. He was the one who carried the snake to the hospital for identification. His entire family stayed with us as quiet support. That presence meant more than words.
  • Family beyond blood – Joby Chettan (Noel’s dad), dropped everything and came running the moment I called. He has been a pillar for us, especially during my my dad’s illness. Some people just carry love like that.
  • Friends who get it – I had people I could call, cry to, and vent without explanation. That kind of understanding is rare, and I treasure it deeply.
  • Finally that life can flip in a fraction of a second – But in the middle of chaos, it’s love, presence, and people that hold everything together. Gratitude is an understatement.

From Fear to Freedom

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I’ve always wanted to drive. That desire started when I was young, watching my dad drive his jeep like a pro. He was effortless behind the wheel, and I was in awe. Someday, I’ll write a post just about his driving skills.

But back then, I never thought I’d be able to learn in my dad’s jeep. It felt too big for me, like it belonged to a different world. I believed I wasn’t built to drive large vehicles, and so the dream stayed quietly tucked away.

From fear to gear — Appa’s Major and me

In college, most of my friends knew how to drive. Some of them would pick me up or drop me off, and I admired their independence. It was more than just getting from one place to another. Driving seemed like a symbol of freedom and style.

I grew up in boarding school and never owned a vehicle. Learning to drive was never an option, but the desire never left me. Years later, when I doing my UG in Coimbatore, I noticed the driving license test was being conducted right outside my hostel. That gave me the push I needed to join a driving school. I got my license in 2006 but never truly used it. I remained a passenger, still admiring those who could drive with ease and confidence, quietly wishing that one day I would be able to do the same.

Next to my uncle’s jeep . Jeeps ran in the family, just like the hills

And then one day, the universe listened.

One evening, I was on a call with my friend Gautham. Somehow, we ended up talking about driving, and I began listing my fears, what if I caused an accident? What if my short legs couldn’t reach the clutch properly? What if I lost control?

He listened patiently and then gave me the nudge I didn’t know I needed. “Your dad has a Major jeep, right? And it’s a four-wheel drive. Try driving in 4WD mode. It moves slow, and you won’t feel overwhelmed by speed.” He explained the basics and reassured me that I’d be fine. That conversation gave me just enough confidence to try.

Gautham – One of the reasons I started driving.

Motivated, I told my dad that I wanted to learn properly this time and was thinking of joining a driving school. He was in a good mood that evening and said, “No need. I’ll ask someone to come home and teach you.” That same night, my brother informed me that Subramanian Anna would be coming at 5:30 in the morning for my first lesson. I was both excited and nervous.

I still remember giving him a small gurudakshina as a sign of respect before we started. From day one, he was patient and calm. He never raised his voice, never lost his temper. He was someone who let silence guide the lesson and corrections land gently.

I learnt to drive in a manual car that had no hill assist. I still remember him patiently teaching me how to use the half clutch in hilly areas. He trained me to stop on an incline and start again without letting the vehicle roll back even slightly. The entrance to our house is on a slope, and he would make me practice there repeatedly using the half clutch until I got the hang of it. I remember failing fourteen times in a row. I was ready to cry. I told him I’d try again some other day, but he simply said, “If you can’t, who can? Keep trying.” To help me overcome my fear of big vehicles, he even made me drive a tempo. Slowly, my confidence grew.

The first few solo drives hit different

My mother often jokes that driving is the only thing I’ve ever completed and stuck with. I tend to stop doing things that don’t hold my interest — tailoring, baking, you name it. I’ve gone to classes and never followed through. But maybe, just maybe, if I meet another teacher like Subramanian Anna in those areas, I might pick them up again too.

A little something to show I really did take a baking class

Each day, he would take me on different routes, and that’s how I got to see parts of Attapady I had never visited before. Those drives became more than just practice. It became little journeys of discovery.

Today, I drive on my own. And I want to tell every woman out there that learning to drive gives you a sense of freedom that’s hard to describe. It’s empowering, it’s exhilarating, and it changes how you see the world. If I can drive, honestly, anyone can.

In just two days, a brand-new addition is joining our family. A bigger vehicle, the XUV 700. And this time, I am ready.

PDI done. She’s almost ours!

Of Naatu Mangoes, Monsoon Mornings, and Mampazha Memories

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In our plantation, we had three or four naatu mango trees—tall, towering ones that had been there for years. These trees were special. Unlike other mangoes that are picked early and ripened at home, these ones followed their own rhythm. When the wind blew just right, the ripe mangoes would fall to the ground. Their sweet and sour aroma would fill the air long before we even spotted them.

The mangoes were small, a lot like the Chandrakaran variety, but their flavour was unforgettable. Even when they were fully ripe, a hint of sourness lingered.

Every summer vacation, Appa would hand me a plastic bucket/cover and send me out to collect the fallen mangoes. I used to grumble and drag my feet. Though it was called summer vacation, for us in Puliyara the monsoons had usually already begun. The grass would be wet with last night’s rain, the path would be muddy and slippery. Sometimes we would land flat on our backsides in the slush. But there was a reason we had to go early as the wild boars knew about the mangoes too. If we didn’t get there first, they’d have their share.

Despite all the fuss, once we were out there, there was joy in the ritual. We would pick the mangoes one by one, eating a few as we went along—sticky hands, messy faces, hearts full. Whatever was left would go into the kitchen, where Amma would turn them into manga curry.

Today, while having mampazha pulissery for lunch, something about the taste took me straight back to those mornings. The rain kissed air, the smell of ripe mangoes, Appa’s voice calling from the Thinnah (Verandah), and the way childhood felt. It was simple, honest, and full of flavour.

Some meals feed more than the body. They bring back pieces of home.

A Rainy Day, a Familiar Stranger, and a Quiet Strength

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1–2 minutes

Another rainy day in Puliyara (my village) and another story that found me when I wasn’t looking. I was walking back to where our jeep was parked, slowly making my way through the slushy path, stopping now and then to take pictures and videos. The greenery was glowing after the downpour, and the Siruvani river was in full spate, overflowing and rushing along with a kind of wild beauty that only the monsoon can bring.

As I was taking it all in, I noticed a woman walking towards me, carrying a bundle of fresh green grass for her cattle. She stopped when she saw me and asked, “Joy chettante mol alle?” (Aren’t you Joy chettan’s daughter?)That question instantly warmed something in me. I always feel a quiet pride when someone remembers me through my father. She smiled and introduced herself. I must have crossed paths with her before, but growing up in a boarding school meant many faces blurred over time. But I did recognize when she mentioned her husband’s name. Funny how familiarity lingers even when memories fade.

She told me that her husband is bedridden. And from what she shared, I’m assuming that her family’s livelihood might come from selling the milk from her cattle.(I could be wrong as well). Still, what touched me most wasn’t the details of her life, but her quiet determination.

It was raining heavily, but she was out there, making sure her animals were fed. She said she needed to cross the bridge quickly. Sometimes the water rises and covers it, making it hard to pass.There was no complaint in her tone just a calm, purposeful sense of duty. Rain or shine, these four-legged lives are looked after with love and consistency.

Moments like these stay with me – simple, quiet, and deeply connected to the land.

From Sparklers to Signatures

Today is my birthday, and I suddenly felt like digging into my birthday memories. Looking back, it made me smile at how my birthdays have quietly followed me around all these years. Sometimes ignored, sometimes awkward, and sometimes surprisingly sweet. As a child, I always dreamed of celebrating my birthday in school. I imagined distributing…

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The Day Ruth and the Universe Had My Back

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…

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

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.…

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A Rainy Morning, a Free Ride and a Lesson in Judgement

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Yesterday, I decided to head to Coimbatore just to relax. It was raining and I almost cancelled the plan. But then the sun peeked through the clouds and I chose to go ahead.

I got down at the Kerala – Tamil Nadu border and boarded a bus to Coimbatore. When the conductor came around, he handed me the ticket and moved on to the next passenger before I could give him any money. Curious, I looked at the ticket and to my surprise, the fare was marked as Rs 0.00.

I was quick to assume he was trying to take the money without recording it. I called him back and handed him the cash, but he smiled and said, “It is free.” I insisted, but he politely declined. That is when I realized it was part of the Tamil Nadu government’s scheme offering free travel for women. I had heard of it before, but this was the first time I was actually experiencing it.

I was genuinely impressed by the initiative and also a bit humbled by how quickly I had judged the conductor. As the journey continued, he lightened the moment by joking, “You owe me a juice for giving you a free ticket!”

A simple journey turned into a reminder of awareness, gratitude and not being too quick to judge.

Build bridges and not walls

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Our plantation rests quietly on the banks of the Siruvani River. It is a place that has witnessed many seasons and many stories. During the rains, the river often overflows, making it impossible to cross. We would have to take a long route on foot just to reach the other side. I believe it was during one of those times that the idea of building a Thooku Palam (hanging bridge), first took shape in Appa’s mind. He must have carried that thought with him for a long time. So when everything finally fell into place (resources, time, and right people), he decided to bring that vision to life and build the bridge.

That bridge became his final project. It was completed in December 2022. Just two months later, on February 2nd 2023, we lost him.

Last Sunday, I visited our plantation and I took this photo of the bridge. Every time I return to Puliyara, the ache of his absence deepens. In my heart, it still feels like he is in the plantation house, taking care of the farm. I keep expecting him to walk in and see me any moment.
As I walked around, memories flooded in. I kept thinking about the patience, the silent resilience, and the dedication he poured into this land.
I often wonder if we are doing enough to carry his legacy forward. There is a weight to that thought, one I carry quietly. And today, for some reason, I miss him a little more than usual. Maybe it is just the periods hormones. Or maybe, it is just the weight of love that never really leaves.