food

Under the Same Moon

/ Neethu Joy / Leave a comment

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.

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!

Of Naatu Mangoes, Monsoon Mornings, and Mampazha Memories

/ Neethu Joy / 2 Comments

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.