As the crimson sun kisses the fading night, every blade of grass leans in, stretching, reaching—almost as if trying to get a better view.
The breeze hums, the birds call, and together, they pose a gentle question: “So, how are you today?” Not demanding, not intrusive—just a playful nudge to start fresh.
And maybe that’s the best way to begin the day. Not with alarms and to-do lists, but with nature’s quiet company, a deep breath, and the simple joy of being asked.
How are you today?
Same Ground, Different Journeys
From my window, the small plane sits quietly on the tarmac. Side by side, yet worlds apart. Mine is bigger, his is smaller. And for a second, I almost dismiss it.
But then, I remind myself—size is just perspective.
This seat is mine for this journey. That plane is his. One isn’t better than the other, just different.
Because in the end, it’s not about the perch, it’s about the flight.
And once we take off, the sky doesn’t care how big the plane is.
Where we stand depends on where we sit. The stances we take, the identities we shape—for ourselves and for others—are built on what sits in our minds.
And our minds? They are prime real estate. Possibly the most expensive in the world.
Thoughts are tenants. Some pay rent in clarity and purpose. Others squat in doubt and fear. But once they settle in, they shape how we see, speak, and stand.
So, let’s be careful. Choose wisely who and what gets a seat in our minds. Because what sits in us will decide what stands we take.
We learn from history that we don’t learn much from history. It stuck.
At the Brandenburg Gate, once a symbol of division, the past now plays dress-up. Army gear, old flags—props for tourists. For a small fee, of course.
Once, men fought and died for these symbols. Now, they’re souvenirs. Time does that—turns battlegrounds into backdrops.
It made me think. Identity is a border of its own. What defines us, also excludes.
So, what defines you? What else could you become?
And the bigger question—what borders exist in your mind that you don’t even know are there?
(at Brandenburg Gate (Potsdam)
What are you working on? And how are you working on whatever you are working on?
The Albert Victor Bridge in Madurai was built in 1886 and was supposed to last a 100 years! It’s still standing. Being of value and use to the day. Long after the engineers went back and the river ran dry.
Good work solves problems. Great work solves problems, through time as well. The option to do both exists all the time. The choices are ours to make.
(at Madurai, India)
They say a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. But what about a bird drawn on a hand?
For a child, it’s magic. A few careful strokes, a little waiting, and suddenly, a bird appears—etched in Mehendi, alive in her imagination. The flutter in her eyes, the quiet twitch at the corner of her mouth—it’s a joy no real bird could match.
It’s not the big toys that bring the deepest happiness. Sure, they shine. But the small moments, the ones spent laughing, waiting, watching something take shape—those stay green in the mind.
Because joy isn’t just in what we hold. It’s in what we create.
The gates open to a quiet courtyard, framed by four pillars. Step past them, and a ruffled mud road meanders ahead, leading into the lake, beyond which stand great trees. Keep walking, and the rolling hills stretch out, pristine and endless.
The village temple marks time through its many celebrations, but for a city dweller standing here, the past whispers through the landscape. The roads his parents walked suddenly feel clearer—long roads that were never roads at all.
Their journeys began not by asking “Is there a road?” but by stepping forward anyway. Their dreams were never limited by paths already drawn. They made their roads.
Perhaps that is the lesson these great doors hold—step through, look ahead, and go.
Picture stories have been the nerve centre of this website. It is in the long hard look at images that the words and stories have emerged. Over several years. As my Instagram page begins to hog a dab more of my attention than it did earlier, my experiments with Instagram embolden me to weave more stories.
Ever since the shift in career trajectory, there have been many experiments in the recent times that I have been running. When the view of life in itself is viewed as a series of experiments there is only discovery and learning all the way around, experiments and learning on social are also default. Several of social ones are on my Instagram page.
To try and bring a story alive in what is essentially a siloed and image based medium has been a bucket of work with droplets of learning here and there. I have learnt the power of images and how much they can chew up everything else. The importance of filters, lenses, hashtags and what all they can stand in for, and gently gloss over is omnipresent. But to spot the story behind the dominant narrative, has been such fun.
This house, where many of the young are permanently stationed is often viewed as an abode of narcissism by the old. Ok, older. I am finding it to be a very interesting and different platform. I try and keep the play with filters to the minimum and add some shade, contrast and brightness with words. Especially about the places and people that I encounter. If at all it is about me, it is only through the micro accounts stories that I tell there. “Thats not how the medium works” many have told me, shaking their heads with a smug smile lurking in the corner of their lip. Perhaps, they are right. For the way I use Instagram is not what Instagram has bet its shirt on. Instagram’s soul lies in its filters and the words are clearly optional extras. In more ways than one, I am harbouring some old fashioned beliefs. Some of them go like this : Good stories draw people. Good stories are often a combination of pictures and words. etc. etc.
But who cares. Its never about a platform as much as its about the users, their imagination and what they do with it. So I believe. So my page there is become something of a mini blog. Needless to say, my difficulty in adapting to the ready-shoot-filter-publish model is evident in every post. At least in my head. Sometimes though, I receive appreciation. Like the one today from this gentleman whose work I admire hugely, which read “Love the stories behind your posts. Amazing patience and ‘care’ “. That chuffed my heart and set me thinking.
The missus added some sense into the dose of kaapi on an otherwise busy Sunday evening to suggest that I need to consider the fact that some of the ‘short posts’ and pictures merited a ‘fuller’ post on the website. “Not everybody is on Instagram you know”, she began. And then quickly went on to other things like “assuming too much” etc, which I thought was fresh brew from another world.
Promptly this blogpost was thought of and some quick-fire decisions were made. Some pictures and accounts from Instagram will get here as well. Some of it shared on other platforms. In any case, its all experiments. So, if you are still reading, do follow me on Instagram and let me know how the page is evolving. My page on Instagram is here : https://www.instagram.com/kavi.arasu/
For, am going to be at it. Chasing a bunch of hypotheses and relishing whatever emerges. When you don’t break into a sweat on the numbers of likes or followers and are focused on being present with people, their pictures and their stories, there is joy.
Try.
Mountains don’t just stand—they stretch. They invite, they teach, they expand your sense of what’s possible.
When the clouds kiss the peaks, and the ground beneath hums with quiet excitement, your eyes drift—not just to the heights, but to the horizon.
And there, beyond the first set of peaks, another set awaits—wrapped in their own clouded embrace, whispering the same story.
You smile. You understand expanse. Not just of the mountains, but of perspective, possibility, and wonder.
Because some lessons can’t be taught. Only experienced.
It’s not always about how heavy the weight is—but how we carry it.
At Juhu Beach, fishermen share the load, shifting their gear between shoulders, distributing effort. What looks like routine is really a lesson in resilience—burdens are lighter when carried together.
Life isn’t any different. A listening ear, a helping hand, a quiet presence—sometimes, that’s all it takes to ease someone’s load.
So this week, who are you lending a shoulder to? It might make all the difference. Because we never really know what someone else is carrying.