THE MANY THINGS THAT MAKE ME SMILE

    

When our loved ones are happy, their faces shine—and when we look into their eyes, we can’t help but smile. It's a natural response, just like the gentle smile that forms when we receive good news. That moment of happiness and satisfaction is often followed by a quiet thank-you to God.

Even with strangers, the first thing we offer is a smile. Sometimes it’s the only exchange—a glance and a smile, maybe even the beginning of a bond.

I smile when I see bookshops or street vendors selling books. Flowers bring a smile to my face and brighten my day. A cheerful WhatsApp greeting or a joke makes me smile. The chirping of birds often makes me look around to spot them, smiling at their simple joy.

When I see someone dressed elegantly, I smile at them and silently wish them a wonderful day. A bright, clear sky makes me smile in appreciation. While reading, if a sentence or a special phrase touches me, I smile at its brilliance. Compliments make me smile gently. When I visit someone’s home and find it impressively clean, beautifully arranged, or tastefully decorated, I admire it with a smile. If someone’s response impresses me, it also earns a smile.

Many small, sweet things bring a smile to my face: greeting cards, old letters, photographs, balloons, butterflies, ice creams, stuffed toys, showpieces, books, bags, bindis, bangles, clips, sarees, chappals, bedspreads, cushions, curtains, chandeliers, wind chimes, earrings, cute babies, gardens, pleasant breezes, light rain, tasty food—and, of course, my treasured toy collection.

Smiles come easily with such everyday joys. And in these simple smiles lie the quiet beauty of life.

   

 

FRESH SPINACH DAY - A DAILY CELEBRATION IN INDIAN VILLAGES

 

The thought of fresh spinach immediately transports us to Indian villages, where, in the right season, every backyard plays host to this humble green guest. Its raw texture, vibrant color, fresh appearance, and soft feel turn absolutely heavenly when cooked with dal and served hot with rice and a dollop of ghee. That’s a taste rooted in both nostalgia and nutrition.

Interestingly, July 16th is observed as Fresh Spinach Day, meant to promote awareness about including spinach in daily diets. But tell this to someone from a village, and they’d probably laugh out loud! Why dedicate just one day to something that’s almost a daily affair in their kitchens?

For villagers, spinach isn’t a luxury—it’s a way of life. Many grow it in their own backyards, not out of trend or diet charts, but simply because it's accessible, free, and fresh. While urban dwellers scout for organic labels, rinse pesticide-laced bunches, and browse YouTube for spinach recipes, rural folks are already a few steps ahead—pluck, clean, cook, and enjoy.

Their bond with spinach goes deeper than nutrition. It's also cultural and culinary. There’s even a special mud vessel, lovingly called Keerai Kadaira Satti, reserved solely for cooking spinach-based stews. Its coarse interior makes it perfect for mashing greens with dal, using a wooden ladle known as Matthu in Tamil. The whole process—from handpicking the spinach to serving it warm with a smile—is rich with tradition and care.

In urban spaces, spinach might appear as soups, smoothies, or gourmet salads, but in villages, it remains soul food. It’s comfort, health, and heritage all served on a single plate.

So, while the world marks Fresh Spinach Day on July 16, villagers unknowingly celebrate it multiple times a week. They don’t need a special day to acknowledge spinach—it’s already a cherished part of their lives.

 

 

"In every humble leaf of spinach lies the quiet wisdom of village life—fresh, simple, nourishing, and never waiting for a special day to be celebrated."

PUDINA AROUND THE WORLD : A FRENCH TWIST TO A FAMILIAR HERB

    

  

We all know pudina (mint) as a household favorite—cool, aromatic, and uplifting. From spicy chutneys to refreshing lassis, mint has its own celebrated space in Indian kitchens. But have you ever wondered how this humble herb is embraced in French cuisine?

Yes, the French, known for their refined palate and elegant presentation, also have their way with mint—especially when it comes to soups, sauces, and spring dishes.

One such example is the French Mint Pea Soup or Soupe de Petits Pois à la Menthe—a simple, light, and refreshing soup that embodies the essence of spring and early summer. It's a perfect representation of how pudina can shift from bold Indian flavors to delicate French elegance.

 

 Mint’s Role in French Cuisine

In France, mint (la menthe) is used sparingly but thoughtfully. It makes subtle appearances in:

Herb blends like fines herbes, often with parsley, chives, and tarragon

Infusions or herbal teas (tisane à la menthe)

Desserts such as mint chocolate mousse or syrups for sorbet

Cold soups and vegetables, where it pairs beautifully with peas, zucchini, and new potatoes

Mint in French cuisine doesn’t overpower—it complements, adding a whisper of freshness rather than a punch of heat.

 

 Recipe: Soupe de Petits Pois à la Menthe (French Mint Pea Soup)

A light, velvety soup perfect for warm weather—this recipe celebrates the sweetness of peas and the subtle coolness of mint.

 Ingredients:

2 cups fresh or frozen green peas

1 small onion, chopped

1 tbsp olive oil or butter

2 cups vegetable  broth

A handful of fresh mint leaves (around 10–12 leaves)

Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

A splash of cream (optional, for richness)

Crème fraîche or Greek yogurt for garnish (optional)

 Instructions:

Sauté the aromatics:
In a medium saucepan, heat the olive oil or butter. Add chopped onion and sauté on low heat until soft and translucent.

Add peas and broth:
Stir in the peas and pour in the broth. Simmer for 8–10 minutes until the peas are tender.

Add mint:
Add mint leaves and simmer for just 1–2 minutes. Don’t overcook mint—it can lose its freshness.

Blend to smoothness:
Using a hand blender or countertop blender, purée the soup until smooth. Strain if you prefer a silky texture.

Finish and serve:
Add salt, pepper, and a splash of cream if desired. Serve warm or chilled, with a dollop of crème fraîche or a swirl of yogurt for a gourmet touch.

 

 Why This Recipe Works

Quick & Healthy: Minimal ingredients, high in fiber, and full of plant-based goodness.

Flavor Harmony: The natural sweetness of peas and the gentle coolness of mint are a perfect springtime duo.

Versatile: Serve it warm for comfort or cold for a refreshing appetizer.

 

 Final Spoonful

Mint, or pudina, might seem like a bold Indian staple, but its delicate charm in French cooking proves how adaptable this herb truly is. From our spicy chutneys to a Parisian-style soup bowl, mint travels across cultures with elegance and ease.

So next time you buy a bunch of pudina, save a few leaves for a French-inspired twist—it might just surprise you.

BEYOND THE SNOW : THE LONGEST WINTER WITHIN

                                                     

Clairel Estevez’s poem “The Longest Winter” is brief and delicate, yet filled with emotional depth and seasonal imagery. Let’s explore the seasonal appreciation and the hidden beauty it contains.

 

 Seasonal Appreciation

At first glance, the poem begins with a familiar description of winter—the traditional one we know:

"The longest winter,
Is not the one whispering shivers
In valleys and the mountain pass."

These lines offer a sensory entry point, where winter is more than cold—it's poetic, “whispering shivers,” painting a picture of gentle yet pervasive chill. It flows through nature’s crevices: valleys and mountain passes. The poet appreciates winter not with dread, but through an almost musical tone. There's beauty in the quiet, movement in stillness, and grace in coldness.

Then comes this visual:

"With its fine-white veil, bathing the trees and countryside."

Winter is personified here as a bride veiling the landscape. The snow, rather than being harsh or bleak, becomes gentle, transformative, and pure. This is a celebration of how winter beautifies and reimagines the world.

 

 Hidden Beauty – Emotional Winter

The twist comes in the latter half:

"The longest winter,
Is the one that has settled in your eyes."

Here lies the true winter—not seasonal, but emotional. The poem shifts inward, and suddenly, all the scenic beauty is revealed to be a metaphor. The “longest winter” is not in nature, but in the soul. A sadness, grief, or perhaps a longing that lingers in someone’s eyes. It’s a coldness that doesn’t thaw with spring, making it eternal.

This line brings out the hidden beauty: the realization that human emotion mirrors nature, and that the deepest, most silent winters are not the ones outside, but within.

Clairel Estevez’s poem is delicate, yet powerful. It invites readers to see the poetic charm of winter—its hush, its stillness, its snow-draped world—and then gently reminds us that some winters are internal, hidden behind someone's gaze. It’s a poem that awakens our senses and our empathy at once—showing us that behind serene eyes, there could be a silent season waiting to pass.

 

CAN THIS LEAD TO A DIFFERENT APPROACH TO WINTER?

 

Absolutely—Clairel Estevez’s “The Longest Winter” invites us to adopt a deeply reflective and emotionally nuanced approach to how we view winter. Here's how it can shift our perspective:

 

 From Outer Season to Inner Landscape

Traditionally, we view winter as a weather phenomenon—a time of cold, snow, barrenness, and retreat. But this poem reframes winter as something internal, emotional, and even personal. This new lens allows us to ask:

What emotional winters am I or others going through?

Can a person look fine on the outside yet carry a deep, prolonged chill within?

Is winter simply a time of stillness, or a space for emotional pause and introspection?

By doing this, the poem gently encourages empathy, introspection, and a more soulful relationship with the seasons.

 

 Winter as a Mirror, Not a Mood

Instead of viewing winter as a negative or gloomy time, this approach turns it into a mirror—a season that reflects what's going on inside us. The snow, the silence, the frost become symbols of quiet grief, dormancy, or emotional heaviness. But they also carry beauty. The poem acknowledges this with phrases like:

“fine-white veil, bathing the trees and countryside”

Here, beauty coexists with sorrow. The external cold becomes a poetic metaphor for emotional endurance—how we hold ourselves together in times of sadness, much like trees stand still and strong through snow.

 

 From Endurance to Renewal

Perhaps most beautifully, this perspective encourages compassion—for ourselves and for others.

If someone is in a “longest winter,” they may not need to be “cheered up” quickly, but gently understood.

If we’re in that winter ourselves, we’re reminded that seasons pass—but even in their depth, they have their own kind of grace.

Winter becomes not something to merely “get through,” but something to listen to, learn from, and even honor.

 

 In Summary

Yes—this poem can and should lead to a different approach to winter:

Not just as weather, but as a metaphor.

Not just as harshness, but as emotional truth.

Not just as an ending, but as a quiet, beautiful beginning of something new.

Clairel Estevez helps us see that winter is not just what it appears to be. It’s also what we carry inside us, and recognizing that can transform how we experience the season and those around us.

A FEW DETAILS ABOUT THE POET;

Clairel Estevez is a contemporary poet and writer known for her poignant, introspective poetry that often explores emotional landscapes, personal growth, grief, and the quiet beauty found in everyday moments. While not extensively covered in mainstream literary circles, her work has gained recognition through online poetry communities and digital platforms for its heartfelt simplicity and emotional resonance.

A Few Key Details:

Style & Themes:
Clairel Estevez’s poetry is often minimalist in form but rich in emotion. She writes about loss, love, healing, mental health, and inner strength, using natural imagery like seasons, landscapes, and light to reflect human emotions.

Tone:
Her tone is gentle yet profound, often addressing the unspoken feelings we all carry. She tends to personalize abstract emotions, turning them into vivid, tangible experiences, like in "The Longest Winter," where winter becomes a metaphor for grief or inner sorrow.

Audience Connection:
Much of her writing resonates with those who find comfort in emotional vulnerability and self-reflection. Her poems are often shared on platforms like Instagram, Pinterest, and poetry blogs for their relatability and soothing wisdom.

Presence:
While she may not be widely published in traditional literary journals, her digital presence contributes to the growing world of accessible modern poetry, alongside other poets who connect deeply with readers through short, emotionally charged verse.

 

Clairel Estevez’s work, including “The Longest Winter,” reminds us that poetry doesn’t have to be elaborate to be powerful. Her verses speak softly, yet they stay with you, like the quiet snow of a long, introspective winter.

 

THE WONDER PLANT NAMED POOVOLI

 

There’s a strange little plant growing in my flower pot—a plant unlike any other. It appeared one summer afternoon without warning, tucked next to another struggling plant on my window sill. Despite the harsh South Indian heat and the challenges that make growing anything on a sunny sill difficult, this plant not only survived—it thrived.

It wasn’t just its resilience that caught our attention. This plant, which I fondly named POOVOLI, began to bring with it a quiet, miraculous shift in our lives. Whenever it bloomed, something unusual would happen: energy would rise in the air, a sense of calm would fill the room, and even the most impossible tasks began to feel… possible.

Every home has its share of challenges. For us, they included navigating difficult relationships, managing high expectations, and facing goals that once seemed insurmountable. But as POOVOLI grew, so did our strength. It was as if the plant radiated positivity, offering us a silent kind of blessing. One that helped us communicate better, work together, and stay healthy, both in body and spirit.

What fascinated everyone was how this plant drew focus. Day by day, we watched it closely, noticing each new leaf, each subtle turn towards the sun. It became a symbol of hope. In a place where most plants wilt under summer's glare, POOVOLI stood tall, vibrant, green, glowing with quiet light.

Maybe it’s just a plant. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s something more—a reminder that even in the toughest climates and against the hardest odds, something beautiful can bloom. And sometimes, all it takes is one unexpected flower to show us that the impossible can, in fact, be done.

(This blog post is a part of Blogchatter's BLOGHOP. Details here : https://www.theblogchatter.com/blogchatter-blog-hop-a-new-way-to-write-collectively)

A LUXURY I WISH……

    

    

 

 

In my comfy corner, a little space

A place of my own, as soft as a lace

Lays a long chair of queen’s height with a wooden base

With a rocking style for a ride at a mild pace

Cushions of vibrant colours, in fitting size in the pattern of a maze

Attracting all in less time, fixing attention and nothing to daze

Lovely longing starts to occupy the space with an urge to win the race

Hands over the chair and lying fit in the seat bring glow to my face

The breeze from a window behind calls for a chat and nature’s gaze

Focusing straight from the chair the books in long &short rows pull me towards their case

Genres, size, colour, and bound all arranged in a symmetric vase

Picking up a book of my choice, reading with the flow to travel places

With characters in between with coffee and cookies and varied tastes

Of food and drinks with a due time to nap with the book in the vests

Dreaming of writing one day a grand book of characters all I LOVE

Is a LUXURY I WISH to come true one fine day.

WHEN THE SKY SETS THE TONE : HOW WEATHER SHAPES MY MOOD

  

Have you ever noticed how the weather outside can echo your mood—or even set it? For me, the connection is strong and constant. My day often begins not with the alarm clock, but with a glance at the sky. What I see there quietly influences how I feel, how I think, and even how much I get done.

A clear, sunny day feels like a personal blessing. When sunlight pours through my balcony, I feel a rush of positivity. It’s more than just brightness—it’s motivation, a gentle promise that the day will flow smoothly. I’m energized, optimistic, and open to possibilities. Tasks feel lighter, and the mind feels clearer.

But when it’s cloudy, and the sun is merely peeking through like a shy child, my energy dips. The day seems slower, my thoughts a little foggier. I begin questioning how much I’ll really accomplish. There’s a strange stillness to everything, and I can’t help but carry that dullness into my routine.

Rainy days are their own story. If I have no pressing need to go outside, I may even enjoy them. The rhythm of the raindrops, the cool breeze, the earthy scent—it can be comforting, even soothing. But if I have to step out, the tension begins. Will the bus come on time? Will my umbrella really keep me dry? What if an auto speeds by and splashes muddy water all over my saree? Suddenly, it’s not just about reaching somewhere—it’s about managing chaos. From drying clothes to power cuts and messy roads, my mind gets crowded with a hundred little worries. The calm of the rain disappears, replaced by a hurried kind of stress.

It’s fascinating—and sometimes frustrating—how much the weather can influence not just my surroundings but my very state of mind. Perhaps it’s a reminder that we are all, in some way, connected to nature, even in our most mundane routines.

 

Does the weather influence your mood too? Or are you someone who thrives regardless of the forecast? I’d love to know how you ride the seasons of the sky and soul.

EVVARITO CHEPPAKUNDA GONGURAKI - MY FIRST SOLO PERFORMANCE

 

There are some memories that sit quietly in a corner of our minds — until a sound, a song, or a scent stirs them up with laughter and warmth. For me, the folk song “Evvarito Cheppakunda Gonguraki” is one such time capsule. Every time I hear it, I’m instantly transported back to my school days — to my very first solo stage performance.

Our school’s annual day functions were always a lively mix of group singing, kollattam (dandiya), skits, and dramas. Students from different classes came together based on height, voice, and character roles to put on these shows. But that year, something different happened. My class teacher decided to include a solo folk song as a special addition to the cultural programme — and much to my surprise, she chose me to perform it.

I was hesitant at first. I had never performed solo before. But when a teacher selects you with confidence, it’s hard to say no. And so, with a nervous heart and a determined mind, I began my rehearsals after school hours under the guidance of our dance teacher. The steps were taught, the music played on loop, and the countdown to the big day had begun.

About two weeks before the performance, my class teacher asked me to bring a few bright-coloured sarees from home to pick a costume. In those days, nobody bought a new saree for a school performance. You either wore one of your mother’s or borrowed from someone. I told my mother, and she sweetly handed me 3 or 4 of her sarees. But they were all soft, light shades — no bright reds or yellows.

Still, I packed them in a bag and took them to school. My teacher gently chose a white and green organza cotton saree, saying it would suit the song’s feel. It was elegant in its own way. The blouse was stitched in a hurry, and then came the dress rehearsals.

But soon we realized dancing in a saree wasn’t as graceful as it looked! I found it hard to manage the pleats, and the saree would shift or fly open with every jump or spin. It was a daily struggle to keep it in place while performing the steps. Watching my discomfort, my teachers sprang into action — they went searching for a vaddanam (also called a kamarbandh), the traditional waist belt worn with sarees.

With some clever hands and creativity, they secured the saree with threads, hooks, and pins, fastening it around the vaddanam. That little belt became my saviour! I instinctively kept one hand on my hip and the other near the vaddanam while dancing — not just as part of the choreography but to make sure the saree stayed in place.

Finally, the big day arrived. I stepped onto the stage, nervous but ready. As the music began and the familiar tune of “Evvarito Cheppakunda Gonguraki” filled the auditorium, I danced — holding my posture, catching the rhythm, and enjoying every step till the last beat. I still remember the applause, the joy on my teachers’ faces, and the sheer relief that I hadn’t tripped over the pleats!

Years have passed since that day, but this memory stays close. Whenever the song plays now, it doesn’t just bring a smile — it brings back the entire journey: from classroom selections to saree trials, dance rehearsals, giggles, goof-ups, and finally, the stage spotlight.

It wasn’t just a performance. It was a lesson in confidence, resilience, and the magic of a little encouragement.

You can listen to the song: here

THE LEARNING CURVE OF LIFE

  

   

This phase of life, for me, is all about mindful learning — a gentle yet consistent commitment to self-growth. Inspired by my favorite author, I’ve embraced the practice of reading and writing a page every day. Not digitally, but the old-fashioned way — pen on paper. This small act does wonders: it sharpens brain function, strengthens hand-eye coordination, and brings back the tactile pleasure of writing.

I find deep comfort in the simple, steady wisdom of Ruskin Bond — his suggestions and quiet advice often feel like personal notes on how to live more meaningfully.  As he beautifully puts it, “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the quiet of everyday things.” That line stays with me, especially during reflective moments.  Alongside that, reading quotes on wise living and maintaining a daily journal helps me reflect and reset.

But learning isn’t limited to books. It’s also about adapting. I’m learning to relax, set boundaries with grace, and handle people gently — not with detachment, but with a softer touch. I’m learning not to get overly emotional about situations I can't control, to stay calm even when everything feels chaotic, and to pay attention to my body — especially when it signals hormonal imbalances or fatigue.

This phase is not loud or dramatic. It’s quiet, intentional, and deeply personal. It’s about balance — between mind, body, and emotion — and finding rhythm in daily rituals.

 

  

YOUR LANGUAGE STORY SHAPES YOUR BLOG

   

In blogging, the languages you use are more than just tools — they’re deeply personal. Language is emotional, cultural, and reflective of who you are. Understanding your relationship with the languages you speak can enrich your voice and expand your reach as a blogger.

Broadly, bloggers can be categorized into one of three types of multilingualism, although many exist somewhere in between. So, which one are you?

1. Dominant – Vehicular

Your mother tongue is a dominant language (official or widely recognized), and your second is a vehicular language — one used to bridge communication across cultures.

Example: French as a mother tongue, and International English for global reach.

2. Dominant – Dominant

You’re fluent in several major languages. These might include a common vehicular language too.

Example: A Punjabi speaker also fluent in Hindi and Urdu, or a German speaker using English and French.

3. Minor – Dominant

You grew up speaking a minority or minoritized language — one that's rare, regional, or historically marginalized. Your dominant language, often used for blogging, may have entered your life through colonization or acculturation.

Example: A speaker of a tribal dialect who blogs in English or Hindi.

 

No matter your type, your linguistic mix adds unique richness to your blog. Embrace it — your voice is your superpower.

 

THE GLORY OF THE TEMPLE -TIRUKKOZHI IN URAIYUR

  

The Divya Kshetram -TIRUKKOZHI is situated in Uraiyur, around 3 km from Trichy and is easily accessible by road. 

Uraiyur was the ancient Chola capital and is the birthplace of Tiruppaan Azhwar. The presiding deity is Azhagiya Manavaalan in the standing posture, carrying sanku and Chakra in His hands. Goddess Komalavalli Thayar is also in the same sanctum in the seated posture, carrying a lotus in her hands. The sacred water is Kalyaana theertham, and the sanctum sanctorum is Kalyaana vimanam. According to the legend, a valiant rooster is believed to have warded off an elephant with its beak and gained the name Tirukkozhi - Mookkeeswaram.

The sthala puranam says that King  Nandha Chola, who was ruling the Chola dynasty with  Uraiyur as his capital, was an ardent devotee of Lord Ranganatha at Srirangam. He prayed to Lord Ranganatha to be blessed with a child. Once, while hunting the king found a child on a lotus in a pond. He brought the child home and named her Komalavalli, the one who has come out of a lotus. As she grew up, she admired the beauty of Lord Ranganatha whenever she visited the Srirangam temple, and was expressing her desire to marry the Lord.

One day, the Lord appeared in the dream of the king and told him that the child is none but Mahalakshmi and asked the king to send Komalavalli to Srirangam to be married to HIM. The king was delighted to find that his daughter is Mahalakshmi and Lord Ranganatha is going to be his son-in-law.

Accordingly, the king arranged for the marriage, and Komalavalli dressed as the bride, vanished as she entered the sanctum of Lord Ranganatha. The king built a temple at Uraiyur, commemorating the marriage of Komalavalli and Ranganatha.

Kalyana uthsavam is being celebrated on Panguni Pooram, when the utsava vigraham ( idol taken out in procession)   of Lord Ranganatha is brought to Tirukkozhi from the Srirangam temple. There is no utsava vigraham in this temple.