Blog
Headache
It all begins with an idea.
Sandhya is hammering away at something. Tharun is rummaging through his things. Lakshmi is clanging utensils as she tidies up the kitchen. Simba, our ever-energetic dog, is darting around the house, barking furiously at a butterfly. In this tiny home, it feels like a festival of noise and none of it is helping my pounding headache. In fact, it’s only getting worse - sharp, relentless, and practically unmanageable.
When you have a headache, even your favorite music feels like it’s tearing through your eardrums. I took painkillers, but instead of easing the pain, they only seemed to heighten my awareness of every single sound.
“Sandhya… Sandhya…”
“Enna appa?”
“Can you come here for a minute, ma?”
“What do you want? I’m busy! Can’t you hear this hammering sound?”
“Can you get the headache lotion and apply it for me?”
“Tharun, you go. You’re his favorite son.”
“Why me? He called you, not me. Besides, you’re the firstborn and definitely his favorite.”
They start squabbling, as always.
With a sigh, Sandhya eventually mutters something and walks to the bedroom slower than a sleepy sloth.
“Where did you keep the lotion, appa?” she yells at a volume that could scare off the butterfly Simba’s chasing.
Instant regret. Why did I call her?
I direct her to the right spot. She finds the lotion and starts applying it gently on my forehead. Ah, bliss. Cooling, calming, soothing. I close my eyes, finally letting go.
Then suddenly,
“NERUPPU! NERUPPU! NERUPPU! ODUNGA! ODUNGA! ( Fire! Run!)”
It’s Lakshmi, shrieking like an emergency siren.
I spring out of bed and rush to the lounge.
She looks at me with surprise.
“What happened? Why are you up? You need rest! Only then will your headache go away!”
That’s when I realise.
I was dreaming.
Even in my dreams… my headache won’t leave me alone.
Dream or Real?
It all begins with an idea.
A Walk Through the Golden Hour
How can I put this experience into words?
I’ve climbed this mountain a few times before, but this time—this time was different. I reached the top during the golden hour, when the world seems to pause in warm light and quiet reflection.
A cool breeze kissed my sweaty face, and a soft wind playfully tried to hold me back. The cacophony of cicadas reminded me that you don’t need to be large to be heard. Around me, tall trees stood with quiet dignity—weathered witnesses to countless sunrises and storms.
Above, dark clouds draped themselves across the sky. The moon—Miss Nila—struggled to peek through, playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds, while the eye of heaven slowly shut at the horizon.
My ears tuned into two competing rhythms: the crunch of my hiking boots and the steady thump of my heartbeat.
And just as I was soaking in this moment of solitude, I heard a voice echoing from the distance:
“Get up, it’s late!” my flatmate called out.