A day spent in a school with my Dad

 

No matter how old we grow, a part of us always longs to return to our childhood—to the school where we learned, the home where we grew up, and the familiar paths that shaped who we are. Our roots never leave us.

One of my Dad's wishes at 90 was to revisit Veliankode and his high school in Mookkuthala, built on five acres of land donated by my husband's Pakaravoor family to the government for just one rupee. Life has a beautiful way of coming full circle—my husband's grandfather was my Dad's teacher, and years later, his grandson married that teacher's student's daughter. What an incredible connection.

As we drove through the villages, Dad recalled walking miles to school, crossing the river by boat every day before continuing on foot. Watching those roads from the comfort of a car made me realize how much determination education demanded in those days, especially in rural India.

The moment we entered his school, his face lit up. He pointed to the walls and said, "Gandhiji came here during his dandi yatra." Looking at the playground, he smiled and remembered running on that very track during sports day. Instantly, I was transported to my own school days at Kendriya Vidyalaya Khadakwasla, Pune, where I too loved sprinting and winning trophies. Some memories truly bridge generations.

As he quietly looked around, I knew he had gone back to being that little boy again, remembering his teachers, classmates, and simpler times. One curious young boy watched us, and when I told him that my 90-year-old father had once studied there, his eyes widened with amazement.

As we drove away, I couldn't stop thinking about that little boy my Dad once was. Life may have been simple, with very little, but it was rich in resilience, dreams, and joy. Seeing him relive those precious memories was one of the greatest gifts this journey gave me.

Time is important!

 

They say time is life's greatest gift. It's never about how much of it we have, but the choice to make someone feel special.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind—juggling work across multiple time zones, weekdays blending into weekends, and preparing for my India trip by ensuring my team is empowered to thrive in my absence. For me, sharing knowledge has never been about creating dependency; it's always been about enabling others.

Amidst all this, two dear friends had birthdays. Knowing I'd be in India when our group celebrated, I asked if we could steal a weekday lunch together. They didn't have to say yes. It wouldn't have changed our friendship. But they chose to make time, and that small gesture meant more to me than words can express.

It reminded me that friendship is often found in the little efforts we make for one another. Those moments don't need to be grand—they just need to be shared.

One lesson my Dad taught me has stayed with me forever: Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is yet to come. So live this moment.

Find that moment with your loved ones. Hold it close. Those are the memories that stay with us forever. ❤️

~Dawn

Ginger is not just a pet

 

In her innocent eyes lives the sweetest little spark,

In Ginger’s every gentle way, love leaves its mark.

With those ears raised high, as if she has something to say,

Even in silence, her sweetness writes its own way.

Sitting beside her tiny toys, so carefree and light,

In her simple little world lives pure delight.

She asks for no crown, no grand desire to claim,

Just a little love—and that alone is her reign.

In every corner of home, her tender footsteps stay,

Ginger is not just a pet—she’s my heart’s softest way.

~ Dawn

Keep searching...

 

The road moves on in quiet grace,

Like an unfinished journey finding space.

Clouds drape the sky in silver-gray,

As though the heart holds words it cannot say.

Somewhere behind those drifting skies,

Sunlight still waits to softly rise,

Like hope that lingers through troubled air,

A gentle smile still hidden there.

The trees stand still in whispered lines,

Swaying slowly with the hands of time,

Even the bare and weathered trees,

Seem to wait for kinder seasons and breeze.

The roads may seem empty, silent, wide,

Yet every path holds a dream inside.

Beyond the haze, beyond the unknown,

Light still travels, softly shown.

And the sky seems to quietly say—

Keep moving on, come what may.

No matter how heavy the clouds above,

Keep searching for your share of sun.

~ Dawn

Crispy golden curl

 

In every crispy golden curl, flavor makes its grand refrain,

This gathering of fritters feels like joy on a plate again.

Wrapped in spice and warmth so deep, each bite holds a little art,

Like hidden cravings softly dancing close beside the heart.

Ginger whispers through the air, with herbs in fragrant delight,

In this humble bowl, even ordinary moments shine bright.

Pair it with a cup of chai—and oh, the story sweeter grows,

Yet even on its own, this simple pleasure proudly glows.

Dawn says—these tender tastes are small celebrations we find,

Little tales of comfort and calm in life’s rushing tide.

~ Dawn

Velvet red

 Velvet red in layers deep,

A little sweetness meant to keep.

Soft white clouds of creamy light,

Turning simple moments bright.

Each slice reveals a tender cheer,

A taste of joy we hold so near.

More than cake upon a plate,

It feels like happiness we celebrate.

~ Dawn

A tiny little gardener

 

A tiny little gardener stands with such a cheerful grace,

Pink watering can in hand, dreams blooming on its face.

In this small potted world, it tends its patch of green,

Just a toy perhaps—yet the sweetest gardener ever seen.

With innocence so gentle, like a smile that knows no end,

Too much or too little water—still love is what it sends.

Among pebbles and quiet soil, it builds a garden bright,

As though within its little heart blooms a meadow full of light.

And watching it, one can’t help but smile at such sweet art,

So tiny, yet a royal soul in the world of growing hearts.

~ Dawn

I’ve built a world

 

It’s true—I’ve built a world of my own,

Under moon and stars, a quiet zone.

Far from the noise where wars still cry,

In nature’s arms, I let time pass by.

While the world burns in calls of fight,

Innocence fades before seeing light.

Some have everything, yet feel so bare,

Some have nothing—not even a place to care.

Some sleep in cars, some under the sky,

These fragile truths make the heart sigh.

What can we say, and who would hear,

When every voice dissolves in fear?

So I chose a silence, soft and deep,

Where with the stars, my thoughts can sleep.

We all search for a place that feels safe and whole,

And often retreat within our own soul.

Life itself—so delicate, so brief,

A bubble of moments, joy and grief.

~ Dawn

What an evening it was...

 

What an evening it was—so quietly unreal,

I was walking away, and he was leaving too.

To a shore far from me, yet closer to someone else,

Distance held a story I never quite knew.

Silent, almost distant, still he moved ahead,

His lips said nothing, but his heart surely spoke.

And I stood there lost, tangled in that moment,

In thoughts that lingered like words unspoken.

Why must he go, I wondered in that fading light,

When tomorrow would bring him back into sight?

In that misty dusk, questions softly remained,

Every goodbye carrying a promise unnamed.

~ Dawn

She’s always led

 

In Parliament halls, a new voice rose,

A whisper of change that steadily grows.

The women’s bill lit a hopeful sky,

Yet politics moved with its own reply.

In counts of votes, dreams too were weighed,

Support and doubt in colors displayed.

Rights written neatly upon the page,

But will they reach hearts beyond the stage?

A woman’s strength is no new art,

She’s always led—just unseen in part.

This bill’s a doorway, not the end,

A longer road lies just around the bend.

In corridors of power, many moves unfold,

Yet truth still flickers, brave and bold.

When intent is pure, change will be real,

Else promises fade like words we feel.

Still she walks with hope held tight,

Rewriting herself in every fight.

When minds transform, not just the law,

True freedom will reach every door.

~ Dawn

O moon !

 

This half-smile of the moon tonight,

Feels like a soul, gently incomplete,

Yet in its silence, it softly speaks,

Whispering truths so tender, so sweet.

Cradled in the arms of the darkened sky,

A glow so pure, so calm, so far,

And still it feels so close to me,

Like a familiar, quiet star.

Just this glimpse of you is enough,

To fill my dreams, to light my way,

O moon—whole or broken in parts,

You make my world shine anyway.

Even your scars feel beautiful to me,

Even your silence sings like a song,

You may not speak, yet every night,

You tell me where I belong.

Perhaps I’m a little like you,

A little unfinished, softly undone,

And maybe in this shared incompleteness,

We become whole—just as one.

~ Dawn

A walking bundle of laughter

 

Mic in hand, with a style so unique,
The moment he walks in—no one can stay meek.

He starts off calm, almost serious in tone,
But the laughter he sparks quickly overflows.

He pauses, thinks… then drops a perfect line,
And suddenly, everyone’s laughing at the same time.

A simple face, but a mind full of spark,
Every word he speaks hits straight to the mark.

Not just a man, but a moment of cheer,
A walking bundle of laughter, standing right here.

~ Dawn

A simple little story,

 

Wrapped in a warm dosa, a simple little story,

A quiet plate filled with everyday glory.

In its crisp golden layer, a gentle calm resides,

Each bite brings comfort that softly abides.

Like coconut chutney—pure, soft, and light,

Like sambar—warm with a hint of spice.

Served on a leaf, so humble and true,

Like finding something familiar in all that we do.

Pause for a moment, just smile and be,

Let small joys unfold so effortlessly.

Perhaps life is just like this plate we see—

Simple, colorful… and beautifully free.

~ Dawn

A gift of rhythm

 

In the folds of a saree lives a world of melody,

Each beat of the drum carries a quiet longing within.

In every strike of the hand, a rhythm finds its voice,

In every echo of the drum, identity begins.

A smile softly hums with notes unspoken,

In every tune, life’s quiet dignity is woven.

This is not just sound—it’s an ancient song,

A gift of rhythm that has traveled generations long.

In every cadence lives the spirit of celebration,

In its pulse resides an entire world in vibration.

In every beat, the heart finds a voice again,

Speaking in rhythms words could never explain.

~ Dawn

Happy Vishu

 

Golden blooms hang like a message of Vishu bright,

In Konna flowers lives Kerala’s every dream and light.

With the first rays of dawn, when they adorn the home,

Every corner whispers joy, no shadows left to roam.

Beneath the shade of Kannikonna, as Vishukkani is laid,

Each yellow petal carries blessings, gently displayed.

In temple chants and sacred songs, their fragrance softly blends,

In every prayer and offering, their quiet grace descends.

Even in childhood memories, their golden hues remain,

A mother’s careful setting—still alive within the frame.

These are not just flowers, but traditions held with pride,

In every Vishu celebration, they stand close by our side.

~ Dawn

Happy Birthday !

 

My dear Rhea, my quiet joy,

You’ve brightened life since you were a little girl.

Your smile still feels like home to me,

In your dreams live all I hope to see.

I remember your tiny hand in mine,

And now you’re growing, finding your own shine.

With every year, may you grow and be,

Happy, kind, and truly free.

Happy Birthday, my love,

Keep smiling, always.

Mom ❤️

~ Dawn

This is not just tea you hold...

 

In an earthen cup so warm,

This is more than tea’s soft charm,

In the very first sweet sip,

Feels like home upon your lips.

In the rising, gentle steam,

Lives a mother’s kitchen dream,

Every sip holds memories bright,

And a touch of childhood light.

By the roadside, evening chill,

Or sleepy mornings, calm and still,

This humble cup of chai somehow,

Draws your wandering heart back now.

As it touches waiting lips,

All the weariness slowly slips,

One more sip… then one again,

Smiles return without refrain.

In the earthy, fragrant clay,

Lives a warmth that wants to stay,

This is not just tea you hold,

But a bond—timeless, pure, and old.

~ Dawn

It gifts a stillness

 

In this little cup, a tiny world,

A flower blooms in foam unfurled,

A gentle whisper of coffee’s grace,

Softly touches the heart’s quiet space.

Placed upon marble, calm and still,

This cup feels warm beyond its fill,

Like morning light at break of day,

Or a mother’s love in a tender way.

In every sip, a comfort lies,

Like home beneath familiar skies,

A hint of bitterness lingers too,

Yet sweetness follows, pure and true.

That empty chair beside the table,

Waits for someone, if only able,

Or perhaps it calls you to simply be,

To meet your own quiet company.

This is no coffee, it’s a feeling deep,

A pause the restless world can’t keep,

Between the rush of all we do,

It gifts a stillness, soft and true.

~ Dawn

Each heart sings a tale ..

 

Beneath a blanket of endless blue,

The city stands proud in its view,

Amidst the towers rising high,

A river hums its gentle sigh.

In quiet waters, the world reflects,

Like a dream the moment protects,

In whispered waves, soft and deep,

The noise of life is lulled to sleep.

These buildings lining either side,

Hold stories time cannot hide,

Even in life’s relentless pace,

They offer stillness, a breathing space.

Boats drift on like wandering dreams,

Moving ahead in silent streams,

And the bridge—like a bond so true,

Joins two worlds in a single view.

Within this city lives a calm,

A lonely hush in the bustling swarm,

Where every face is strange, unknown,

Yet every gaze holds depths its own.

Between the sky and emerald flow,

Life keeps moving, soft and slow,

In the city’s quiet, steady beat,

Each heart sings a tale unique.

~ Dawn

Oh life !

 

What a life this life can be—what a curious, shifting tale,

It walks beside us hand in hand, yet leaves us lone and pale.

It binds our hearts to many souls, draws every stranger near,

Then softly teaches distance too—that solitude is clear.

Not just to live, but crave to live—it plants that restless need,

And once we grow accustomed, it sows a deeper seed.

“Walk your path, be set apart, don’t lose yourself in the crowd,

You came here all alone,” it says, “leave smiling, gentle, proud.”

This game of life is strange indeed—each plays by different rules,

No soul can truly carry yours, no borrowed strength or tools.

So place no weight on fragile hopes, let your heart stay light and free,

If someone hears, then let it be—if not, just let it be.

Don’t spend your breath in proving things, or chasing to be known,

Life’s quiet truths reveal themselves when you stand on your own.

O life, your ways are wondrous still, your patterns rare, untold,

You walk beside, then slip away—leaving silence to unfold.

~ Dawn

May your spirit always sing

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The queen of melodies now sits in silent grace,

As if the music of her soul has slipped from time and space.

The voice that held our hearts through joy and hidden pain,

That soothed our restless spirits—will it ever sing again?

Through every shade of life she wove her gentle art,

A note for every feeling, a rhythm for each heart.

Even in laughter, in mimicry and play,

Her voice was the magic none could take away.

Asha Tai, your leaving has left an aching void,

From childhood days to now, your songs we all enjoyed.

Your melodies sustained us, gave calm in every storm,

A timeless, tender presence—so human, yet so warm.

Now only echoes linger, soft upon the air,

A voice that time cannot erase, forever living there.

Immortal in our memories, in every note you gave,

A song that lives eternal, beyond the silent grave.

For parting is the truth each living soul must face,

One by one we fade away in life’s unending race.

But wherever you may wander, may your spirit always sing,

In a world of endless music, crowned forever as its queen.

~ Dawn

“Gum Wall”

 

There was a time when laziness had its own quiet art,

When, after the flavor faded, gum found walls to depart.

Day by day the surface filled with colors, random and bright,

By morning, hands would clean it all—restoring blank to white.

This ritual carried on, unchanged in careless flow,

While those who cleaned grew weary, yet had no choice but go on so.

And slowly, curious eyes began to see a different view,

What once was idle habit, felt like art to some who knew.

What started as neglect became a spectacle to see,

Now people pose for pictures there, in strange admiration’s glee.

Even today, if the city wipes the canvas clean once more,

By dusk, the wall is colored back—just like it was before.

Now known as the “Gum Wall,” a place of quirky fame,

Who knew that simple laziness would build such a name.

~ Dawn

Keep living—until the race is run

 

What a fierce, unyielding life this is—each breath demands its due,

To live at all, we labor twice; there’s no easy passing through.

Be it human or humble creature, the truth remains the same,

Every breath is earned with effort, every step a quiet flame.

Here, each soul must bear its burden, none can shift the weight away,

On this road, we walk alone, carving strength from day to day.

Life spares no one its trials; it plays no gentle part,

Even breaths feel rented here, taxed upon the heart.

Only through the heat of striving comes a moment’s fragile peace,

Life’s a test we keep on taking, with no promise of release.

I too wander in this journey, striving hard beneath the sun,

For to live is to keep living—until the race is run.

~ Dawn

AI in our hands...

In circuits of thought and rivers of code,

A new kind of intelligence quietly flowed.

Born not of breath, nor heartbeat’s art,

But shaped by the brilliance of the human heart.

From ChatGPT that weaves words into light,

To DALL·E painting dreams in colors bright,

From GitHub Copilot whispering code in a developer’s ear,

To Midjourney crafting visions surreal and clear—

These tools are echoes of minds that dare,

To build, to imagine, to deeply care.

Algorithms dance where ideas begin,

A partnership forms—of soul and silicon.

Yet behind each line, each spark, each start,

Lies a human dream, a restless heart.

For AI may learn, evolve, and grow,

But it mirrors the truths that we bestow.

In hospitals, it heals; in classrooms, it guides,

In stories, it listens; in data, it hides.

A quiet companion in a world so fast,

Bridging the future with echoes of the past.

But let us remember, as we rise and create,

We are the keepers of balance and fate.

For technology shines its brightest hue,

When it walks hand in hand with the human in you.

Not man versus machine, nor a battle to be,

But a symphony played in shared harmony.

Where wisdom meets wonder, and logic meets art—

AI in our hands, but humanity in our heart.

~ Dawn 

Earth—adorned in beauty

 

Four voyagers sailed into the silent skies,

Chasing my moon with wonder in their eyes.

But from the vastness, what they chose to share,

Was Earth—adorned in beauty beyond compare.

A canvas of blue with whispers of green,

The most breathtaking sight they had ever seen.

My moon is dear, with its silver glow,

Yet carries scars that quietly show.

But Earth—oh Earth—so vibrant, so alive,

A living poem where colors thrive.

Enchanting, serene, a soulful sight,

Holding the universe in gentle light.

I wonder if beings from distant spheres,

Gaze at this world with the same reverence I hold dear.

The way my heart belongs to the moon above,

Perhaps they too are bound by Earth in love.

For love like this knows no boundary or place,

It travels through time, through infinite space.

Some fall for the moon, soft and afar,

Some for the Earth—the brightest star.

~ Dawn

Where Are These Roads Leading Us?

Roads—

everywhere.

Here. There. Everywhere.

Some rise above the earth,

some sink below it,

stretching upward—

as if trying to touch the sky.

Flyovers climb higher and higher,

and we rush across them—

faster than ever before.

But where are we going?

What are we crossing over—

distance,

or meaning?

These empty roads—

what destination do they truly lead to?

Because tomorrow…

they may not even exist.

One blast—

and everything we built

turns to dust.

All that effort,

all that creation—

reduced to silence.

And the truth is—

it is not nature.

It is us.

Humans,

destroying what we once dreamed into being.

So tell me—

why build at all,

if we are only preparing

to erase it?

Why climb so high,

if we are ready

to fall back

into the life

of our most primitive past?

What are we becoming?

~ Dawn

It Feels Right

 

To be with myself, to spend time within—it feels right,

To sit with my thoughts and quietly listen—it feels right.

Be it a place unknown or one I’ve always known,

Among strangers too, to simply exist—it feels right.

Even when hatred and bitterness fill every space,

To guard a little love in the heart—it feels right.

When people seek friendship in lifeless figures alone,

To step away from such hollow bonds—it feels right.

What strange times we live in, what silence surrounds truth,

To speak what is real, even if it hurts—it feels right.

If kindness, sincerity, and love still survive somewhere,

To hold onto them with all I have—it feels right.

Why is it now, more than ever before,

That quiet, lifeless company comforts me—it feels right?

~ Dawn

Waiting for Five

 

The streets whisper all day long,

Echoes keeping silent watch,

As the house slowly empties—

Everyone gone,

Chasing their daily worlds.

And I wait.

I wait for footsteps,

For familiar sounds,

For the door that will open

Just for me.

Strangers pass by—

Even other dogs,

Glancing my way

As if to tease,

As if they know

I’m still here… waiting.

But I am patient—

Or at least, I try to be.

Because I know,

My time will come.

When the evening softens,

And the clock nears five,

A leash will find its way to me—

And I will be free,

If only for a while.

So I count the moments—

Quietly, eagerly—

When will it be five?

When will they come for me?

~ Dawn

Lessons We Never Learned

 

In school—

we read about wars.

Not games…

not victories…

but blood.

Loss.

Silence

after the screams.

They called it… history.

And our teacher said—

“Learn from it…

so it never happens again.”

But tell me—

If we learned…

then why

is it happening again?

India. Pakistan.

America. Iraq.

Israel. Palestine.

And now—

Russia. Ukraine.

America. Iran.

Different names…

same graves.

So where are they?

The ones who taught us?

The ones who were supposed to learn?

Why is no one—

pulling them by the collar

and saying—

THIS.

IS.

WRONG.

This is not strategy.

This is not politics.

This—

is humanity

bleeding.

Tell me…

why don’t we fight poverty instead?

Why don’t we build homes

instead of graves?

Why don’t we give people

a chance to live—

not just survive?

What have we become?

We know what’s right.

We know what’s wrong.

And still—

we watch.

Wars begin.

Lives end.

And we scroll.

Our ears?

Numb.

Our eyes?

Tired.

No explosion…

no scream…

shocks us anymore.

Are we still human?

Or are we monsters—

hiding behind comfort?

Or worse…

walking corpses?

Why does no one

hold them accountable?

Take them—

not to power,

but to truth.

Make them sit.

Make them listen.

Make them feel—

every loss they signed away.

Because maybe—just maybe—

One day…

In this broken, war-torn world…

Someone will wake up…

And choose peace.

And maybe then—

We will finally learn

the lessons

we were taught as children.

~ Dawn