The Art of the Unplanned Conversation

September was quite a happening one!

There were events to organize, people to meet, things to be discussed, things to be re-discussed, and, as is usually the case, a few things that were never on the agenda at all.

Somewhere in the middle of this whirlwind of activity, I found myself having some of the most delightful conversations - the completely unplanned kind.

“Ma’am, are you free to talk for a couple of minutes?” — that kind!

A child would walk up to me with a question. Someone would stop me in the corridor. A conversation would begin over something as ordinary as an event, a book, a classroom incident - and before I knew it, we would be off on a completely different tangent.

And, I loved it. Because, good conversations have become something of a luxury.

Not because we don't have people to talk to. Quite the contrary. We have more ways of communicating than ever before. We can message, call, video call, comment, react, forward and respond - sometimes all at the same time.

But, a conversation is something else.

It meanders. It pauses. It takes a little detour. It sometimes goes completely off the beaten track. And occasionally, it gets gloriously lost.

And, sometimes, that is precisely the point.

Some of my recent conversations with children reminded me of this. Children have a wonderfully inconvenient way of talking. They don't always follow a logical sequence. They can begin with a serious question, take an unexpected turn, tell you something completely unrelated, and then return to the original question as though nothing happened.

There is no agenda. And thankfully, no PowerPoint Presentation.

Perhaps, that is why talking to them can be so refreshing.

They ask questions adults have learnt not to ask. They say things without wrapping them in layers of diplomacy. They can be curious about the most ordinary things and completely fascinated by something we would probably dismiss as insignificant.

They have a way of cutting straight to the heart of things. Somewhere in these conversations, I found myself laughing more. Listening more. Remembering more.

At times, I even felt younger than I am. Not in the physical sense, of course - I am not about to start running around the campus pretending to be one of the students!

But there is something about a good conversation that makes age rather irrelevant.

For a few minutes, there is no adult and child, no teacher and student, no difference in age or experience. There are simply two people exchanging thoughts — one discovering something, the other rediscovering it. Perhaps that is one of the quiet gifts of working with young people.

They don't merely remind us of what we once knew. Sometimes, they introduce us to ways of looking at things that we had simply stopped noticing.

A question from a child can make you reconsider something you had taken for granted. A passing remark can stay with you for the rest of the day. A completely unexpected observation can make you laugh long after the child has disappeared around the corner.

Isn't that what a good conversation is supposed to do?

Leave a little something behind.

We often say that we don't have time for conversations. I don't quite agree.

Perhaps we don't need more time. Perhaps we simply need to make more room for it.

Room to sit for another five minutes.

Room to listen instead of rushing to respond.

Room for a conversation that has no particular destination.

Because not everything in life has to be productive.

Some things can simply be pleasurable.

A “Can I ask you something?” that becomes twenty minutes.

A quick exchange in a corridor that unexpectedly makes your day.

A casual “Ma’am, one small doubt…” that opens the door to a completely unexpected conversation. These are not interruptions. Perhaps, these are the little threads that hold our days together. And, there is something wonderfully old-fashioned about them.

In a world where so much of our communication is carefully typed, edited, scheduled and sent, there is still something magical about simply talking.

No carefully chosen emoji. No typing indicator. No “Seen at 7:42 p.m.”

Just two people - present, curious and listening.

And, perhaps we should stop being so quick to move on from these moments.

The next time a child says, “Can I tell you something?”

Stay.

The next time someone stops by when you are halfway through something, perhaps don't immediately look at the clock.

And, the next time a conversation takes an unexpected turn, let it.

Follow the thread. Take the detour. See where it leads.

Because you never know what you might discover along the way.

After all, some of the best conversations in life are the ones we never planned to have.

And sometimes, the conversations that seem to have no point at all turn out to be the ones that stay with us the longest.

The Scarlet Canopy - Gulmohurs!

There are some sights that do not merely catch your eye; they make you stop. A gulmohur in full bloom is one such sight for me.

There is something gloriously extravagant about a gulmohur. It does not bloom quietly or with any sense of restraint. It erupts into colour, scattering its fiery red-orange flowers across the branches as though the tree has suddenly decided that ordinary green is far too boring. And looking at one is sheer joy. Looking at one and clicking a picture? Beyond JOY!

Perhaps this explains my rather inexplicable habit of discovering places through trees.

Sujata, my friend and fellow traveller in these little adventures, would probably agree. We have never really needed a grand reason to explore Pondicherry. A photograph was reason enough. A flowering tree was reason enough. Sometimes, simply the thought that 'there might be something beautiful there' was enough to get us moving.

At one point, we began following Pondicherry Arun's posts. His photographs had a curious way of making us look at our own town with new eyes. Places we had passed without a second glance suddenly seemed worth discovering.

We would see a picture and ask, Where is this? And, then came the inevitable question: Shall we go? Off we went.

Velrampet was one such discovery. We went looking for gulmohurs. What we found was an extravaganza!!! The Scarlet Canopy!

They were everywhere -above us, beside us, along the roads - great spreading canopies ablaze with colour. For a while, it felt as though we had wandered into a painting and forgotten to find our way out. We were, quite literally, drowned in gulmohur. And naturally, we did what two people armed with phones and an unreasonable enthusiasm for flowers would do.

We clicked. One tree. Then another. A branch. A canopy. A flower that looked particularly perfect.

That is the strange pleasure of photographing beauty. You know perfectly well that a photograph can never quite capture what your eyes are seeing, and yet you keep trying.

Perhaps that is what I love about these little expeditions.

They are not really about the photograph. The photograph is merely the excuse.

What we are actually collecting are moments.

A particular afternoon. A particular tree. The laughter between two friends.

The surprise of discovering a beautiful corner of a familiar town.

The pleasure of having nowhere important to be and nothing more urgent to do than stand beneath a gulmohur and admire it.

And perhaps, years from now, when I come across one of those photographs, I will not remember the exact date or even the route we took to get there. But, I will remember the feeling. That sudden happiness of finding beauty where you weren't necessarily looking for it. I think that is one of life's loveliest little gifts - the ability to be delighted by something that serves no purpose whatsoever.

A tree does not ask us to admire it. A flower does not need our appreciation.

A photograph does not change the world. Yet, they can change an afternoon.

So yes, I will continue to stop for Gulmohurs.

I will continue to click photographs of trees that other people may walk past. I will continue to follow photographs that make me curious about places I have never seen. And I will continue to say, “Just one more picture.”

Because some journeys are planned around destinations. Some are planned around flowers. And, if the flower happens to be a gulmohur - I am already on my way.

Noticing What Matters!

In today’s world, we are often conditioned to notice what is missing, what is wrong, or what could be improved. Somewhere along the way, spotting mistakes has become easier than noticing goodness. We are quick to point out delays, imperfections, and shortcomings, but when someone does something well - puts in genuine effort, shows kindness, stays disciplined, or handles something with sincerity — we often just move on without acknowledging it.

Appreciation should not be reserved only for big achievements or grand milestones. It should become a natural part of how we look at the people and situations around us. After all, before we appreciate something, we first have to notice it. And noticing takes intention - the simple willingness to slow down and recognise value in everyday moments.

It could be a child neatly arranging their books, a colleague completing a task thoughtfully, a staff member showing consistency, a student making visible progress, or even a stranger displaying simple courtesy. These may seem like small things, but they all deserve to be recognised.

Appreciation does not mean lowering standards or becoming lenient. In fact, it does the opposite. This is especially important in schools, workplaces, and homes. A child who only hears correction may eventually become hesitant. A team that is only noticed when mistakes happen may start working without real enthusiasm. Even in families, when appreciation is absent, daily interactions can slowly lose their warmth.

Being ready to appreciate is not about giving empty praise or exaggerating compliments. It is simply about building the habit of recognising goodness when it appears. The world is not short of effort - it is often short of acknowledgement.

A culture of appreciation does not begin with grand speeches or dramatic gestures. It begins in ordinary moments, with the simple readiness to notice something good and say, - Okay, this deserves to be recognised.

 

Shakespeare - In Celebration and Remembrance

23rd April marks both the birth and the memorial day of the Bard of Avon, William Shakespeare - a rare and poetic coincidence for a man whose words have endured for almost five centuries.

There is something about teaching Shakespeare that transforms me.

My energy shifts.

My voice finds a different rhythm.

I don’t just teach - I feel, I live every word.

And, perhaps that was always his intention…for his works are to be experienced, not merely studied.

Over the past few years, I have journeyed through some of his plays, and more profoundly, Sonnet 116 - a piece that continues to feel intensely relevant.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments…”

I remember those sessions vividly - the classroom changed. The noise of the outside world faded, and what remained was the purity of love as Shakespeare envisioned it - steady, unchanging, almost eternal. It was no longer just a poem; it became a feeling shared across centuries.

What makes Shakespeare truly timeless is this: his writing captures every shade of human emotion.

Love and jealousy, ambition and guilt, hope and despair—nothing is left untouched.

And in today’s world - fast, distracted, and constantly shifting - his words offer something rare: stillness, reflection, and truth. In an age of fleeting attention and digital noise, Shakespeare invites us to pause, listen, and feel deeply.

Perhaps that is why boards like the Council for the Indian School Certificate Examinations continue to include his works in the syllabus, especially for teenagers. At an age when emotions run high and identities are still forming, Shakespeare does more than teach literature - he helps students understand themselves.

His characters wrestle with choices, consequences, and conscience - much like the young minds we teach today. Whether it is ambition in Macbeth or forgiveness in The Tempest, his lessons extend far beyond the page; they quietly shape thought, perspective, and character.

That, I believe, is why Shakespeare remains relevant even after almost five centuries.

When teaching becomes storytelling, and literature becomes emotion - that is when something magical happens.

This is not just a tribute to a literary giant, but a reminder - that words, when taught with passion, do not remain on paper.

They travel. 

They touch. 

They transform. 

But it is conditional - if you are ready to take in!

And in those moments, across time, Shakespeare continues to live—through the voices of millions of English teachers.

A Deep BOW to the GOAT!

FFT

We have developed a habit of turning everything into something more than what it is.

If we listen to music, it becomes background to something else.

If we take up a hobby, we start thinking about how to get better at it.

If we get some free time, we immediately look for a way to “use” it well.

Nothing is allowed to remain simple for long!!!

A song is no longer just a song - it becomes something to analyse, rate, or multitask with.

An evening is not just an evening - it has to be planned, filled, or made productive.

Even something as natural as watching a flower bloom is quickly turned into a photograph, a post, a moment to capture rather than experience.

We rarely leave things alone! 

There is always this quiet pressure in the background - to improve, to optimise, to make every moment count.

At first, it sounds like a good way to live.

Who wouldn’t want to grow, to use time well, to become better?

But there is a cost to this way of thinking.

When everything becomes a means to improve ourselves, we stop engaging with things for what they are.

We don’t listen—we consume!

We don’t sit—we fill time!

We don’t notice—we document!

And slowly, without realising it, we lose the ability to simply experience.

Not everything in life is meant to take us forward.

Some things are meant to slow us down.

A song you listen to without distraction.

An evening that passes without a plan.

A small, ordinary moment that you don’t try to turn into anything else.

These things may not improve you in any visible way.

But they restore something quieter—and far more essential.

The ability to be present without purpose.

Maybe, that is what we need to hold on to.

Because if everything in life is treated as something to improve, we may end up becoming more efficient…but a little less alive.

And, is that a trade-off worth thinking about???

A Life That Whispered Love

Some souls do not walk beside us every day. We meet them only in passing moments, speak in brief exchanges… and yet, they leave behind a quiet radiance that lingers within us for a lifetime. And when they depart, their absence settles deeply, almost intimately, within the heart. Leelappachi was one such luminous presence in the Padma Saras family — gentle in spirit, boundless in affection, and utterly unforgettable.

My association with her traces back to 1998, when my marriage was fixed. I can still recall the grace with which she welcomed me — not through elaborate gestures, but through a rare softness, a warmth so sincere that it made me feel instantly embraced. And that essence of hers remained unchanged through the years. Time moved on, meetings became infrequent, yet every encounter with her felt suffused with the same tenderness — those kind, compassionate eyes speaking volumes that words never could.

One of the most delicate threads that bound us was our shared identity as teachers. She would always acknowledge it with a quiet pride, as though it was a bond she deeply cherished. In her voice, there was both dignity and belonging. Those seemingly simple conversations, once taken for granted, have now transformed into treasured fragments of memory I hold close to my heart.

What lingers most profoundly is her warmth. No matter how long the gap between our meetings, she would receive us with unwavering affection — the same concern, the same gentle smile, the same genuine interest. She would lovingly enquire about everyone connected to me, about my work, about life itself… never perfunctorily, but with a sincerity that made you feel truly valued. There was no distance in her love — only a soothing familiarity that enveloped you with quiet comfort.

I met her last December, when she was in good health — a memory that now feels even more precious. It is still difficult to comprehend that she is no longer with us. Some souls leave this world silently… yet the void they leave behind is immeasurable. Leelappachi was deeply cherished by all in the Padma Saras family, and she bore that love with effortless grace and humility.

She will be profoundly missed in every gathering we share hereafter. Her gentle presence, her unassuming ways, her quiet kindness — all of it will echo in the spaces she once filled.

Goodbyes such as these are never easy. But hearts like hers do not truly depart. They remain… in our memories, in our silences, in the love they so selflessly gave.

Dear Leelappachi, you will forever dwell in our hearts — remembered with enduring love and warmth. And yet, I write… not because words will ever be enough, but because a heart like hers cannot be left unspoken. This is no tribute worthy of her — for a life so gently and gracefully lived can never be contained in words. Some souls do not seek to be remembered, and yet they become unforgettable. They leave behind not noise, but a quiet light… one that stays with us, long after they are gone.

The Grace of Gratitude

In the rush of everyday life, it is easy to focus on what is missing. Our thoughts often wander wild toward unfulfilled goals, unanswered questions, or the feeling that something better lies just around the corner. In doing so, we sometimes miss the quiet blessings already present in our lives. Gratitude gently shifts this perspective, reminding us that happiness is not always somewhere in the future - it often lives in the present moment, waiting to be noticed.

When we begin to practice gratitude, we slowly learn to count our blessings instead of dwelling on what is lacking. A challenging day may still test our patience, but gratitude helps us see the silver lining hidden within it. It reminds us that even on cloudy days, a small ray of sunshine can still break through.

Often, gratitude begins with the simplest observations around us. If we pause long enough to notice the beauty and happiness around us - be it a plant that quietly blooms, a splash of colours across the sky, or a moment that fills the heart with excitement - we begin to realise how fortunate we are. These small experiences may seem like ordinary moments, but together they add colour to the canvas of our everyday lives.

Gratitude also has a way of warming human connections. A heartfelt ‘thank you’, a kind word of appreciation, or simply acknowledging someone’s effort can go a long way. Such gestures may seem small, yet they often leave a lasting impression, reminding people that their presence and kindness truly matter. 

When we choose to look for the good in people rather than focus on what they lack, our relationships naturally grow stronger and more harmonious. Recognising someone’s kindness, strengths, and genuine intentions fosters understanding and trust. In doing so, friendships and relationships flourish, nurtured by appreciation instead of weighed down by constant fault-finding.

With time, gratitude becomes more than a passing thought- it becomes a habit of the mind. Instead of constantly searching for greener pastures, we begin to appreciate the garden we already stand in. Life may still bring its share of storms, but gratitude gives us the strength to weather them with a steadier heart.

It goes without saying that gratitude does not necessarily change the circumstances around us, but it changes the way we experience them. By noticing the beauty in everyday moments and appreciating the blessings that quietly surround us, we discover that happiness was never far away - it was simply waiting for us to open our eyes and see it.