Coffee, Coastline and a ₹5,000 Hotel Deal: Our Kanyakumari Escape


Tuesday, 25 August 2026

Waiting for the Green Signal

The day began quietly at home. I stayed back until around 2 PM so Yamuna could finish her office work without pressure. Once she was nearly done, I went to Delhi World Public School and picked up the children early.

Onam Outfits Saved the Clock

By the time we returned, Yamuna had packed everything and was ready. The children had attended school in their Onam attire, so there was no changing, dressing or last-minute preparation. Our neighbours and close friends, Santhanam and his family, joined us—and by 3 PM, our Kanyakumari escape was underway.

Coffee for Us, Ice Cream for Them

Our first break was at Sri Krishna Pannai Paal. The adults settled for the comforting combination of coffee, chai and hot vada, while the children naturally chose ice cream. Refreshed and recharged, we returned to the car and continued south.

When 250 Kilometres Felt Like 25

I drove the entire distance—nearly 250 kilometres—but it never felt like a long journey. Interesting conversations with Santhanam’s family, mixed with the children’s chatter and excitement, made the kilometres disappear. Sometimes, the right company is better than any playlist.

Santhanam versus the Hotel Tariff

We reached Hotel Rajeshwari International at around 6:30 PM and asked for two deluxe rooms. That was when Santhanam revealed his negotiation talent. The original quote was ₹4,800 per room, but he managed to secure both spacious rooms for a total of ₹5,000!

Peace Beside the Highway

The hotel turned out to be a pleasant surprise—large rooms, a peaceful highway location away from the town’s congestion, and even a swimming pool for the children. The setting was calm and comfortable. The food, however, did not appear to be its strongest attraction.

Returning to a Reliable Dinner Table

Instead of experimenting with the hotel food, we returned to Hotel Chitra Pure Vegetarian Restaurant. It was our second visit, and the restaurant proved dependable once again. We enjoyed a good, satisfying dinner before heading towards the sea.

Where Three Seas Meet

After dinner, we walked around Triveni Sangamam and visited the iconic tip of the Indian mainland. The roaring sea, cool night air and illuminated Thiruvalluvar statue gave the place a completely different character after dark.

Anand Nataraj, Yamuna, Santhanam’s family and the children near the illuminated Thiruvalluvar statue at Kanyakumari
Two families, one memorable evening beside the sea at Kanyakumari.

Messi, Ronaldo and a Little Shopping

The children’s excitement continued through the nearby shops. We bought them IPL, Messi and Ronaldo T-shirts and stopped for a lively photo session. Between the shopping, laughter and photographs, the evening gained the cheerful disorder that only a family trip can create.

Aradhya standing beside the rocky shoreline and powerful sea at Kanyakumari at night
A quiet encounter with the powerful night sea.

A Bench, the Sea and a Mental Reset

The most peaceful part of the evening required no activity at all. We sat on a park bench facing the sea and allowed the sound of the waves to slow everything down.

Santhanam and I had a relaxed conversation. Yamuna and Santhanam’s wife became absorbed in theirs, while the children remained happily occupied. Everyone had their own little space, yet we were enjoying the moment together. It was a genuine mind detox.

The Fastest Check-In Was into Sleep

By the time we returned to the hotel, the driving, walking and excitement had caught up with us. There was no energy left for late-night conversations or elaborate plans for the morning. We reached our rooms, settled in—and everyone simply crashed.

Some journeys are remembered for the destination. This one will be remembered for how effortlessly 250 kilometres passed—in conversation, laughter, food, friendship and a few quiet minutes beside the sea.

A Customer Becomes Visible Only When There Is Another Policy to Sell


I purchased an ICICI Prudential policy in 2016, with its term running until 2026.

Auto-debit was enabled when the policy was sold. In subsequent years, premiums were automatically taken from my account—even when that money had been kept for credit-card payments and other commitments. Those payments bounced, creating penalties and stress.

When I asked to stop auto-debit, I was told it was not possible. When I enquired about closing the policy because I needed money, I felt that the staff treated me as though my visit itself was unnecessary.

Then, just before maturity, I became visible

Something changed in 2026—just one year before the old policy was due to mature.

Suddenly, a representative contacted me and said my old policy offered low returns. My immediate thought was:

If the policy offered poor returns, why was it sold to me in 2016? Why did this concern arise only in 2026, one year before maturity?

The solution presented to me was not simply to help me access my money. To close the old policy, I was asked to purchase another policy with a fresh 10-year commitment—from 2026 until 2036.

Because I urgently needed the funds, I accepted. This is what concerns me most: when I asked for help, I felt unwanted. But when my situation created an opportunity to sell another policy, I received attention.

The auto-debit experience repeated itself

This time, I clearly stated that I did not want auto-debit. Yet, while attempting renewal, the screen showed “Auto Debit: Enabled.”

The page offered only “Add Auto Debit” and “Replace Auto Debit.” There was no clearly visible “Disable Auto Debit” button.

ICICI Prudential screen with a tick beside Add Auto Debit even though Auto Debit is shown as Enabled
Although auto-debit was already enabled, “Add Auto Debit” appeared selected—making the current status and required action confusing.

It took me almost two days to discover that I had to press the selected option itself to change the setting.

ICICI Prudential screen showing the selection changed to Replace Auto Debit
After interacting with the control, the tick changed, but the screen still did not clearly confirm whether auto-debit had been disabled.

Why should enabling or replacing auto-debit be prominent while disabling it is something the customer must discover?

Customers need empathy, not another sales target

Auto-debit is useful only when it is knowingly chosen and easy to cancel. Consent should not be hidden behind a tick, confusing wording or an interface designed mainly to protect premium collection.

Banks and insurers must remember that customers are managing electricity bills, card payments, medical expenses, school fees and family emergencies. An automatic debit can disrupt all of them.

A customer should not become important only when there is another product to sell.

Real customer service is demonstrated when a person wants to cancel, surrender, question or refuse—not merely when they agree to remain financially committed for another ten years.

This article records my personal experience and perception as a customer. I welcome ICICI Prudential’s clarification regarding the policy replacement, auto-debit consent and cancellation process.

Mayday on a Monday

Front of the sleeper bus after the collision, showing its shattered windshield

Some Monday mornings begin with an alarm. Mine began with a bang.

On Sunday night, I boarded a sleeper bus to Chennai. It was one of those familiar overnight journeys: find the berth, settle in, and trust the driver to do the hard work while you sleep.

I sent the usual updates to my mother and wife: “Boarded the bus.” A small message, but an important ritual—especially when travelling overnight.

For a while, I scrolled through my phone. Then, sometime around 11 PM, I crashed.

Figuratively, of course.

The bus took care of the literal version a few hours later.

The 5 AM wake-up call

At around 5 AM, a violent bang pulled me out of deep sleep. The bus had collided with a water tanker. For a few seconds, there was only confusion—the kind where your body wakes up before your brain understands what has happened.

Sleep vanished instantly. Everyone began checking themselves and looking around. The front windshield was shattered, and the scene looked frightening enough to make the seriousness of the accident immediately clear.

View from inside the sleeper bus after the collision, showing damaged front glass
The view from inside the bus after we woke up.

Mayday on a Monday

Thankfully—and by God’s grace—there were no major injuries. That was the only detail that truly mattered.

Once the initial shock settled, I realised how quickly an ordinary journey can become a story you will repeat for years. One moment, I was peacefully asleep on the way to Chennai. The next, I was waking up to my own version of a mayday on a Monday.

Not the Monday morning I had planned. Definitely not the alarm tone I would recommend. But it ended with gratitude: shaken, startled, and suddenly wide awake—but safe.

Some journeys take you to a destination. Some give you a story. This one did both.

A Day of Exploration, Learning, and Nostalgia at Bakers Expo Coimbatore


Revisiting an industry after a decade and discovering how much has changed.

Published: July 3, 2026

The Journey Begins

Today was one of those rare days that leave you physically exhausted but mentally energized. I woke up at 5 AM, caught the Coimbatore bus at 7 AM, and reached Lakshmi Mills around noon. After meeting a friend at Starbucks and grabbing lunch at Lulu Mall, we headed to CODISSIA for the Bakers Expo.

My objective was simple: understand the latest trends in equipment, ingredients, food technology, and franchise opportunities.

A Decade of Change

As someone who entered the coffee shop business in 2016, this visit felt like reconnecting with an industry I hadn’t closely observed for nearly a decade.

What surprised me most was how much the industry has evolved. Back then, equipment options were limited, automation was expensive, and food technology was still in its early stages. Today, automation is everywhere. Machines are smarter, processes are more standardized, and even small operators can access technologies that were once available only to large chains.

The ingredient ecosystem has matured significantly as well. From beverage solutions and ready mixes to specialized food-processing innovations, the industry has become far more sophisticated and accessible.

Beyond the Expo

One thing I particularly enjoyed was using the city bus for local travel instead of relying on cabs. It offered a different perspective of the city and reminded me that some of the best observations happen outside conference halls and exhibition booths.

Final Thoughts

Days like this remind me of one of the advantages of living in South India. Whether it’s a business event, supplier visit, customer meeting, or industry exhibition, most destinations across Tamil Nadu and Kerala are just a few hours away, making learning and networking remarkably accessible.

The biggest takeaway from today wasn’t a specific machine, ingredient, or franchise opportunity. It was a reminder that industries evolve faster than we think. Sometimes, all it takes is stepping out for a day to realize how much the world has moved forward while you’ve been busy building your own business.

The Lost Luxury of “We Time”


The Lost Luxury of “We Time”

Sometimes the Best Journeys Aren’t About the Destination

Today started as a simple road trip.

My wife and I drove from Madurai to Devakottai to attend one of her colleague’s weddings. It was a two-hour drive each way, making it nearly four hours on the road together. On the way back, we stopped at a peaceful Shiva temple and spent some quiet moments there.

What seemed like an ordinary day unexpectedly became one of the most memorable days we’ve had in a long time.

The Lost Luxury Called “We Time”

Somewhere between raising children, running a business, managing responsibilities, paying bills, meeting deadlines, and navigating life’s endless priorities, we had unknowingly stopped spending time as just “us.”

Not as parents. Not as problem-solvers. Not as caretakers. Just as husband and wife.

As the kilometers passed by, conversations began to flow naturally. We spoke about our first meeting, our early days together, the dreams we once had, the struggles we overcame, the victories we celebrated, and the many twists and turns life had taken us through.

There was no agenda. No interruptions. No notifications. No urgency. Just two people sharing space, memories, and thoughts.

A Reminder Hidden in an Ordinary Day

Children are an inseparable part of our lives. They are our greatest joy and our most important responsibility.

But today reminded me of something equally important.

Before we became parents, we were partners. Before we became responsible for everyone else, we were responsible for nurturing our relationship.

Life has a way of quietly shifting priorities. Sometimes we don’t even notice when months—or years—pass without truly sitting down and talking from the heart.

Today was a gentle reminder that relationships don’t just survive on responsibility. They thrive on connection.

The Temple, The Silence, and The Peace

The visit to the Shiva temple felt almost symbolic.

After hours of conversation, reflection, laughter, and shared memories, the peaceful atmosphere gave us a moment to simply pause and absorb the day.

There was a lightness in both of us.

No major problems had been solved. No life-changing decisions had been made. Yet something felt different. We felt connected again.

Holding On to This Memory

The day passed quickly. Far quicker than either of us wanted.

I don’t know when we’ll get another uninterrupted day like this. Life will probably return to its usual pace tomorrow. The children, work, responsibilities, and commitments will once again demand our attention.

But until we get our next “we time,” this day will stay with us.

Sometimes the most valuable gift we can give each other isn’t money, success, or grand gestures. It’s simply our time, our attention, and an honest conversation.

The Summer That Stood Still


The Summer That Stood Still

Every year, summer vacations come and go. But once in a while, a summer arrives that feels different—a season you know you’ll remember long after it ends.

For me, this year’s summer vacation began on April 26th. What followed wasn’t just a holiday for the kids; it became nearly two months of uninterrupted family time, laughter, road trips, and moments that money simply cannot buy.

The adventure started with a four-day trip to Munnar, followed immediately by four days in Bengaluru. From there, we spent two weeks in Chennai, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together without deadlines, meetings, business calls, or schedules dictating our lives.

The journey didn’t stop there.

We moved between Madurai and Chennai, attending tuition programs, reconnecting with family, and most importantly, giving the children something increasingly rare in today’s world—time with their cousins. There were sleepovers, endless conversations, shared meals, games, inside jokes, and the kind of bonding that only happens when children spend weeks together instead of a few hurried hours during festivals.

One of the highlights was another trip to Munnar, this time with cousins joining the adventure. Watching the children create memories together was perhaps more enjoyable than the destination itself.

As the school reopening approached, reality slowly began knocking on the door. We attended the first day of school, squeezed in another quick Chennai visit, and then, for the final few days, stayed together once more before my sister’s family prepared to leave India.

Yesterday was the hardest part.

There were long hugs, emotional goodbyes, and that silent understanding that everyone was trying to be brave. The children held on a little longer than usual. We adults did too. By evening, we were on the road back to Madurai, reaching home close to midnight.

And just like that, the summer was over.

Looking back, I realize this wasn’t really about Munnar, Bengaluru, Chennai, or Madurai. It was about something much simpler—being present. Being available. Being together.

As parents, we know these summers are not permanent. Every year, our children grow a little older. Soon, academics, friendships, college plans, and their own lives will naturally take center stage.

Perhaps that’s what made this summer special.

It reminded me that childhood is not measured in years; it is measured in the number of summers we get to spend together before life gently pulls everyone in different directions.

For now, my heart is full of gratitude—for the journeys, the laughter, the cousins, the family, and the memories.

And if God is willing, may there be many more summers like this.

The destinations will fade from memory. The hugs, laughter, and time spent together never will.

Friends, Politics and Social Media: Can We Disagree and Still Coexist?


There was a time in India when people with completely different political opinions still remained close friends.

One person voted Congress.
Another supported BJP.
Someone else supported DMK.
One was deeply religious.
Another was secular.

Yet:

  • they attended weddings together,
  • worked together,
  • helped each other in business,
  • had tea shop debates,
  • argued loudly,
  • and still remained connected.

Politics was just one part of life, not the entire identity of a person.

But social media slowly changed this culture.

Today, a political opinion is no longer seen as “just an opinion.” It has become an emotional identity marker. The moment someone openly supports a political party or reacts to a religious issue, people start placing them into categories and labels.

This is where the real pain begins.

In my case, I have many close Muslim and Christian friends — friends from work, business, ex-employees and social circles. I never questioned their religious practices or political preferences. I never had a problem if they supported Congress or DMK.

But when I openly supported BJP or reacted when I felt Hindu beliefs were mocked or insulted, suddenly the reactions changed.

Some called me and expressed disappointment.
Some unfriended me silently.
Some stopped engaging completely.
Some branded me a “Sanghi.”

That word itself is often used today as if it is meant to socially isolate someone.

The irony is: supporting a political party in a democracy should be normal.

is not a banned organization or an underground movement. It is a democratically elected political party, just like or .

Then why has society become emotionally uncomfortable with political differences?

That is the bigger question.

I realized this issue is no longer just about BJP, Congress, religion or ideology. The deeper issue is that society is slowly losing the ability to coexist despite disagreement.

Earlier we had emotional maturity to separate:

  • friendship from politics,
  • people from opinions,
  • relationships from ideology.

Today social media mixes everything together.

Algorithms reward outrage.
Politics becomes identity.
Identity becomes emotion.
Emotion becomes division.

Even normal people slowly become emotionally reactive online.

A person who would happily sit and have coffee with you in real life may still get disturbed by your political post online.

That is the strange contradiction of the social media era.

The dangerous part is not disagreement. Disagreement is healthy in a democracy.

The dangerous part is emotional isolation.

When people stop expressing openly:

  • resentment builds silently,
  • echo chambers grow,
  • society becomes polarized,
  • and friendships become conditional.

Maybe a healthier society is not one where everyone agrees.

Maybe a healthier society is one where:

  • people openly express opinions,
  • disagree strongly,
  • debate emotionally,
  • cool down,
  • and still remain human with one another afterward.

India survived for centuries because of coexistence despite differences in:

  • religion,
  • language,
  • caste,
  • food,
  • region,
  • and politics.

“Unity in diversity” is not about similarity.
It is about emotional maturity despite differences.

Social media has tested that maturity.

Now society must evolve again.

Because if friendships cannot survive political disagreement, then politics has become bigger than humanity itself.

Manifestation vs Astrology: Can Positive Thinking Control Life?


For a long time, I had one big question in my mind.

If manifestation is real, why do people still suffer even when they think positively?

Today, manifestation has become a popular word everywhere:

  • law of attraction,
  • visualization,
  • positive vibration,
  • subconscious programming,
  • energy alignment.

Different names. Same core idea.

The belief is simple:

“Your inner state influences your outer reality.”

And honestly, I do believe thoughts matter.

Positive thinking can:

  • improve confidence,
  • sharpen focus,
  • increase persistence,
  • help people notice opportunities,
  • and emotionally keep them moving forward.

But life also teaches something equally important.

Positive thinking alone does not prevent every storm.

That is where astrology and manifestation become an interesting discussion.

If astrology is true, then life moves through timing cycles.

Some phases bring:

  • growth,
  • opportunities,
  • momentum,
  • support,
  • expansion.

Some phases bring:

  • delays,
  • pressure,
  • emotional heaviness,
  • setbacks,
  • karmic corrections.

Like seasons.

Manifestation may not completely control those seasons.

Instead, it may influence how we move through them.

The best analogy I found is this:

  • Astrology is the weather.
  • Manifestation is how we sail the boat.

A skilled sailor cannot stop the storm.

But the sailor may still survive the storm better than someone who gives up mentally.

That perspective changed my understanding completely.

Modern manifestation culture sometimes oversimplifies life by saying:

“If you think positively enough, nothing bad will happen.”

Real life clearly disproves that.

Because reality also includes:

  • other people’s actions,
  • health,
  • economics,
  • legal systems,
  • timing,
  • randomness,
  • emotional maturity,
  • and consequences.

No mindset fully controls all of that.

At the same time, mindset still matters enormously.

When I look at people who survive difficult phases and rebuild repeatedly, there is usually one common factor: they never fully lose belief in tomorrow.

That belief itself becomes fuel.

So today, my understanding is this:

Manifestation is probably not magical control over destiny.

It is more likely a force that shapes:

  • endurance,
  • direction,
  • choices,
  • emotional resilience,
  • and persistence.

Astrology, if true, may describe the season.

Manifestation may describe how consciously we move through that season.

And honestly, life itself feels like a constant balance between:

  • effort,
  • belief,
  • timing,
  • and reality.

Border Towns Don’t Follow Politics, They Follow People


Hosur has always fascinated me.

Politically, it is part of . But culturally, it feels like a beautiful mix of Tamil Nadu, , and all living together in one place.

Recently, I visited an branch in Hosur, and that is where I saw this reality in action.

The staff members were speaking Telugu among themselves very casually. A customer before me was spoken to in Kannada fluently. When my turn came, they immediately switched to Tamil and continued the conversation naturally.

No hesitation. No language politics. No “Which state are you from?” moment.

Just communication.

That small incident made me realize something important about border towns in India.

Maps may divide states, but people don’t live their lives based on political borders.

Historically, Hosur, Denkanikottai, Royakottai, and nearby regions were always culturally mixed zones. These places saw Tamil, Kannada, and Telugu influence for centuries through kingdoms, migration, trade, and later through British administration under the old Madras Presidency.

When states were reorganized in 1956 based on language, these regions became part of Tamil Nadu. But culture does not change overnight just because a line was drawn on a map.

Even today, Hosur carries:

  • Tamil political identity
  • Kannada cultural influence
  • Telugu community presence
  • Bengaluru’s economic energy

all at the same time.

In fact, Hosur today behaves like a Bengaluru extension economically, while emotionally and politically remaining Tamil Nadu.

That is what makes places like Hosur special.

In many cities, people struggle with language barriers. But in border towns, multilingualism becomes survival, habit, and eventually culture itself.

A bank employee switching between Telugu, Kannada, and Tamil within minutes may look normal there. But if you observe carefully, it actually tells the story of South India itself — connected, blended, adaptive, and practical.

Sometimes, history is not visible in monuments or textbooks.

Sometimes, history is visible in a simple conversation inside a bank.

My Maid Election Predictor: Better Than Opinion Polls?


Over the last three Tamil Nadu elections, I accidentally discovered my own election prediction system.

No exit polls.
No survey agency.
No political strategist.

Just… asking my maids whom they would vote for.

And strangely, every single time, their answer matched the eventual winner.

At this point, I’m seriously wondering whether I should stop watching political debates and simply do “Maid Josiyam” before every election.

In 2016, the overall perception around me was that DMK would come back to power. Social media discussions, public conversations, and political analysts all leaned toward a DMK comeback.

One day, I casually asked my maid:

“Whom will you vote for?”

Without even thinking for a second, she replied:

“Amma.”

That was it. No analysis. No manifesto. No policy discussion. Just emotional conviction toward .

AIADMK won.

Then came 2021.

This time the political atmosphere was different. Amma was gone. Again, I casually asked another maid whom she would vote for.

Her answer:

“Till Amma was there, my vote was for Amma. Now my vote is for DMK.”

Once again, simple answer. Straight from the heart. No overthinking.

That year, DMK won.

Now comes 2026.

Again, the broad perception in many circles was that DMK would comfortably return to power. But by now, I had started trusting my unofficial election forecasting model more than TV channels.

So I asked my maid:

“Who are you voting for?”

She smiled and said:

“My grandchildren asked me to vote for Vijay. So I’ll vote for Vijay.”

At that exact moment, I got goosebumps.

Three elections.
Three different maids.
Three different emotional reasons.
Three winning waves.

At this point, this no longer feels like political discussion. It feels like Tamil Nadu-style kili josiyam.

Like those roadside parrots that pick one card and silently predict your future.

Only difference here is: instead of parrots, my maids are predicting Chief Ministers.

What fascinates me is that these conversations happen completely outside political noise. No one is trying to sound intellectual. No one is quoting data. These are raw emotional voting signals from ordinary homes.

And Tamil Nadu politics has always been emotional:

  • MGR
  • Amma
  • Kalaignar
  • cinema charisma
  • welfare connection
  • family influence

Maybe elections are not decided in TV studios after all.

Maybe somewhere inside kitchens, while making coffee and discussing family matters, Tamil Nadu quietly decides its next government.