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I have a confession to make: I think I was doing environmental marketing before I knew what marketing was. I was probably in Class 4 or 5 when I made a scrapbook called GO GREEN. I used to collect anything green I could find like pieces from newspapers, magazines, book covers, random pictures, random cut outs, basically anything that had the slightest "green". I would cut them up, stick them together and make these pages full of green things. It was basically a junk journal b

A Day That Changed Everything It began on a day so bright I still cannot forgive it. The kind of English summer that looks like innocence itself — white dresses, polished lawns, a world pretending to be perfect. I was thirteen, I think, old enough to write stories, too young to know that words could wound. That afternoon, I stood at my bedroom window, watching Cecilia by the fountain. Robbie was there too — our gardener’s son, Cambridge-educated, a boy who never quite belonge

WHLN 52 is inspired by the 52-hertz whale, known as the loneliest whale in the world. It sings at a frequency no other whale can hear, yet it never stops. This artwork turns that unheard song into color, blending science, solitude, and hope. Like BTS’s Whalien 52, it reminds us that even if no one listens, our voices still matter.

We were a family of four, a small world of our own. Every Sunday night was our little ritual - dessert night . The world outside was wrapped in darkness, but we had our Bajaj Chetak , our tiny chariot under the warm yellow streetlights. The air would be cool, slipping through my hair, combing it the way Amma used to. The streets were alive - laughter, chatter, and the clinking of spoons. We always stopped at the same stall, the one bathed in that golden light. I can still se

“Kids, don’t touch anything. Everything here is a hundred years old. Too much history for you to meddle with.” “Why is there a painting in this house? I thought he was a poet. And why does she look like that?” She had her eyes closed, but the thoughts never stopped. Her memories rang back to the evening of aadi thirunaazh ( the beginning of the auspicious harvest month of aadi ). He had waited for her at the steps of the mandapam, no more than 14 years of age, his eyes had c