January 9th, 2016 — the day I stepped out of my comfort zone.
I still remember my very first food stall at a lake santhe. After spending years fascinated by food and nutrition, I finally decided to share that passion beyond my family. My menu was simple but heartfelt — fingermillet idlis, barnyard millet sweet pongal, and rajamudi rice savory pongal. Millets were far from “trendy” back then, but the joy I felt that day is still unmatched.
That experience pushed me to start a small home-based catering service for my apartment community. Every weekend, I’d brainstorm menus, shop for ingredients, and cook with full focus — that “in the zone” feeling I cherish. Orders were few initially, mostly from a couple of kind senior citizens. But I persisted. Over time, I added podis and thokkus, and slowly, appreciation grew. Of course, there were also the occasional digs — “Why would a BE/MBA do such menial work?” But honestly, those comments only made me more resilient.2017 — the world of packaged foods opened up
Another passion took shape that year: writing about packaged foods and their ingredients. Every time I wrote a blog post, time just dissolved — 2–3 hours would feel like 10 minutes. Readers found value in the posts, and soon I was speaking at public forums and conducting workshops on how to read food labels.
I may not be actively doing this today, but even now people tell me they remember me from those posts. That’s a feeling hard to describe.
This same journey unexpectedly nudged me towards meme-making on packaged food brands using Tamil movie scenes as the backdrop in 2019. When I look back, I’m both amused and surprised that I did that. I even attempted a couple of stand-up comedy sets on packaged foods. Watching the recordings today is embarrassing, but my daughter insists it was brave.
2023 — the year of books and shlokas
I launched a book club called Sparks and Nuggets with an ambitious goal — one book a week. I’d create mind maps, share insights, and host discussions. I truly enjoyed the rhythm of reading, reflecting, and presenting. After nine months, enthusiasm from the group faded, and I had to wrap it up — but the journey was fulfilling while it lasted.
Around the same time, I started a Shloka chanting class for kids in my apartment. A small group joined, and the classes were delightful. We explored short shlokas, stories, symbolisms, and their curious questions made every session memorable. We managed it for over a year before schedules clashed and we had to pause.
2025 — growing deeper into spirituality and teaching
This year, I began online shloka chanting classes, and we have completed eight stotras so far. The behind-the-scenes effort — preparing PPTs, researching meanings, listening to discourses for more context — has been intense but deeply satisfying.
Continuous learning is my non-negotiable priority. To share what I learn, I started weekly “learning sessions” reviewing discourses, podcasts, and books. We completed 21 sessions in Season 1. For Season 2, I narrowed the focus to the Bhagavad Gita — and we’re already six sessions in.
As a certified Yoga teacher, I also started online yoga classes this year. A few students stayed committed, but many dropped out. Morning schedule clashes forced me to pause this initiative for now.
What I’ve understood after all these experiments
Across everything I tried, two truths have stood out clearly:
The Positive:
My passion, discipline, and consistency never waver. When I’m committed, I give my whole self to the process.
The Challenge:
My energy dips when audience interest drops. Sustaining momentum becomes difficult when impact seems uncertain.
But the Gita brings me back to balance. Krishna’s words — “karmanye vaadhikaraste” (Gita 2.47) — remind me that my choice is only to the action, never the fruits.
As I continue experimenting, learning, and teaching, I hope I can eventually shape these scattered attempts into something meaningful and dharmic — something that creates a larger impact, but rooted in the spirit of karma yoga.

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