The Strangers Who Made It Personal

 

There is something about long rides that brings clarity. Something about the wind cutting through my helmet, the unpredictable roads, the constant shift in landscapes. But out of everything that happened during my ride from Kanyakumari to Northeast, the thing that stuck with me the most… was the kids.

I met them on mountain stretches, in tea stalls, on winding roads where language did not matter. Tiny humans with eyes wide open to the world, holding no judgment and no doubt. Some just smiled shyly, a few waved from a distance, some ran straight into my arms like we had known each other for years and some just stared curiously at the black jacketed stranger with messy hair and dusty boots. I did not know their names. I did not ask for them either. But they all gave me something.

There is a purity to that. A kind of acceptance that adults lose somewhere along the way. You ride through places where your skin, your gear, your language makes you the outsider. But then comes a child who walks up with muddy fingers and offers you a biscuit. Or just stares at you like you are something out of a cartoon. And somehow, all the distance disappears.

We talk so much about travel changing us. But no route, no landmark, no breathtaking view has stayed with me the way these small faces did. They are the reason I remember this ride the way I do. 

I could have crossed ten more borders. Ridden thousands of extra kilometres. But I don’t think I would find anything more pure than the laugh of a kid Who does not care where you are from, what you ride or how far you have come. Who just sees you. And smiles.

Peace.

Twenty Five and Nowhere

This year began like a firecracker. Restless days. Rushed plans. Life seemed to have picked up a rhythm that felt unstoppable. There was an energy and a sense that finally things were starting to mean something. But somewhere along this ride, things slowed down and then stopped altogether. Everything that was once moving forward now stands still. A full stop where there should have been motion.

What was once adrenaline has turned into inertia. A body that used to roam around mountains now barely steps outside. The world has reduced to four walls and indoors have started to feel airless. Not that something tragic happened. It is worse than that. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Just a slow freezing of everything that was once alive. Even the bike, once a companion on roads unknown, stands untouched. Covered in dust.

There is a desire to scream, to vanish, to find some fresh air. But even that feels out of reach now. Everything keeps piling up, the mind stays cluttered and the world keeps pressing in and even the smallest things now seem to ask why they matter at all. Being twenty five was not supposed to feel like this. The pressure is not explosive but a slow choke.

Talking to people has started feeling like a task. Not out of hate. Not even frustration. Just the absence of want. Conversations do not feel necessary anymore. There is no push to keep things going, no urge to explain, no interest in filling silences. Words are returned when they arrive but there is no effort to begin anything and when nothing comes the silence feels normal not empty.

This is not depression with labels or poetry with metaphors. This is just a chapter where nothing moves. Twenty five was supposed to be full of things. Now it is filled with questions. Where is this heading? What is the point? Who knows. Maybe something will shift again. Or maybe it will not. For now, it is what it is, a life that does not hurt but does not feel like living either.

Death of a Point

 

Someone raises a valid point. It could be during a debate, an argument, a social issue or just an expression. They speak about Something they have experienced or something they want to be seen. But almost immediately, the point shifts. The other side does not respond to the point. Instead they defend. They say the issue exists everywhere. They say others also go through the same. And just like that, the original problem is no longer the centre.

Take the example of a woman who talks about how patriarchy has affected her life. The moment she finishes, someone interrupts saying that men also suffer. That men too face restrictions. The focus quickly moves from what she said to how someone else feels about it. The issue she brought up is not addressed. Her pain is not questioned, but it is silently dismissed.

This need to defend is not about truth. It is about discomfort. The moment a person feels that their side might be seen as flawed, they rush to speak. But in doing so they fail to listen. The response may not be hostile but it is more than enough to bury the point. What began as an attempt to highlight a specific problem is now lost in a generalised mess. The one who raised the issue is now left unheard, misunderstood, and possibly blamed for even trying.

Over time people stop raising issues altogether. They know what will follow. The comparisons. The reverse examples. The pressure to prove that their pain is different enough, unique enough or urgent enough. This culture of defensiveness forces silence. Real problems remain under the surface.

Not every issue raised is an attack. Not every truth needs to be balanced by another. Sometimes a problem just needs space. A little time to breathe. If the first reaction is always defence, then nothing ever really moves forward. The problem stays. The people stay unheard. And all we are left with is a discussion that looks complete, but never once touches what truly mattered.

Azadi Review

 

Azadi opens like a regular story. Nothing rushes. The setting is clear, the mood is steady and the scenes unfold in a straight line. Directed by Jo George. This film stars Sreenath Bhasi, Raveena Ravi, Lal, T G Ravi and Vani Viswanath. What begins as a slow moving drama turns into a gripping escape act filled with tension.

The plot follows Ganga, a pregnant woman in prison and her husband Raghu who is determined to get her out. The story unfolds inside Kottayam Medical College over a single day. What seems like a personal escape soon becomes a larger issue.

The visuals stay true to the setting. Hospital rooms, crowded passages, dim lights are all kept real. There is no overdo. The background never overtakes the story. The writing is clear. It shows only what is needed. Each scene builds on the previous one. Nothing feels random or out of place. The flow stays tight till the end.

Sreenath Bhasi delivers a solid performance. He never slips. Raveena Ravi holds her part with calmmess. Lal and T G Ravi bring depth without stepping over others. Vani Viswanath fits well into her role as a senior officer. The cast works like a team. Everyone knows when to take the lead and when to step back.

Azadi runs smooth without giving anything away. But in the end it throws one move that changes everything. A mindblowing twist to end. It does not slow down. It just hits. And once it does the whole film feels different. Everything before that twist feels like a setup. Everything after feels like impact.

Rating: 8/10 ⭐️