Step into 2026 with Kindness

Each turning of the calendar is ushered in with a habitual expectation. The coming year is expected to be kinder than the last and soften what life has already inflicted. Hope is placed upon the year itself as though it was capable of mercy. But those who insist upon gentleness from time are not always prepared to practice gentleness themselves especially when circumstances offer no reward for it.

A year departs only after pressing itself upon human lives. There are losses that endure, disappointments that persist, and work that never received its due. Such experiences do not merely wound, but they educate. In moments of such distress kindness is treated as a virtue suitable only for favourable conditions. It is set aside as impractical when life tightens its grip. And yet, it is under such pressure that kindness displays its actual depth since equilibrium has never been its crucible.

To be kind is not to be untouched by transgression nor to deny the legitimacy of anguish. Kindness in its purest form is discipline rather than leniency. A decision to retain one’s moral shape when experience encourages distortion. It often appears least reasonable, precisely when it is most necessary. In this sense kindness is no abdication of strength but its most rigorous manifestation.

Kindness is seldom theatrical in its expression and resides in conduct rather than in proclamation. It is found in the willingness to listen without interruption and in the discipline to esteem another life without percipitance. Respect for time, for dignity, and for the inward realm of others gives it coherence, particularly where no recompense is forthcoming. It is most evident where acknowledgment is least anticipated.

Much is said of the harshness of the age, of the waning of civility, of a world grown insensible to suffering. Savagery intensifies when kindness is bestowed solely within the bounds of safety. A virtue practiced only by choice is no virtue at all. Kindness is not intended to procure advantage but to maintain integrity and is the refusal to allow injustice to dictate identity.

A year does not improve by proclamation since time itself stands aloof from aspiration. What alters its texture is the behaviour of those who inhabit it. The atmosphere of living changes almost imperceptibly yet irrevocably, when patience is chosen over impulse, when judgment is subordinated to understanding and when respect is offered without a guarantee of return. These acts appear modest but they shape the moral tenor within which all greater affairs arise.

Let the year ahead be known by how one treats others when there is no good in doing so. Choose kindness when it costs time, is met with apathy, earns no courtesy in return, is mistaken for weakness or when the heart feels entitled to close itself instead. The world will continue as it always has, unfair and cold. What must not be relinquished is character. 

If this year is to have any meaning, choose kindness in every word, in every moment, and in every action, even when it goes unnoticed. Because in the end kindness makes us human to one another.

Happy New Year.

Genres That Do Not Connect

There are genres designed to soften life, to console, to restore balance by offering emotional closure and humour as answers to human difficulty, and for many people these genres serve an important purpose. Most importantly they provide ease, familiarity and emotional safety. But for some viewers these same genres fail to register at all because they no longer feel anything from them.

The problem is not with feel good cinema, romantic comedies or light hearted films themselves. These genres are built on emotions. They assume humour will heal and affection will correct what is broken. They operate within a framework where suffering is allowed only briefly and joy is positioned as the natural conclusion. These experiences become distant for or a viewer whose inner world no longer responds to these emotions.

This distance is not a rejection. It is a form of numbness that develops over time. It may come from personal history or from prolonged exposure to stories, or from living too long in emotional states that do not resolve. Genres that rely on emotional comfort begin to feel ineffective when the numbness begins to settle in. Humour becomes something observed rather than felt and Romance becomes a structure rather than an experience. The intended release never comes.

Genres like romance, comedy and feel good depend heavily on emotions. They require the viewer to step into optimism and to accept emotional outcomes as satisfying conclusions. The genre collapses when emotions within the person fails. The issue is not happiness but the failure to feel it when it is offered.

This is why darker genres often hold more power for such viewers since they do not insist on emotions or closure. Crime, horror and psychological thrillers lets discomfort to remain unresolved. They accept fear, violence, obsession and moral ambiguity as valid states rather than problems to be fixed. This honesty feels closer to reality for someone who no longer feels soothed by emotional dramas.

It is important to understand that this preference is not about taste alone. It is about emotional alignment. Genres are emotional languages, and when a language no longer matches the inner reality of a person, fluency is lost. Feel good genres speak in the language of ease and for some viewers that language no longer registers.

This does not make one genre superior to another. It shows that emotional engagement is not universal and cannot be forced. What comforts one person may leave another untouched and what unsettles one person may be the only thing that reaches another. Genres exist to offer different emotional truths instead of competing for moral ground.

The refusal to engage with emotion driven genres is not cynicism. It is an honest response to an internal state that no longer connects with comfort driven narratives. This is not a failure but a recognition. The responsibility is not to force oneself into what should be felt but to acknowledge what is actually felt. Sometimes that means accepting that consolation no longer resonates while violence still does.

As She Is

I think of her as a semblance that holds my gaze

An abstract that lets desire exist without haste.

Curves that need no divine to be sanctified

Made not to tempt. Held in awe.

She is not envisioned in fragments

The thought takes in her whole.

Ken stays longer than it should

And learns the grace of staying.

Even touch feels subdued in her presence

The form understands before the caress does.

What dwells before me stands complete

It persists, and that is enough. 

                                          - Sarukrishna R

In Defence Of Violence On Screen

There is a discomfort people exhibit when someone says they enjoy crime, horror, and thrillers. The immediate assumption is fear, morality or psychology, as if enjoying violence on screen must be justified by depth or trauma. But sometimes the truth is simpler. Some people are enjoy violence on screen for the act of watching itself, where brutality exists as image and idea rather than intent. 

Crime and horror do not pretend to be gentle. They do not offer reassurance or comfort. They expose the body, the mind and society at their most fragile and destructive. Bloodshed in these films is not an accident or a background element. It is the point. It takes away politeness and forces the viewer to sit with chaos, power and fear. Feel good films promise safety but violent cinema offers honesty.

Violence on screen serves a different appetite. It does not soothe. It allows the viewer to experience extremes without control. The killings are not metaphors waiting to be decoded. They are just moments of rupture. They break the illusion that life is orderly or fair. There is a clarity in that, A brutal clarity. In watching destruction happen on screen, the mind stops pretending and simply reacts.

Crime thrillers understand this better than most genres. They remove the fantasy of justice as something clean or satisfying. They show greed, obsession, cruelty and desperation without filtering them through moral comfort. Horror goes further. It does not ask to be liked. It dares the viewer to endure. The violence is excessive because excess itself is the statement. It overwhelms the senses.

Enjoying this does not make someone broken or heartless. It means they have found a form of engagement that speaks to parts of the self. Some people settle into gentleness and warmth while others find release in intensity and rupture. Cinema has room for both. Violence on screen becomes a controlled space where rage, fear and fascination can exist without entering into life.

There is also something honest about admitting this without dressing it up. Not every preference needs redemption through philosophy. Not every taste needs to be explained as therapy. Sometimes violence is enjoyed because it is visceral, because it shocks the system awake, because it pulls the mind out os passivity. In a world saturated with safe narratives, brutality stands out.

Crime and horror respect the intelligence of discomfort. They do not beg the viewer to feel good about what they are watching. They allow contradiction. Enjoyment and revulsion can coexist. Loving violent cinema does not mean loving violence itself. It means recognising that art is one of the few places where darkness is allowed to exist openly.

These genres endure because they speak to something ancient. Long before cinema, stories were filled with murder, blood and terror. Humanity has always been drawn to its edge. Crime and horror simply continue that tradition with cameras and sound design.

Violence on screen is not meant for universal acceptance. Some viewers turn away while others lean in. There is no obligation to soften taste or justify attraction when cinema itself was born to explore the extremes of human experience. Comfort has its place, but so does conflict. To know what disturbs you and still choosing to watch is not indulgence, it is awareness. Film is vast enough to hold feel good and brutality side by side, and there is no hierarchy between those who seek comfort and those who seek violence. Both are simply responding to different truths within themselves.

Christmas Feels Different Now

Christmas comes back every year even when I no longer wait for it the way I used to. The date does not change and the calendar insists but something else has. My house no longer has those paper stars that once hung from the ceiling. There are no lights tangled around the pillars. No planning about where to place them. The walls look the same as any other night, and no one feels the need to change that.

Plum cake has not disappeared, only the feeling that once came with it has. Earlier one cake was never enough. There would be boxes on the table, slices cut generously, arguments about who finished the last piece. Now there is just one slice, and it does not matter much. Because the meaning it held earlier is gone.

Going out is always an option. Cafes are open, streets are lit, music plays somewhere. But that kind of celebration feels external, like borrowing someone else’s mood for a few hours. It fills time but not space. It does not replace how celebration once happened at home without a plan.

As a child Christmas meant time. Half yearly exams ending meant freedom. Freedom to wake up late, to help put up lights, to feel the days move more slowly than the rest of the year. The excitement did not come from the festival alone but from the space it created in life. Everything slowed down and that slowing itself felt like joy.

This does not feel like loss in a dramatic way. It feels more like recognition. The understanding that certain kinds of excitement belong to a version of us that no longer exists. It is not a matter of something going wrong. Growing up reshapes what matters and how deeply it can be felt.

Perhaps this is what adulthood does. It does not take festivals away instead it moves them into the corners of memory, where they survive in a smell that reminds you of another year, in a slice of cake that tastes of times past, in the small things that mark the passing of years. The celebration is still there but it belongs to a different kind of attention and a different kind of self.

Christmas is still here. Just not the way it once was. And maybe that is not sadness. Maybe it is simply time doing what time always does, teaching us that some joys are meant to be outgrown. 

When the World Started Losing Colours

I remember a time when colours were alive, when walking down a street felt like moving through a painting where every wall, every sign and every window had a presence of its own. The reds did not scream, the blues did not soften instead they simply existed and made you notice them. Even the smallest things had a colourful touch, like a fabric draped over a chair that held memories or a painted door that held defiance. The world was not designed to be simple, it was allowed to be complete and in that completeness there was life.

Today life has grown subtle. Walls are white or beige, or a pastel shade that is considered aesthetic. Buildings rise in uniformity, like boxes stacked and their similarity gives no space for personality, character or the stories of people who inhabit them. The colors that once showed warmth, whim or celebration have been replaced by a dull neutrality that is hard to connect with. Architecture has lost its character, offering shelter without speaking to those inside.

The people moving through these spaces mirror the same dullness. Wardrobes blend with their surroundings, soft colors and muted tones hiding the spark of life beneath the dull choices. Once clothing could portray joy, mourning, desire and belonging all at once. Now it tends to blend in. Pastels and muted shades are praised for taste while colour is treated as "Cringe", as if being vibrant itself were a crime. We dress to fit the lines around us instead of filling the spaces we inhabit.

Art has followed the same path. Canvases are pale, installations are sparse and minimalism is treated as the standard rather than a choice. Art once asked for time and emotion, provoking and drawing people into its world. Now it asks for admiration but seldom for engagement. Colors that once dazzled the eye and stirred the heart now sit politely. Music too has been flattened to fit playlists and algorithms, losing the edges that once held depth.

Even the everyday life feels like it is missing something. Cafes, offices, public spaces all resemble each other across cities and countries. Screens show images that are curated to fit an aesthetic window, making eyes wary of vividness. Social media teaches that being subtle is the new normal, by adhering to these rules, we soften our emotions so they are easy to skim over and hard to feel completely.

Yet this losing of colour is not imposed instead it is a choice made in small moments. Colours were not stolen, it was set aside. We chose aesthetics over character, monotony over story and ease over vitality. Colour is not just decoration. It holds memory, identity and the courage to exist fully. It shows disagreement, joy, celebration, and sorrow. It makes life tangible. When colour fades, efficiency may rise but life itself feels subdued and soft. And the world loses the textures that make it alive.

Look carefully around you. The walls you walk past, the clothes you wear, the music you listen to, the spaces where you live and breathe. Are they truly alive, or have they been stripped of their soul under the guise of aesthetics and modernity? Have we chosen neutrality over life, or simply forgotten that colours were always part of how we felt alive?.

Do We Really Need A Dream

A dream is usually described as something we want to achieve. Yet that definition already assumes desire is self born. A dream house, a dream job, a dream life or a dream car, these phrases sound personal, but they often enter our minds already defined, before we ever stop to ask where they began. Society treats dreams as necessities suggesting that without a clearly defined goal a life loses direction. From a young age we are told that dreaming big is proof of seriousness and that effort gains meaning only when it points toward a visible destination. A dream loses its meaning the moment we stop asking whether it is truly ours.

Most people believe they own their dreams, yet very few are born in solitude. They take shape through comparison, when someone else’s achievement or lifestyle becomes a reference point for success. What begins as observation turns into desire, and desire slowly turns into obligation, until the goal feels personal even though its roots lie elsewhere. Over time admiration becomes longing, longing becomes identity, and the line between what we genuinely want and what we are expected to want fades. The issue is not ambition itself but the ease with which influence is mistaken for intention, because many dreams reveal more about the world that shaped them than about the individual who they are.

There are two dominant forces that shape most ambitions. One is social expectation, a rulebook that defines what success should look like at a certain age or stage of life. The other is comparison, the discomfort of seeing others possess things we do not, whether status, comfort, recognition or freedom. Together these forces create a powerful illusion of choice. A person feels driven yet the direction is already decided. The dream then becomes less about fulfillment and more about catching up or proving worth.

This is where conflict begins. Chasing a dream that did not rise from within creates constant tussle. Effort feels heavy. Progress feels insufficient. Even achievement feels hollow. Reaching the goal does not always bring the sense of completion it promises. This is not a lack of discipline but a conflict between effort and desire. A borrowed dream demands borrowed motivation and borrowed motivation rarely sustains a life.

There is also an assumption that dreams give life meaning, yet many of us discover that even after achieving what we once longed for, the sense of arrival is very short. Satisfaction fades quickly and a new target replaces the old one. The structure remains the same, only the object changes. This constant forward pull leaves little room to ask whether the journey itself is aligned with who one is, rather than who one is trying to become.

The idea that everyone must have a dream assumes that value comes from projection rather than presence. This belief keeps people chasing an imagined version of themselves while neglecting the person they already are. A dream can give direction but it can also distract from listening to oneself.

This does not mean dreams are useless or harmful by nature. A dream that arises from genuine curiosity, from an inner pull rather than external comparison can be energising and sustaining. The difference lies in ownership. A dream that belongs to you does not ask for constant justification and does not collapse your sense of worth when it is delayed. It leaves space for change and does not punish rest.

So the question is not whether a person should have a dream, but whether the dream allows the person to remain human. Does it permit doubt, slowness and growth, or does it turn life to a checklist of achievements. When dreams become identities, life narrows. When they remain flexible, life expands.

Perhaps the most honest way to live is not to abandon dreams entirely, but to loosen their grip. To treat them as possibilities rather than definitions. To let life progress without comparing every moment to a future that exists only in the mind. In doing so, Dream becomes a choice rather than a burden.

Why Long Articles Lose Their Readers

Reading is watching a landscape form behind your eyes, guided only by letters and your own imagination. Yet in today’s world that kind of immersive attention is rare. The decline in long form reading is often blamed on shrinking attention spans, but this explanation is both lazy and incomplete. People have not lost the ability to concentrate, instead they have lost the conditions that allow concentration to happen. Understanding why readers abandon long articles requires looking beyond habits and into the psychological mechanisms that govern attention and effort.

The first factor is cognitive load. Every piece of writing asks the brain to process information, but when information is presented without structure, clarity or pacing, the mental effort required increases sharply. Long articles often fail since their length forces the reader to hold too much information in memory at once. When ideas are densely packed, poorly sequenced, or conceptually heavy without relief, the brain begins to conserve energy by disengaging. Research in cognitive psychology shows that the mind naturally avoids tasks that exceed its immediate processing capacity, especially when there is no clear sense of "Progress or Payoff."

Instant gratification plays an equally powerful role. Digital environments have trained readers to expect immediate returns on attention. Short videos, notifications, headlines and summaries deliver quick emotional or informational rewards with minimal effort. In comparison long articles ask readers to delay gratification, to invest time before receiving an insight. The brain that is wired to prioritise efficiency, often chooses the faster reward even when the slower option is more meaningful. This is not a failure of discipline but a predictable outcome of reward based learning reinforced daily by digital platforms.

Screen fatigue further complicates the problem. Reading on screens is not the same as reading on paper. Screens encourage scanning rather than immersion. Eye strain, constant backlighting and subtle distractions reduce endurance over time. Studies on reading behaviour show that readers tend to follow an F shaped scanning pattern online, focusing on beginnings and skipping deeper sections. Long articles that are not designed with this behaviour in mind lose readers simply because the medium itself resists sustained attention.

Design and formatting significantly influence whether a reader continues or leaves. Dense paragraphs, narrow margins, poor line spacing and unbroken blocks of text increase visual fatigue and cognitive resistance. Even strong ideas struggle when presented in visually demanding formats. Well designed articles guide the reader’s attention, provide breathing space, and signal progression. When design ignores how the eye moves and rests, readers disengage from exhaustion rather than disinterest.

Another overlooked factor is perceived value. Readers unconsciously assess whether continuing will be worth the effort. If the opening sections fail to establish relevance, authority or direction, readers assume the remaining content will not justify their time. Long articles keep readers engaged by expanding insight continuously rather than circling back to previous points. When progression feels flat, abandonment follows.

Importantly, people have not stopped reading depth altogether. They still binge long threads, immersive essays and extended narratives when the content respects their cognitive limits and rewards their attention. The issue is not length but friction. When reading feels like labour rather than engagement, the mind exits.

The solution is not to shorten everything but to write with psychological awareness. Clear structure reduces cognitive load. Purposeful pacing maintains momentum. Design supports endurance. Most importantly writing must honour the reader’s time by ensuring that each section earns its place. Long form content survives only when it understands the mind it speaks to.

Sources:

1. Delgado et al., 2020 – Link
   Shows how reading on screens reduces focus and comprehension under time pressure.
2. Nielsen, 2006 – Link
   Reveals the F-shaped scanning pattern of online readers and how they skip deeper sections.
3. Carr, 2010 – Link
   Explores how digital environments train the brain for instant gratification, impacting long-form reading.

Dynamics Of Respect

Respect is not courtesy and it is not politeness. It works more like a structural force that supports every human interaction. When it is present conversations flow with clarity and relationships hold their form. When it is missing even the strongest emotions lose direction. People often treat respect as a surface behaviour but its influence lies much deeper. It is the base that keeps everything else from collapsing.

At its core respect is the recognition of a person’s presence. It acknowledges their time, their effort and their words as something real. Once this recognition exists affection grows naturally and understanding becomes possible. Many emotions appear larger but they depend on this single foundation. Love can waver, attraction can distort choices, and attachment can blind people, yet respect steadies interactions because it refuses to turn another human into convenience.

This recognition is not limited to closeness. A stranger does not need familiarity for their existence to matter. Respect is not a title or a formal greeting. It is the simple awareness that another life stands in front of you with its own reality. When this awareness is absent people are taken for granted even when affection is present. When it is present even brief interactions gain value because the person is seen rather than categorised or judged.

Self respect shapes this process. When someone sees their own worth clearly they recognise worth in others without forcing themselves. Their responses has clarity and their presence holds meaning. Without it they struggle to value others because they struggle to value themselves. Respect towards the world begins with a sense of grounding within the self.

Kindness, empathy and sympathy emerge only after respect is in place. Without respect behaviour changes based on convenience. People greet some and ignore others not because of emotion but because of how they rank worth in their minds. When respect becomes consistent kindness stops being an effort and becomes a natural way of responding to human presence.

Time is one of the clearest expression of respect. Punctuality is not only discipline. It is a direct statement of value. When you arrive on time you acknowledge that another person’s minutes hold meaning equal to your own. Even with strangers this holds true because time belongs to the person not the relationship.

Literature often captures respect without naming it. Aristotle’s idea of ethos speaks of character that earns trust through presence, which mirrors how respect operates in life. Shakespeare’s characters rise or fall based on how dignity is treated within the story. When dignity is broken the narrative shifts. Respect works with this same influence. It shapes outcomes without appearing on the surface.

Rspect is the force that keeps human behaviour from slipping into indifference. It prevents people from shrinking others into roles or uses. It strengthens bonds that already exist and gives shape to those that are yet to form. Everything that matters in human connection begins with this simple act of recognition. The question is not who deserves respect but how quickly we forget to offer it at the very start.

Kalam Kaval Review

Kalam kaval released in 2025 with much anticipation as it brought together a strong team led by director Jithin and headlined by Mammootty. The cast included Vinayakan, Gayatri, Rajisha, and others who played certain roles across the layered story, and the film moved forward with the support of music director Mujeeb whose work formed the emotional base of the film. With a team of such calibre the expectations were naturally high.

The film begins with an interesting setup built around a chain of incidents that slowly pull the characters into a world of killings. The first half moves through a series of clues and confrontations that set up a larger conflict waiting in the background. The story leads the audience through a maze of doubt.

Acting wise the cast delivered a decent performance but nothing beyond that. Movements felt dull and emotions lacked conviction, which made many moments feel staged. There was an unusual stiffness in the way scenes flowed and even Mammootty who usually carries strong presence appeared held back. The performances never reached the intensity the film needed and this brought down the overall impact.

The action sequences followed a similar path. The stunt direction did not match the energy expected from a thriller of this kind. The scenes were slow and the lack of sharp execution became evident especially with an actor of Mammootty’s age where planning is crucial. Movements looked strained and the rhythm of fight failed to create naturality. The camera angles added to this problem as they exposed more flaws instead of hiding them.

Cinematography during action sequences struggled to build momentum and the odd framing made the scenes feel even more dragged. However the lighting and choice of locations were solid and created the eerie tone the film wanted to establish. The atmosphere worked well whenever the camera was not tied to movement heavy sequences.

The writing is where the film loses most of its strength. The core idea had strong potential but the screenplay could not shape it convincingly. Scenes felt artificial and extended beyond their need and even if a few were removed, the film would still convey the same story. The arrangement of scenes made the flow confusing as transitions from one sequence to another lacked clarity. A film built on tension requires tighter construction and the writing did not support that.

Music and background score stood out as one of the stronger elements. Usage of vintage songs to elevate the hero and the background score contributed to the tone of the film, and helped build atmosphere where the visuals fell short.

Overall Kalam kaval is a film with potential that never fully materialises. Several important departments held it back and what could have been a good thriller becomes a decent watch. Nothing stays in mind after the movie, since no performance or scene was constructed well.

Rating: 6/10 ⭐️