ON AUGUST 16, 2014 BY VIDYA CHATHOTHIN RANDOM REFLECTIONS, THE HUMAN MIND
We live in a world of selfies…
A world where we care less about the moments we spend with people, and more about the pictures of these moments that we capture…where we click at least 10 to 20 selfies before one finally makes it to our wall on Facebook…where we are not ashamed to click the picture of human beings bleeding from a road traffic accident, oblivious to our primary duty towards mankind.
ON MAY 7, 2015 BY VIDYA CHATHOTHIN RELATIONSHIPS, THE STORIES OF WOMEN
In the progress of personality, first comes the declaration of independence. Then comes the realization of interdependence.
I have been pondering on the independence-interdependence equation for quite some time now, especially in the context of Indian marriages.
ON MAY 7, 2015 BY VIDYA CHATHOTHIN FILMS
This movie revolves around two characters- Appu (Jayaram) and Devaprabha (Manju Warrier), both immensely attractive with regard to their take on life. While Appu has learnt the art of cleverly masking his vulnerability and taking life in its stride, it is the immensely vulnerable Devaprabha who surprises us in the climax of the film, demonstrating the ability to rise above the mundane. The movie draws an important inference:
Love is the sole negotiator in the equation of life. It caters gently to one’s vulnerability, unmasking the potential to rise beyond conventional expectations, defeating adversity.
ON NOVEMBER 2, 2015 BY VIDYA CHATHOTHIN CREATIVE NON-FICTION
Said the touch-me-not:
“I was sensitive. They touched me, and laughed as I recoiled from their touch. They were amused at my overt sensitivity to the slightest touch. It inspired them to repeat their act, celebrate my weakness, and walk away when they were finally bored of their act.
But they knew not that in their absence, I grew rampantly in the wild, celebrating the wilderness and the sunshine.
ON JANUARY 3, 2016 BY VIDYA CHATHOTHIN THE HUMAN MIND
They called him Sanju. His picture stared at me from the front page of the newspaper. Tall, dark-complexioned and strikingly handsome. But his eyes held a cold blooded stare that made me distinctly uncomfortable.
The Sanju in my memory is different. I remember him from his childhood. A child with sparkling eyes. He was a chubby baby, inquisitive and restless. I remember the aunts rocking his cradle, humming lullabies and putting him to sleep. He would kick his legs frantically the moment they stopped humming.