The 80s Are Back. Sort Of.

 Recently, my Instagram feed seems to have been taken over by the 80s.

Everyone is asking AI to show them what they would have looked like in the 80s.

And suddenly, people who weren't even born then are discovering their apparently fabulous 80s hair, dramatic clothes and wonderfully grainy photographs.

The world is getting all nostalgic for a decade they may not have even lived through.

And at this point, I am beginning to wonder if I had an entire 80s life and simply failed to attend.

The funniest thing about this trend is that we are recreating the 80s with poses that never really existed in the 80s.

These bright smiles, relaxed couple poses and perfectly curated grainy photographs look wonderfully 80s. Except I don't remember anyone looking this relaxed in the 80s pictures I've seen.

Nobody was trying to look effortless. They simply stood there, slightly embarrassed to be posing, trying not to look vain while also making sure they looked good enough to be photographed.

But what has stayed with me from the many albums I have browsed through over the years is the killer stare.

As if smiling too much or looking too pleased might make them appear vain, so even the slightest curve of a smile was carefully withheld.

And yet, there was so much that went into that one photograph.

The time someone took to get ready. The excitement of knowing a camera was coming. Waiting for the camera from the neighbourhood to arrive. Finding the right light, choosing the right shade.

The photograph may have lasted a few seconds, but there was a whole little event around it.

Talking of photographs reminds me of the one almost every Indian household had after a wedding in the yesteryears. The newly married couple, dressed in their best, sitting or standing together with that shy, coy smile that somehow said everything without saying very much.

Perhaps that is why the Ranabaali photograph of Vijay Deverakonda and Rashmika Mandanna felt so familiar and relatable despite belonging to a very different time. Their restrained expressions, stillness and almost solemn intimacy had the quality of those old photographs. It made even people in their twenties nostalgic, and soon people were recreating the pose, some with filters and some through photoshoots.

It takes a lot for a still photograph to hold that kind of intensity and presence. There is so little to hide behind. No movement, no dialogue, no music. Just two people, a pose and whatever emotion manages to come through.

Perhaps that is what makes photographs special. Their minimalism can leave emotions completely bare, allowing people to see something, feel something and connect with it.

Perhaps photographs do more than preserve how people looked in an era. They preserve something of how people understood the moment. How much they prepared for it. How conscious they were of being seen. How intimacy was expressed without having to perform it.

And perhaps, years from now, someone will look at our photographs and wonder about us too.

They will see the forehead touches, the back hugs, the walking hand in hand, the almost-kisses and those carefully captured “candid” laughs that we have slowly accepted as the standard language of a couple photograph.

They may wonder how we had the time to curate such perfect moments.

They may wonder how so many intimate moments of our time happened to have a camera around to capture them.

And perhaps, just as we are recreating photographs from their time today, they may find a few of ours worth recreating too.

And call it oh so 2020s.

#80sNostalgia #Nostalgia #CouplePhotography #OldPhotos #VintagePhotography #IndianNostalgia #IndianWeddings #RelationshipPhotography #PhotographyTrends #ByTheWindow #JananiSrikanth

A journey called life

Journey.

It is an interesting word.

We usually imagine a journey as something that has a destination. A beginning, a route, a few milestones and eventually, a place we are trying to reach.

Life does not work that way.

There is no fixed destination. 

The route keeps changing. 

People come into our lives and leave them. Some stay for years, some for a season. Some change the course of our lives. Some leave quietly.

Circumstances change. The world around us changes.

And we change with it.

Yet through every beginning, every ending and every transformation, there is one person who remains present through the entire journey: ourselves.

Perhaps that is why the foundation we begin with matters so much.

For me, that foundation was my parents.

Growing up in a home where my choices were not constantly questioned, where my place in my parents’ lives was never in doubt, and where I was allowed to make mistakes, learn, grow and find my own path shaped my life in ways I can never fully put into words.

It gave me something more valuable than certainty.

It gave me the freedom to be myself.

And this Teachers’ Day, when I think of the many teachers and gurus who have guided me through school, college, my master’s degrees and beyond, one person inevitably stands apart.

My mother, Mrs. Rajalakshmi Kannan.

My high school Chemistry teacher.

My teacher in so many other things.

My lifelong guide.

She taught me to believe in myself. To believe in the goodness in the world. To face disappointment and challenges with grace. To spread hope and positivity by living those values rather than simply talking about them.

She set a standard so high that simply trying to live by those ideals makes a person more refined, more gracious and, hopefully, a little more classy.

I have a particularly fond memory of Teachers’ Day from school.

We had a tradition where the 10th standard students would wear sarees and take classes for the day. Each of us would be assigned a teacher whose classes we would handle.

For most teachers, I imagine, it was probably a lovely opportunity to let the students have some fun, manage the class for a day and perhaps enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee in the staff room while the students took over.

My mother had other ideas.

She gave me her lesson plan.

She gave me her syllabus.

And she expected me to actually teach it.

So there I was, in a saree, standing in front of her 8th standard class, teaching aluminium extraction and balancing equations, while she watched from the window.

What stayed with me was not the saree or even the Chemistry.

It was the seriousness with which she trusted me.

She did not give me a simplified version because I was a student. She believed I could take her class, follow her lesson plan and do the job properly.

That confidence stayed with me.

Perhaps that is why I always give my best even when nobody is watching.

When you take something upon yourself, you do it with integrity.

You do it with care and precision.

I think that is one of the most valuable lessons she ever taught me.

Today, I wish she were here.

I wish she could read my books, listen to my thoughts, add her perspective, challenge me, enrich my ideas and perhaps even write her own books.

There is so much I would still like to share with her.

But she is still part of my journey.

In the way I think.

In the values I try to live by.

In the strength with which I face disappointments.

In the hope I try to pass on.

And in the lives of the many students she taught, who went on to accomplish so much.

Some teachers teach a subject.

Some teach us lessons.

And some become part of the person we spend our entire journey becoming.

I was fortunate enough to have one of those.

Happy Teachers’ Day, Amma. ❤️

Music, Memories, Books: An Ode to My Mother

Some memories are stored in photographs. Some live in old letters, familiar places, or the voices of people we have loved. For me, some of mine live in songs.

Music has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. Before I understood what music could do, I knew what it felt like to hear my mother sing.

My mother, Mrs. Rajalakshmi Kannan, was trained in Carnatic music and had a beautiful, melodic, pitch-perfect voice. I grew up listening to compositions that I now know are extraordinarily difficult. At the time, they simply belonged to my world because they belonged to hers.

She was also the person who introduced me to far more than music. She taught me to notice subtlety, beauty and the finer things in life. Every one of my books carries a quiet dedication to her, because so much of what I create begins there.

Today, my listening moves freely through Hindustani classical, Carnatic, operatic pop, jazz, country, fusion, film music and instrumentals. Genre has never mattered as much as what the music makes me feel. If a piece of music evokes something deep within me, it finds a place in my playlist.

Whenever I write fiction, songs find their way into the story, and before long, each novel has its own playlist.

Music is not something that one listens just for relaxation. It gives memories a place to live. Certain songs belong to people, others to seasons of life, and some become inseparable from characters who exist only on a page.

So I began creating playlists for my novels.

Taste of Fate has songs that became intertwined with Maya and Arjun’s journey. Work-Love Balance has Vikram’s Setlist because Vikram is a singer and music is woven into his story.

With Wings of Love, I wanted to do something a little different.

There are two Spotify playlists this time.

🎧 Reading Companion: instrumental music to accompany the novel and create the mood while you read.

🎼 The Soundtrack to Wings of Love: songs that remind me of Shalini, Vishal and the emotions that shape their story.

Perhaps this is why making a playlist for every novel has become such a natural part of writing for me. It began with a mother who filled our home with music and taught me to notice the beautiful things. Rajalakshmi Kannan will always be part of whatever I do. Anything good in me has been imbibed from her. Whatever is flawed is entirely my own.

This playlist tradition, like so much else in my life, is dedicated to her.

If you’re a music lover like me and would like the Spotify links, comment PLAYLIST and I’ll DM them to you.

#WingsofLove #Soundtrack #ReadingCompanion #Love #Friendship