A message to all my readers When I first began writing down my stories in this quiet space, it was nothing more than an open diary. A place to put memories that needed somewhere to rest, reflections gathered over a lifetime, and thoughts that felt too personal—or perhaps simply too ordinary—to share in conversation. Conventional wisdom often suggests that personal musings rarely accomplish much on the wider internet. There are no frameworks here, no quick advice, and no polished agendas. Just the raw textures of life as I have experienced it: the sudden turns, the quiet routines, the moments of doubt, and the steady work of beginning again. Recently, as a small corner quietly crossed 30,000 reads, I paused to look more closely at the numbers. What moved me was not just the milestone itself, but where those visits were coming from. While some readers join from home here in India, so many of you are reading from entirely different corners of the earth—from Singapore across the seas ...
They are not stories of valor passed down the generations in musical forms to infuse courage. They seem like tall stories stretched by imagination, not only to us but also to innocent bystanders. These have become so believable to us by being repeated many times during our family reunions. The stomach-churning laughter they induce keeps those anecdotes so lively until today.
Tippan Chacha (uncle) was a guest who came from far away to take a departmental examination for promotion in the city where my grandparents lived. Our grandparents were glad to have him visit them. As for one of their broods, my mother, younger than him, enquired about his performance after seeing his question paper.
He claimed his competence and adeptness in completing the paper ahead of schedule. The first page went well. Then, as she turned the next page to check for the other questions, he realized he had forgotten to turn the page and see. So, the remaining three questions were unanswered. He tried to snatch the paper from my mother's hand, revealing the sudden realization of his folly. Now that Tippan Chacha had committed this blunder, he was penalized by his nephews and nieces in the family and, as a penance, had to take them to the "Pakeezah" movie in the cinema hall. Needless to raise any queries regarding the examination result, the movie was wonderful in their words.
My sister called me the next day as she finished compiling her examination paper to inform me that simply out of compulsion, after our conversation, she wrote "continued on next page" at the bottom of her examination sheet lest someone may miss the second page.
The story does not end here. Today, I faced a similar situation. I copy-pasted the questions, knowing little karma was waiting for me. As I sat to give a test for the position of content creator, I felt smug about having honored Tippan Chacha, who forgot to turn the paper over? Yours truly.
Looks! Like Tippan Chacha's, spirit descended on me and decided to teach me humility. I know how it feels to miss half the test because I forgot to flip the paper. History doesn't just repeat—it mocks you while it's at it!
So, here's to Tippan Chacha, the man who could turn a mistake into a lifelong joke, and here's to me, his accidental apprentice in the art of comic blunders.
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