MyJammyThoughts

 In a world teeming with over 8 billion unique individuals , have you ever stopped to consider the sheer magnitude of stories waiting to be told? Each person, from their first breath to their latest challenge, holds a narrative unlike any other. Think about it  How they were raised,  Their moments of pure joy,  The triumphs over adversity we prefer "challenges"! Every single life path diverges, creating an intricate tapestry of human experience. If we were to capture these 8 billion stories , we'd discover an endless source of inspiration, lessons, and perhaps even guidance for those navigating their own struggles. Why Your Story Matters Even if You're Not Gandhi "Are you Gandhi?" I sometimes hear when people learn I write about my life. I just smile and tell them to mind their own business! For me, writing isn't about fame; it's my stress-buster, my passion, my joy. There's a curious phenomenon at play in our minds. From childhood, our brains ar...

 Hey everyone, it's been a while, hasn't it? If you're a long-time reader of MyJammyThoughts , you might have been wondering where I disappeared to. Believe me, I've seen your comments and messages asking for updates, and they mean the world to me. Life, as it often does, threw some curveballs, some triumphs, and a whole lot of love my way. And today, I'm finally ready to pull back the curtain and share the most incredible chapter of my life – the one starring my amazing wife, Noufi . For those of you who've followed my journey, you know it hasn't always been smooth sailing. My previous posts have openly explored the rollercoaster of breakups and makeups. After my last engagement ended, I was genuinely broken. I was in Abu Dhabi , my dad in Dubai , and those weekly drives to see him became my lifeline. I'll never forget Saidu Mohammedka , a man who was like a father to me, who shared my dad's flat in Dubai. He’d been through so much himself, and when...

  Returning from vacation in Abu Dhabi, I was hit with a double whammy: a sudden recession and delayed salaries. Sleepless nights and a mounting sense of panic became my new normal. Noufi, the kids, school fees, bills – the weight of it all was overwhelming. Part-time job searches were a dead end, and online applications yielded nothing. I was financially adrift. But amidst the chaos, I found solace in the support of friends like Shihabkka and Naufal. Shihabkka, a restaurant turnaround wizard, had transformed a struggling cafeteria into a goldmine. Naufal, knowing my passion for food, suggested I leverage my culinary skills. With my full-time job consuming eight hours a day, baking was out of the question. So, Noufi and I decided to try our hand at making and selling "pathiri," traditional Kerala flatbread. Shihabkka placed our first order – a hundred pathiris! Noufi's homemade creations were a hit, a stark contrast to the flimsy, store-bought versions. We saw poten...

 My culinary journey wasn't a gourmet roadmap; it was a spontaneous adventure, a delicious string of happy accidents. And it all began in the legendary Bhargavi Nilayam, a bachelor pad straight out of a movie set (literally, it was in the film "Neram"). Picture this: an old, tiled-roof house, swallowed by a jungle of trees and overgrown patches. This was where my cooking escapades were born. Our chef was a character, a man we called Ikka. He was also the canteen cook at MES College Marampally. Ikka was one of a kind – rarely wore a shirt, and his smile was a roadmap of betel nut stains. His salary? Well, that came with a side of "oru kettu beedi and murukkan" (a bundle of local cigarettes and betel quid) daily. If we forgot, Ikka would unleash a torrent of colorful curses, all with that signature betel-stained grin. When Ikka slept, we Bhargavi boys, myself included, would "borrow" his beedi stash. If we had cash, we'd buy cigarettes, but those wer...

  After completing my plus two, my dream was to pursue higher studies in Bangalore or another state. But my father, who didn’t want me to leave Kerala, pushed me to write entrance exams since I had taken biomaths. As expected, I didn’t make it to the rank list. So, I decided to stay in Kerala and enrolled at National Huda College, Trivandrum. National Huda College was unlike any college I had ever seen. With only 15 to 20 students in a class, boys and girls were separated, even with different class timings. Meeting a girl on or near the campus was a crime; the college had spies everywhere! Yet, my friend Suraj managed to marry Meera, who studied there. Ironically, Suraj was my classmate during my UG in National Huda, and Meera became my classmate during my MSc at MES College Marampally. After just four months, I felt suffocated at National Huda College. Coming from a mixed-culture schooling background, this environment was unbearable. My dear friend Nader, who is no longer with u...

 You might recall from my previous blogs that I wasn't exactly a fan of food as a child. In fact, my parents often struggled to get me to eat! However, a few key encounters and experiences gradually transformed me into a bonafide food lover. My friendship with Shihab played a significant role in this transformation. His mother's delectable fish curry was a revelation, opening my eyes to the joys of home-cooked meals. Moving to a new house brought about another culinary awakening. Our new maid, a kind soul whom I considered family, introduced me to a variety of dishes. Her masala dosa, served hot with flavorful chutneys, was a revelation. She also encouraged me to try "Pazham Kanji," a traditional Kerala breakfast. Initially, the smell put me off, but I soon discovered the magic of combining it with onions, chilies, coconut, and curd. My love for exploring new cuisines blossomed during trips to Thrissur. I would spend hours wandering the streets, searching for hidden c...