rajathtirumangalam

Tag: LifeAdvice

  • The Cost of Assumption (Paid in Quiet Instalments)

    Assumptions are funny that way.
    They don’t arrive as villains. They arrive as shortcuts.
    Little mental discounts we apply because thinking deeply feels like effort and certainty feels efficient.

    You assume someone understands you.
    You assume silence means agreement.
    You assume that tone equals intent, that vocabulary equals intelligence, that confidence equals competence.

    And life nods along. For a while.

    The bill comes later.

    It always does.

    Assumptions are expensive not because they are loud—but because they are invisible. You don’t feel the money leaving your account. You just wake up one day and wonder why everything feels… underfunded. Why conversations feel hollow. Why trust feels thinner than it used to. Why you’re tired without having done anything dramatic.

    The worst part isn’t being wrong.
    It’s realising how comfortably wrong you were.

    There’s a particular kind of vertigo that hits when you realise you’ve been living inside a fabric of false pretence—not because someone lied outright, but because you filled in the gaps yourself. You stitched meaning where none was promised. You translated politeness into care. You read fluency as depth. You mistook articulation for alignment.

    No one corrected you.
    Why would they? Assumptions are cooperative illusions.

    And then there are the conversations.

    Ah yes. Those conversations.

    Where people speak in circumlocutions—Sircar’sum logic, if you will—sentences that orbit a point but never land. Language used not to communicate, but to signal. Words deployed like silk scarves, meant to suggest intelligence without risking clarity. It’s performance disguised as precision.

    You sit there nodding, half-impressed, half-unsettled.

    Something feels off.

    They’re not trying to be understood.
    They’re trying to be perceived.

    This is the moment that rattles you. Not because they’re doing it—but because you realise how often it worked on you before. How often you assumed that complexity meant insight, that abstraction meant thinking, that verbal gymnastics meant depth.

    And suddenly the room feels different.

    You notice the evasions.
    The way questions are answered around, not through.
    The way smart-sounding fog is used to avoid being pinned down.

    You realise: this isn’t intelligence. It’s insulation.

    And the realisation stings—not just because of them, but because of you. Because somewhere along the way, you outsourced your discernment to appearances. You let language do the thinking for you. You trusted style over substance because it was easier, smoother, socially rewarded.

    Assumptions are expensive because they delay truth.
    And delayed truth accrues interest.

    By the time clarity arrives, you’ve already invested time, energy, respect, even affection. You don’t just lose the assumption—you lose what you built on top of it.

    But here’s the quiet, uncomfortable grace in all this.

    The moment assumptions collapse, perception sharpens.

    You stop being dazzled by verbal chandeliers.
    You start listening for coherence, not charisma.
    You learn to value pauses over polish.
    You ask cleaner questions. You tolerate fewer foggy answers.

    You realise that real intelligence doesn’t mind being simple.
    And real understanding doesn’t need camouflage.

    Most importantly, you start catching yourself mid-assumption.
    That tiny hitch in your chest before you fill in a gap.
    That pause before you nod along.
    That instinct to ask, “Wait—what do you actually mean?”

    Assumptions don’t vanish forever.
    We’re human. We’ll always make them.

    But once you’ve seen the cost, you stop spending so recklessly.

    And you stop living in borrowed certainty.

    Which is expensive, yes—but never as expensive as pretending you knew all along.

  • The Ceremony of the Bicycle Seat

    There is a quiet ceremony performed on empty streets at dusk—
    an initiation where one pair of trembling hands teaches another pair to trust the trembling.

    You hold the bicycle steady, though nothing about you is steady anymore.
    You run behind them, half-anchor, half-shadow, lending balance that you’ll never get back in return.
    It’s strange, the intimacy of it—
    your breath syncing with their panic,
    your footsteps stitching the ground so their wheels may glide.

    Every teacher of this ritual knows the secret moment when the spell shifts.
    A tiny tilt.
    A new rhythm in their legs.
    A surprising confidence that wasn’t there when they were clutching your arm like a lifeline.

    And then—
    your hand leaves the seat.

    This is where the poetry gets teeth.

    Because the very second your hand lets go,
    their memory lets go too.

    They shoot forward, not just newly balanced but newly authored.
    As if the road opened for them alone.
    As if the wind arrived specifically to applaud their brilliance.
    As if they were born pedalling.

    They do not look back.

    Not out of malice—
    no, something far more ordinary:
    the ease with which humans forget the scaffolding that held them up.

    You stay behind, a ghost with sweat on its forehead, holding nothing but the outline of where the bicycle used to be.
    The street doesn’t clap for you.
    The world does not say your name.
    You are simply the invisible angle that made their straight line possible.

    And here lies the symbolism people rarely talk about:

    Some learn to ride.
    Some learn to take flight on borrowed balance.
    Some learn to claim the journey as if the hands that steadied them were never there at all.

    But you—
    you learn a different lesson.
    A lesson older than bicycles, older than roads, older than praise:

    That some people will ride off with what grew in your palms,
    what bruised your knees,
    what cost you breath—
    and they will not even gift you a backward glance.

    And yet—
    we keep teaching.
    We keep running behind wobbling wheels.
    We keep offering balance that won’t be remembered.

    Because in some strange cosmic arithmetic,
    giving is the only act that leaves a mark
    even when the world pretends it doesn’t.

  • Favors, Strings, and Emotional Invoices

    When someone offers to help you, you expect a favor — not a lifelong debt. But for some people, kindness is just a down payment on future control. These manipulators build dependence, frame favors as moral debts, and use your silence as permission to exploit. Their generosity comes with invisible strings — and once you’re tangled, good luck cutting yourself free.

    What starts as a helping hand often morphs into a chokehold of obligation. They remind you — frequently and theatrically — of how they’ve supported you “on multiple platforms, multiple occasions,” as if they’ve launched your career, cured your anxiety, and funded your existence all before lunch. In their world, helping is never just helping; it’s laying bricks for the pedestal they expect to be worshipped on.

    And when the time comes — and it always does — they cash in. Suddenly, they “need a little help.” A loan. A favor. Access to your time, energy, wallet, or sanity. After all, you owe them. Why? Because they once did something nice. Once. Maybe twice. Maybe they liked three of your posts and made a phone call. To them, that’s basically a co-sign on your life.

    The manipulation is subtle at first, disguised as kindness. They step in before you even ask, solving problems and offering assistance like a personal concierge with a halo. But every act of “generosity” is added to an internal scoreboard — one they’ll weaponize when you least expect it. Gratitude becomes expected. Repayment becomes assumed. Your boundaries? Optional.

    Their favorite tool? Your silence. You don’t speak up, and they interpret that as agreement. But staying quiet isn’t the same as giving consent — it’s often restraint, grace, or conflict avoidance. Unfortunately, manipulators see silence not as mercy, but as permission to tighten the screws. You’re too polite to call them out, too drained to confront them — and they thrive in that gray zone.

    Worse still, they abuse without shame. There’s no internal moral debate, no reflection. Instead, they walk into your life like it’s a hotel lobby they’ve already paid for — lounging on your time, ordering room service from your energy, and sticking you with the bill. You don’t complain? Great. That means you’re fine with it, right?

    They will never forget the time they helped you. They’ll reference it like a war story: “Remember when I…” followed by a heavily dramatized version of something that barely cost them effort. It’s help dressed up as martyrdom — complete with emotional invoices and passive-aggressive reminders. You start to feel less like a friend or peer and more like an eternal debtor in a guilt-ridden pyramid scheme.

    To be clear: real help doesn’t require a parade, a plaque, or a payment plan. True kindness doesn’t come with a punch card. Manipulators, however, see every good deed as an investment — and they expect dividends. Financial, emotional, or otherwise.

    They scratch your back, but expect your spine in return.

    They say things like, “I was there when no one else was,” as if they’re now entitled to name rights over your life. They don’t want appreciation — they want ownership. If you push back, suddenly you’re the bad guy. Ungrateful. Selfish. Disloyal. It’s a script designed to shame you into compliance and keep you playing a role in their self-centered narrative.

    But here’s the reality: being helped doesn’t mean being owned. And being silent doesn’t mean being complicit. Gratitude is not a leash. A genuine favor is a gift, not a contract. And no one — no one — gets to claim moral superiority for doing what decent people do without strings attached.

    So next time someone offers “help,” ask yourself:
    Is this support, or is it bait?
    Are they lifting you up, or building a cage?

    Because in the end, help given with expectation isn’t help at all — it’s a hustle. And you don’t owe anyone your peace just because they once held your door.

  • Friday the 13th: When Superstition Wears a Party Hat (and Trips)

    It’s Friday, June 13, 2025, and as the morning light spills over Bengaluru, one might expect the usual hum of daily life. But for a select few, this isn’t just any Friday. Oh no. This is Friday the 13th, the day that skulks onto the calendar like a shy ghoul at a disco, promising mischief with a wink and a stumble. It’s the calendrical equivalent of a wild card, a joker in the deck, or that one friend who always brings a tuba to a quiet gathering.
    For those who view this day with a wary eye, every creak of the floorboards is a poltergeist, every dropped spoon a harbinger of culinary doom. It’s as if the universe has decided to collectively don a clown nose and start juggling chainsaws – utterly improbable, yet just enough to keep you on your toes. This isn’t mere bad luck; it’s a masterclass in cosmic improv, where fate, like a capricious cat, plays with our expectations before batting them off the table.
    The folklore surrounding Friday the 13th is as rich and convoluted as a medieval tapestry woven by someone with too much mead. Is it because Friday was historically associated with executions, and 13 guests at a table spelled disaster? Perhaps. Or is it simply a collective agreement, a grand human performance where we all conspire to make the mundane feel momentous? It’s a bit like believing that if you don’t say “bless you” after a sneeze, a tiny demon steals a piece of your soul. We know it’s illogical, yet we comply.
    On this infamous date, the mundane becomes magnified. That untied shoelace isn’t just an oversight; it’s a booby trap laid by unseen forces. The slight delay in your commute isn’t traffic; it’s the spectral hand of misfortune, gently nudging your vehicle into the slow lane. We become unwitting participants in a cosmic game of “I Spy,” where the object is always “bad luck.” As the proverb says, “misery loves company,” and on Friday the 13th, company it shall have – even if that company is just your own heightened paranoia.
    Think of it as a day when the usual rules of probability take a sabbatical. Your toast, usually so well-behaved, decides to perform a daring aerial stunt, landing butter-side down with a defiant splat. Your umbrella, a loyal companion through monsoon showers, chooses today to spectacularly invert itself, leaving you looking like a bewildered mushroom. It’s as if the inanimate objects of the world have signed a secret pact to gently mock your sanity.
    As the great bard of Avon penned, “All the world’s a stage,” and on Friday the 13th, we are all actors in a whimsical tragicomedy, waiting for the other shoe to drop, perhaps from a considerable height. But why succumb to such theatrical anxiety? Instead, let’s channel the spirit of Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” and embrace the “bad type of fun” that might just be around the corner. Or, to borrow from the whimsical world of Dr. Seuss, “Oh, the places you’ll go! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting, so get on your way!” Even if that mountain has a few extra loose rocks.
    So, as the clock ticks through this unique Friday, remember that superstitions are like shadows: they only have power if you stand in their way. Laugh at the tiny misfortunes, shrug off the minor inconveniences, and refuse to let a mere date dictate your mood. After all, if you can navigate a Friday the 13th with a smile on your face and both shoes tied, you’re not just lucky; you’re a legend. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just saw a mirror crack, and my reflection winked. Probably just the light… right?

  • The Marriage Tango: A Cryptic Symphony of Shadows and Light

    You know, when we think about marriage, the picture that usually pops into our heads is this perfectly choreographed tango. Two people, in sync, every step mirroring the other, a seamless blend of shared dreams. We imagine it like a perfectly balanced seesaw, always level, or maybe even a corporate merger where every single penny is split right down the middle. But honestly, if marriage were a business, a lot of us silent partners would be working triple shifts, probably fueled by strong filter coffee, and secretly wondering if we ever actually read the fine print on that “all-you-can-eat responsibility buffet” contract.
    The raw truth? Marriage isn’t always a neat 50/50 split. It’s more like a fluid, almost mystical dance where sometimes one person is the prima ballerina, bathed in the spotlight, and other times, they’re the entire stage crew. Seriously, they’re building the elaborate sets, handling the intricate lighting, and maybe even selling the tickets—all while their partner is busy perfecting their pirouettes. It’s this beautiful, chaotic waltz where the rhythm constantly shifts. And every now and then, one dancer is quietly carrying the weight of the entire orchestra on their back, just humming a melancholic but hopeful tune.
    The Unsung Choreographer: Beneath the Surface, Deep Currents Run
    Think of your marriage not as a seesaw, but as a boat. You know, like the one Moana sails across that vast, unpredictable ocean. Some days, both of you are rowing in perfect unison, cutting through the waves with ease, sails billowing with shared dreams. Then, other days, a storm hits. Maybe it’s a financial squall, a health tempest, or the delightful chaos of raising tiny humans who genuinely believe “sleep” is a mythical creature, much like the Room of Requirement for Harry Potter fans. One of you might be bailing water furiously, patching leaks, and steering through treacherous currents, while the other is, well, maybe seasick, or bravely holding up the mast against a gale. The person bailing? They’re the unsung choreographer. They’re not just doing the dance steps; they’re designing the very movements, often without a syllabus or even a standing ovation.
    Now, this isn’t about score-keeping, okay? It’s not like some cosmic accounting firm is tallying chores or emotional bandwidth. Life, that grand old showman, loves to throw curveballs. A demanding career surge for one, a period of illness for the other, or navigating those intricate family dynamics straight out of a Rajinikanth film climax – these moments don’t just pause for a perfectly equal division of labor. Instead, one partner often becomes the invisible scaffolding, providing the support structure that allows the other to shine, to heal, or simply to survive. They’re the quiet constant, like the sturdy root system of a magnificent banyan tree, largely unseen but absolutely essential for its growth and resilience, kind of like the deep, hidden roots of friendship Emily Dickinson described in “A single Rose.”
    The Ever-Shifting Ensemble: A Kaleidoscope of Selves
    What really defines this dynamic partnership is its incredible, almost chameleon-like, adaptability. As our journey through life progresses, the roles within the marriage are rarely static. The person who was once your passionate lover might suddenly become your staunch guardian, fiercely protecting you through a professional crisis or a personal struggle, much like the unwavering loyalty of a companion in Kalki Krishnamurthy’s Ponniyin Selvan. And in moments of profound vulnerability, you might find yourself in the role of a comforting parent, offering gentle guidance and unwavering support, just as a parent nurtures a child – a bond as ancient and enduring as the Vadaserri river in a classic Tamil landscape. And ironically, there are times when we ourselves might regress, needing to be the child—dependent, seeking solace, and implicitly trusting our partner to lead us through a tough phase, clinging on like a child to their mother’s sari pallu.
    This constant reshuffling of roles—from lover to confidant, from cheerleader to anchor, from playful companion to wise elder—is what makes a marriage a living, breathing entity. It’s about understanding that sometimes, your partner needs you to be their unyielding rock, while at other times, they simply need you to witness their vulnerability without judgment, as silent as a temple bell after the aarti. It’s acknowledging that life’s script changes, and with it, the multifaceted parts we play for each other.
    The Glue, Not Just the Glitter: The Silent Arcana
    Many a successful family owes its cohesion to this silent anchor. They’re the ones who remember the dentist appointments, the school project deadlines, the obscure anniversary of your first date. They’re the emotional lightning rod, absorbing the daily stresses and deflecting the familial squabbles, often with a placid smile that totally belies the mental gymnastics happening within, worthy of a Kabali dialogue delivery. They are, quite simply, the glue that holds the entire contraption together, preventing it from flying apart like a poorly assembled IKEA cabinet on a particularly windy Bengaluru morning.
    And yeah, sometimes this means suffering in silence, a quiet burden, a whispered secret known only to the soul. Like a swan gliding gracefully on the water, their visible serenity might hide a furious paddling underneath, a tireless effort unseen by casual observers. They might be putting their own dreams on a back burner, letting their passions simmer like a slow-cooked sambar, while attending to the immediate needs of the family. This isn’t martyrdom; it’s a profound act of love, a deep-seated commitment to the collective well-being. It’s the kind of sacrifice that doesn’t scream for attention, but whispers its presence in every moment of shared joy and every peaceful evening, much like the lingering fragrance of jasmine.
    Acknowledging the Unseen Burden: The Heart of the Matter
    The real message here isn’t to just complain about inequality, but to champion acknowledgment. We often appreciate the grand gestures, the flashy successes, the visible contributions, much like we applaud the hero’s climax fight in a Telugu blockbuster. But true partnership blossoms when we truly see the unseen—the quiet diligence, the suppressed sigh, the unspoken decision to yield for the greater good.
    A truly happy marriage is less about a perfect 50/50 split and more about an intuitive understanding of what each other requires in the moment, a silent communication that transcends words, like the unspoken bond between a guru and a shishya. It’s about giving each other the space to breathe, to grow, to pursue individual passions, knowing that the invisible tether of love will always pull you back together. It’s also about being there for each other—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. It’s that knowing glance across a crowded room, the reassuring hand on the back, the silent support that says, “I’ve got you,” echoing the timeless promise of a classic romantic verse.
    Crucially, this sacred bond, this intricate dance, must be protected from outside forces. A happy marriage is a fortress built on trust and mutual respect, and it’s absolutely imperative not to let an outsider destroy what we have. Whether it’s unsolicited advice that erodes confidence, negative influences that sow doubt like weeds in a carefully tended garden, or distractions that pull attention away from the core unit, the couple must stand united, a formidable wall against anything that threatens their unique harmony. Just as the heroes in films like Baahubali protect their kingdom, so too must partners guard the sanctity of their shared life.
    So, the next time you marvel at your family’s harmony, or how smoothly your household runs, take a moment. Look beyond the obvious. There’s likely an unsung architect, a silent partner, a masterful choreographer who’s not just dancing, but orchestrating the entire symphony of your shared life. Their quiet strength, their boundless care, and their profound dedication are the true treasures of your marriage. Let’s make sure they know their immense value, not just through silent acceptance, but through heartfelt, open acknowledgment, and unwavering protection of the unique world you’ve painstakingly built together. Their invisible efforts are the very foundation upon which your collective prosperity and happiness are built, a timeless narrative whispered only between two souls.