Raya's Realm

I paused a scene in a movie, not because of the plot, but because of a smile that wasn’t white. In today’s world, young people often feel pressured to follow strict beauty standards, being thin, having an hourglass figure, flawless glass skin with no pores, and more. Watching that particular scene made me reflect. It was a Thai historical film, and when a woman smiled, I noticed something unusual, her teeth were painted black, not white as we usually prefer today. For a moment, it felt unfamiliar. But instead of brushing it off, I think we should pause at moments like this. Because sometimes, what looks strange to us is simply something we have never been taught to understand. So, I looked up this practice and discovered something meaningful. In earlier Thai history , especially during the Ayutthaya period, blackened teeth were considered beautiful, not just acceptable, but desirable. A darkened smile symbolized maturity, elegance, and cultural belonging. It marked a transition into ad...

One thing I’ve always noticed about Tamil literature is how certain works refuse to change their names, even when they are translated. திருக்குறள் remains Thirukkural, not "The Book of Couplets". சிலப்பதிகாரம் stays Silapathigaram, not "The Tale of the Anklet". The same goes for Manimegalai, Akananooru, Purananooru, Kurunthogai, Paripadal, and Naladiyar. Their meanings may be explained in English, but their names are left untouched. I once read a story where people feel a sudden excitement the moment they hear a word from their own language. To someone else, it may sound like just another word, but to the person who belongs to that language, it carries familiarity, warmth, and a sense of identity. Hearing one’s language spoken in an unfamiliar country feels almost like hearing the national anthem abroad, it makes the eyes light up without conscious effort. That feeling explains why some words and texts resist translation. It is not that they cannot be translated, bu...

Today in class, our teacher asked us to watch a YouTube video and share our views and perspectives on it. The scene was from VIP-2 , the contract scene where Dhanush and Kajol are competing to be chosen to build a hospital. At first glance, it looked simple. Two professionals. One opportunity. One decision. Kajol’s character speaks with extreme confidence. She explains her ideas fluently in English, firmly, without hesitation. There is authority in her voice, and also a certain sharpness. At one point, she even asks the client whether he can understand what she’s saying. It feels like mockery, or at least that’s how it is framed, because the client and Dhanush don’t seem fluent in English. Dhanush, on the other hand, stays calm. He doesn’t challenge the client. He switches to the vernacular language, explains things softly, patiently, almost gently. His approach feels emotionally intelligent, grounded, respectful. In the end, the client reveals that he actually knows Englis...

Language is never innocent. The way we name things reveals the way we think, and often, the way we unconsciously inherit power structures. Today, I find myself questioning a term that has been academically normalised, culturally repeated, and rarely interrogated: Black Literature. We speak of American Literature and British Literature without attaching the colour of skin to them. We do not call them White Literature . Their identity is rooted in geography, history, and nationhood. But when it comes to African or Nigerian writing, we frequently abandon geography and reach for colour. Why Black literature? Why not African Literature, Nigerian Literature, Kenyan Literature, or Ghanaian Literature? This naming is not neutral. Ironically, while critiquing Western racism and colonial hierarchies, we continue to reproduce a racial lens ourselves. By foregrounding colour instead of culture, we reduce an entire continent’s literary richness to skin tone. Africa becomes an identity defined by p...

So recently I came across this article that really caught my attention. It was about how a DNA study revealed that societal stratification in India started around 1,700 years ago. I didn’t expect genetics to say something so historical, so I dug a little deeper and found the topic super interesting. Apparently, Raj Mutharasan, a bioengineer and alumnus of IIT Madras, gave a lecture about this. He said that based on DNA data, geneticist David Reich used mathematical models to trace when this kind of social division might have started, and they got the number 1,700 years. Now here’s what surprised me even more: This timeline kind of matches the period when the Manusmriti was written. Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not. But it definitely made me think. "How Does DNA Say All This?" Honestly, this was my first doubt. How does DNA even talk about history? So, it turns out, scientists study ancient DNA and trace changes in genetic mixing between communities over thousands of ...

Today was a different kind of day at college, one that made me pause, reflect, and learn. The Department of Social Work (Aided) at our college , in collaboration with the Indian Council of Social Science Research (ICSSR) and Ministry of Education, organized the Rashtriya Ekta (National Unity) Seminar and exhibition on tribal products.  The theme was:  “Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel’s Commitment to Social Justice and Tribal Rights – Revisiting His Contributions in Light of Vision Viksit Bharat 2047.” Sounds heavy? Maybe. But what I saw and learned was real, moving, and honestly, something I feel more people should know. Irular Tribe  One of the projects that stayed with me was about the Irular tribe in Tamil Nadu. Did you know that many Irular families still don’t have basic documents like Aadhaar cards, ration cards, or even community certificates? We all know that the rest of the world is facing different kinds of identity struggles, issues of gender, nationality,...

It’s been 2 days since I started working as an intern in my college, and today I met a new friend, a Tamil Sri Lankan girl. During a casual conversation, she mentioned a sport she enjoyed playing back in Sri Lanka called Elle (pronounced ˈelːeː, written as எல்லே in Tamil). I had never heard of it before, and that instantly sparked my curiosity. So later, I looked it up and started reading about it and honestly, I was surprised by how interesting it turned out to be. Elle is a traditional bat-and-ball game that’s been part of Sri Lankan culture for centuries. It’s somewhat similar to cricket or baseball, but with its own set of unique rules and style. Historically, Elle was played mostly in rural areas, especially during harvest seasons or village festivals, on open grounds or paddy fields. It was more than just a sport; it was a way for people to gather, celebrate, and strengthen their community ties. Men, women, and even children participated, and it became a part of the country’s cul...