Penamoli

  Mindful Musing… Missing my ‘Amma’ and ‘Maami’. If they were still here, they would still find every little chance to feed me, just like they always did. In our small village home, life was simple—but it was full. The house stood quietly under a zinc roof that sang loudly whenever the rain came. Its brick-and-wooden walls held the warmth of our laughter, our struggles, and the little moments that made everything meaningful. We were lucky too—to have a big house by village standards, with a beautiful compound around it. It wasn’t just built overnight… it was built inch by inch by my dad, with us beside him—his little helping hands, passing bricks, mixing cement and even helping with plastering walls and laying tiles. We felt so proud, being part of something that slowly became our home. That house wasn’t just a place we lived in; it was something we built together. At the heart of it all was my mother. I am proud of my Tamil heritage. Growing up, meals were never just about eating....

Through the eyes of my little T , he brings me both joy and peace. His cheeky smile can soothe the storms of the classroom, and on some days, he stirs a small hurricane of his own. With him, no day is ever the same. Teaching T has taught me as much as I teach him. I am still learning—learning how he sees the world, how he communicates, and how he finds his way through sound, movement, and connection . If T were to tell you his story in my classroom, if he could put his experiences into words the way he feels them, perhaps this is what he would say. This is How I Learn When I enter my classroom, everything feels big. Lights shine, chairs move, voices blend together. My eyes try hard to see, but they get tired sometimes. I look anyway. I want to know what is happening around me. I know each and every child in my class. I know their smiles, their favorite seats, even the way they hold their pencils. I love helping my teacher—giving out workbooks, arranging them neatly on the tables so ev...

The first day of the year always feels a little like standing at the edge of something infinite—an empty page waiting for ink, a road stretching ahead through unknown landscapes. Fireworks crackle in bursts nearby and far off, their sharp pops and fading echoes vibrating in the cold night air. The sparks cast fleeting shadows on the walls, shimmering across the furniture, as my husband and eldest son murmur and laugh softly, voices weaving a warm undercurrent through the quiet. Across the room, my little son sleeps, his slow breaths a gentle rhythm beneath the hush. The faint scent of winter—smoke curling from distant chimneys, pine lingering in the air—clings to the windowpane. I watch the flicker of light dance across the ceiling, letting it mingle with the sound and stillness, lingering on the space between what I assumed and what actually unfolded over the past years. At the start of those years, I believed time would be kind, slow, forgiving. I believed there would always be room ...

From my earliest volunteering experiences to becoming a fully qualified teacher, I have learnt that inclusion is not just a policy—it is a mindset, a practice and a commitment to seeing every child. Working with children like M. and A. has shown me that learning becomes meaningful when it is accessible, celebrated, and owned by the child. It is in the quiet, tender moments of connection that the true magic of education comes alive. In 2019, I started volunteering at a school, and in 2020, despite the disruptions caused by COVID-19, I continued my journey in the school environment, assisting at different schools and gaining broader experience in supporting children with diverse needs. By 2021, I became a teaching assistant, gaining first-hand experience in classrooms and learning how to connect with children in meaningful ways. Two children, in particular, left a lasting impression on me. I worked briefly with M. in Year 3, and then moved to Reception to support A., a child who initiall...

I still remember that day, almost like it happened yesterday. It was 2001 , and I had just started my career as a broadcast journalist a year earlier. Weekends were rare luxury, precious little pockets of freedom. One of those once-in-a-blue-moon weekends, I volunteered with a friend at an orphanage in Klang, Malaysia. I didn’t know what to expect—I just wanted to spend a few hours with the children. The place was simple, quiet, full of little sparks of curiosity. And then I met him—a little boy whose presence, gentle and steady, immediately pulled me in. I was wearing my freshwater pearl bracelet that day. I don’t know why, but when he reached out, touched the bracelet, and held my hand tightly, it felt like he was sending me a message without words. He looked like he was five years old—but I later learned he was actually 15 . That moment taught me how differently the world can be experienced, how age, appearance, or expectations don’t always match what a child can do or how they f...

Illustrated by Teynmoli Subramaniam using Canva AI To,  2Y, 2024–2025 with love. For the class who made every day an adventure— and taught me as much as I taught you. Go and grow, my wonders.  (First draft written in July, 2025) Deep in the heart of Fernwood Forest, under the rustling leaves and tall oak trees, a busy badger was putting the finishing touches on her colorful display board. Tiny starry lights twinkled softly, like little sparks in her dark, shiny eyes. She let out a happy sigh that curled through the warm underground air. After an hour of mounting the pictures and trimming the edges, she leaned back against the warm wall, stroking her fur—a mix of deep inky grey and soft silver white, like the sky at dusk. It swished softly under her paw as she moved like the hush of leaves on a still autumn night -warm and worn with wisdom. A rectangular pair of glasses perched on her nose—occasionally slipping to the tip - as she surveyed her glowing classroom burrow, a cosy...