In My Hands Today…

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Story of a Murder: The Wives, the Mistress, and Dr. Crippen – Hallie Rubenhold

This is the story of a murder, not a murderer . . .

In Story of a Murder, bestselling author of The Five and celebrated historian Hallie Rubenhold reexamines the events leading up to the infamous Crippen murder from the perspectives of the three women at the center of it all.

When Belle Elmore’s remains were discovered in the basement of London’s 39 Hilldrop Crescent in July 1910, the larger-than-life vaudevillian performer was launched into stardom she never achieved on the stage.

Story of a Murder provides an intricately plotted, intimate look into the lives of three multifaceted women living during a time of electric progress and stifling Crippen’s first wife, Charlotte, who died under mysterious circumstances; his mistress, Ethel, who claimed ignorance of his crime even as she escaped with Crippen disguised as his son; and Belle, the woman whose life Crippen took.

Throughout the twentieth century, the infamous Crippen murder was told in such a way as to cast doubt on Crippen’s guilt and to victim-blame his wife Cora for her own murder. It also astonishingly depicted Crippen’s younger mistress, Ethel, as innocent of any involvement in the killing of her love rival.

But new evidence unearthed by Rubenhold completely subverts this famous history, unravelling assumptions about the crime and deconstructing Edwardian beliefs about women, class aspiration, and the transatlantic world, ultimately proving that Charlotte, Belle, and Ethel were so much more than the passive victims history has portrayed them as.

Recipes: Chikkad Chole

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I had come across Chikkad Chole in a few reels and videos and had been intrigued by it enough that I wanted to try it. Also known as Chikkar Chole, Chikkad Chole is a traditional Punjabi chickpea curry beloved across the India-Pakistan border, with deep historical roots and cultural significance.

Chikkad Chole’s history is intertwined with Punjabi and Lahori culinary traditions. The name “chikkad” or “chikar” refers to the dish’s thick, mud-like consistency, achieved by mashing the chickpeas during cooking. It’s believed that the use of chickpeas, native to the Indian subcontinent and the Middle East, spread through ancient trade routes and became a staple in North Indian cuisine. Over centuries, chickpeas were adopted into Mughal kitchens, where the combination of spices and slow-cooking techniques developed into rich gravies that define today’s Chole recipes.

Many culinary legends suggest chole recipes gained prominence during the Mughal era, especially as royal cooks experimented with locally available pulses and spices. As communities moved due to the partition of India in 1947, food traditions like Chikkad Chole also migrated and became popular in cities like Delhi and Lahore, bringing comfort to families amidst upheaval. Famous eateries and individuals, such as Peshori Lal Lamba of Kwality Restaurant or street vendors in Paharganj, Delhi, played pivotal roles in popularising variations of Chole across urban India after the partition.

Chikkad Chole is more than just a dish; it’s a symbol of Punjabi hospitality and celebration. It’s a staple during festivals, gatherings, and community events, often enjoyed alongside bhature, naan, or rice. The tangy, spicy flavours, achieved with amchur, anardana, cardamom, and black salt, reflect the agricultural richness and multicultural influences of the Punjab region.

In Lahore, Chikar Cholay is cherished as a popular street food, with vendors serving thick, aromatic chickpea curry on bustling corners. Culinary techniques, such as adding black tea and dried amla, have become characteristic of the region’s style, giving the curry its unique colour and depth of flavour.

While the dish’s core ingredients remain chickpeas and spice blends, every household and city has its nuanced twist, from the amount of mashing to the combination of souring agents. The addition of anardana (pomegranate powder) and amchur (dried mango powder) is a relatively modern adaptation, providing the requisite tang available in today’s kitchens. With changing times, the recipe continues to evolve, adapting to personal preferences and regional ingredients while maintaining its legacy of bold taste and comforting texture.

Chikkad Chole

Ingredients:

  • 1.5 cups dried chickpeas (white kabuli or black chana), soaked overnight
  • 2 tea bags (for colour, optional)
  • 4 pieces dried Indian gooseberry (amla), optional
  • Salt to taste
  • 2 medium onions, finely chopped
  • 3 medium tomatoes, pureed
  • 2 medium-sized potatoes, peeled
  • 1-2 green chillies, slit
  • 1 inch ginger, cut into julienne plus extra for garnish
  • Oil for frying
  • ¼ tsp garam masala (optional, for garnish)

For the Chikkad Chole Masala

  • 1 black cardamom
  • 3 cloves
  • 1-inch cinnamon stick
  • ¼ tsp ajwain (carom seeds)
  • 1 tsp cumin powder
  • 1 tbsp coriander powder
  • ½ tsp red chilli powder
  • ¼ tsp black pepper powder
  • 1 tsp kasuri methi (dried fenugreek leaves)
  • 1 tsp amchur (dry mango powder)
  • 1 tsp anardana (pomegranate powder; optional, skip if avoiding)
  • 1 tsp kala namak (black salt)

Method:

  • For the masala, dry roast the spices until aromatic, then cool and grind into a fine powder.
  • Soak chickpeas overnight in plenty of water.
  • Drain and transfer to a pressure cooker. Add tea bags (for deep colour), potatoes and dried amla (if using) with water and salt.
  • Pressure cook until soft (usually 15-20 minutes, or 4-5 whistles).
  • In a heavy-bottomed pan, heat oil and sauté onions until golden brown.
  • Add julienned ginger and green chillies. Sauté for a minute.
  • Add pureed tomatoes and cook until the oil separates and the tomatoes are fully cooked.
  • Add the prepared Chikkad Chole masala blend and sauté for 2-3 minutes until fragrant.
  • Once the pressure reduces, drain the boiled chickpeas, reserve the water, and take about 3-4 tbsp of the cooked chole into a blender along with the boiled potatoes and blend into a smooth paste.
  • Add the paste into the pan and stir well.
  • Once it comes to a boil, add the cooked chickpeas, and mix everything together.
  • Add salt to taste and pour in some of the reserved water to achieve a thick consistency.
  • Simmer on low heat for 20-30 minutes, mashing some chickpeas to make the gravy thick.
  • Add garam masala and kasuri methi and mix before serving.
  • Add more ginger julienne and chopped coriander leaves before serving.
  • Serve piping hot with bhature, kulcha, naan, or rice for an authentic experience.

Notes:

  • Pomegranate powder (anardana) adds a distinct tang. If omitting, increase the dry mango powder slightly for tartness, or use just amchur instead.
  • The black tea bags and dried amla are for colour only, not essential for flavour.
  • For an even thicker, richer gravy, mash some chickpeas directly in the pan as the curry simmers.

2026 Week 17 Update

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Today’s quote from the German-born theoretical physicist best known for developing the theory of relativity and for his equation E = mc², Albert Einstein, reframes how we think about mistakes. Instead of seeing them as failures, Einstein presents them as evidence of effort, curiosity, and growth. If you’re never making mistakes, it likely means you’re staying within what is familiar and safe, repeating what you already know, rather than stretching into something new. Trying anything new comes with uncertainty. Whether it’s learning a skill, changing direction, or taking a risk, mistakes are part of the process. They are not signs that something has gone wrong, but signs that something is being attempted. In that sense, mistakes are not the opposite of success; they are often the pathway to it.

The quote also challenges perfectionism. Many people hold back because they want to get things right the first time. But this desire to avoid mistakes can quietly limit growth. When we accept that errors are inevitable, we become more willing to experiment, explore, and push boundaries. Progress becomes less about avoiding failure and more about learning from it. There’s also a deeper confidence embedded in this idea. When you’re not afraid of making mistakes, you free yourself to engage fully with life. You stop hesitating at every step and start trusting that you can handle whatever comes next, including setbacks.

Today’s verse from the Bhagavad Gita acknowledges reality. The mind is restless. That is not a weakness. That is human. But it gives two tools: practice and detachment. Practice is repetition. Showing up again. Returning again. Detachment is loosening the grip. Not clinging to outcomes. Not over-identifying with thoughts. Together, they create steadiness. The month does not end in intensity; it ends in maturity. Not to fix the mind, but to train it patiently.

I recently read this and thought I should share it with you all. This is something I struggle with, and if it helps someone, I would be happy. Don’t hold yourself back when you’re stepping into a new experience. Even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll move forward with valuable lessons. You won’t have any regrets, knowing you showed up wholeheartedly and gave it your all. Life is about choosing growth and stepping beyond what feels comfortable. Every new experience strengthens your spirit. Take that chance, embracing the thought that no matter what happens, you can always rise again.

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We’re staring at the end of another month of the year. April has felt like a month lived slightly underwater, not heavily or overwhelmingly, but in that quiet, slowed-down rhythm where everything takes a little more effort than usual. The days have moved, and responsibilities have been met, but there has also been a constant undercurrent of tiredness, a kind of sleepiness that doesn’t quite lift. And yet, life hasn’t paused. BB and GG have slipped back into their own routines: busy, independent, and moving forward in their own worlds, while I’ve continued in mine. There’s a quiet shift here, one that feels both natural and slightly bittersweet, watching our lives run in parallel more than they overlap. At the same time, April has also carried that familiar sense of time speeding up. The first quarter is already behind us, the second is quietly unfolding, and days are folding into weeks before they’ve fully registered. There have been small pockets of progress, moments of clarity, and the steady, unglamorous work of simply keeping things going. Not dramatic, but real.

Beyond our personal spaces, the world has continued in its usual, complex way. There have been moments that call for attention, like the ongoing Middle East conflict, uncertainty, and the human cost that sits behind headlines, alongside quieter signs of resilience and everyday continuity. Life everywhere seems to be holding both at once: difficulty and endurance, disruption and routine.

Perhaps that has been the underlying theme of April: a coexistence of things. Tiredness and movement. Distance and connection. Noise and quiet persistence. It hasn’t been a month of sharp highs or clear turning points but one of gentle transitions and ongoing adjustment. And maybe that’s its own kind of significance, the reminder that not every phase needs to be defined by momentum. Sometimes, simply moving through, even slowly, is enough.

Here’s looking forward to a better May, a chance to step into the month with a little more energy, a little more clarity, and perhaps a steadier rhythm than before. The hope of lighter days, renewed focus, and the space to move forward with a bit more ease. Happy May, everyone!

Sacred Stones, Spaces, and Stories: Divya Desams Part 38

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Thiruthangal Temple, Thiruthangal, Tamil Nadu
Thiruthangal, located near Sivakasi in Tamil Nadu, is one of those Divya Desams where the story is not about movement but about choosing to remain. The presiding deity here is Ninra Narayana Perumal, and the goddess is Sengamalavalli Thayar. The name itself reflects the central image. Ninra means “standing,” and this is the Lord who stands, not in passing, but with intention. The temple sits on a small hill, and that elevation adds a quiet sense of separation from the everyday world below. Yet the feeling is not of distance. It is of steadiness.

The mythology of Thiruthangal is connected with a gentle but telling story involving the goddess. According to tradition, Lakshmi and Bhudevi once sought to determine who held a more significant place beside Vishnu. What began as a comparison grew into a moment of tension, not out of anger, but out of the desire to be seen. Lakshmi chose this place to perform penance, seeking clarity and affirmation. Vishnu appeared before her here and resolved the tension, not through argument, but through presence. Because the goddess stayed here and the Lord stood with her, the place came to be known as Thiruthangal. The story does not end in conflict. It settles into understanding.

Inside the sanctum, this sense of resolution becomes visible. Ninra Narayana Perumal stands in a composed posture, holding the conch and discus, calm and unhurried. The standing form carries a certain clarity. It does not suggest movement or rest, but readiness that has already found its place. Sengamalavalli Thayar’s shrine adds warmth to the space, grounding the stillness of the Lord with compassion. Together, they create an atmosphere that feels balanced.

The temple’s location on a hill shapes the experience quietly. The climb is not long, but it is enough to slow the body and shift the mind. By the time you reach the top, the rhythm has changed. The surroundings open up, and the space feels less crowded, even when there are other visitors. The hill does not isolate the temple. It gives it a clearer presence.

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Historically, Thiruthangal reflects the continuity of temple culture in southern Tamil Nadu, with roots that extend through the Pandya period and later contributions from local patrons. The structure has been maintained across centuries, not through large expansions, but through steady care. This continuity is visible in the layout and in the ongoing practice of worship. The temple has remained active, carrying its story forward without interruption.

Architecturally, the temple follows the Dravidian style, with a gopuram marking the entrance and prakarams guiding the movement inward. The scale is modest compared to some larger temples, but the proportions feel balanced. The sanctum remains the focal point, drawing attention to the standing form of the Lord. The surrounding structures support the experience without distraction. The hill itself becomes part of the architecture, shaping how the temple is approached and understood.

The daily rituals follow the Vaishnavite tradition, with regular pujas conducted throughout the day. Festivals such as Vaikunta Ekadasi and Brahmotsavam bring larger gatherings, but the temple does not lose its steady tone. The standing form of the deity continues to anchor the space, even during moments of activity.

For pilgrims, the experience of Thiruthangal often comes with a sense of quiet clarity. After visiting temples associated with action, movement, or transformation, arriving here introduces a different emphasis. The Lord does not act. He stands. That posture begins to carry meaning. It suggests that some things do not need to be changed or moved. They need to be held in place.

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Culturally, the temple holds its place within the Divya Desam tradition through the hymns of the Alvars, who recognised its significance. Over time, it has come to represent themes of balance, resolution, and steadiness. Devotees come here not only with requests but with the need for clarity. The temple does not provide answers in obvious ways. It offers a space where things settle.

In modern times, Thiruthangal continues to function as an active place of worship, maintained through regular rituals and community care. It remains part of a living tradition, drawing pilgrims who seek both devotion and quiet reflection.

Thiruthangal ultimately represents the strength of staying. Ninra Narayana Perumal does not move through the world here. He stands within it. In the larger Divya Desam journey, this temple offers a simple but steady insight. Not every moment calls for action. Some call for presence.

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Thirukkoodal Temple, Madurai, Tamil Nadu
Madurai is a city that rarely pauses. It moves through history, ritual, and everyday life all at once, and in the middle of that movement stands Thirukkoodal, the temple of Koodal Azhagar Perumal, with Madhuravalli Thayar as the goddess. The name Koodal itself suggests coming together, a meeting point, a place where things gather. That meaning fits the temple well. It sits within a city known for convergence, where people, traditions, and rhythms overlap, and yet inside the temple, the experience becomes more focused, more contained.

The mythology of Thirukkoodal is not built around a single dramatic episode. Instead, it is shaped by presence across different states. The most striking aspect of the temple is that the Lord is worshipped in three distinct forms within the same space. In the sanctum, Koodal Azhagar stands in a composed posture, holding the conch and discus. Above, in another tier, he is seen seated, and in yet another, he reclines. These are not separate temples. They are layers within one structure. The arrangement itself becomes the message. The divine is not limited to one state. It stands, sits, and rests, all within the same presence.

This idea carries a quiet significance. In many temples, one encounters a single form and builds meaning around it. Here, the experience is expanded. The Lord is not fixed. He moves across states without losing identity. For the devotee, this creates a different kind of engagement. You do not see the divine in one moment. You see it as continuity across different conditions.

Inside the temple, this layered presence shapes the experience. The standing form of Koodal Azhagar holds the immediate attention. It feels grounded and direct. The seated and reclining forms above introduce a shift, inviting the mind to move beyond what is seen first. Madhuravalli Thayar’s shrine adds warmth to the space, grounding the experience in grace. Together, they create an atmosphere that feels complete, not because it is large, but because it holds multiple states at once.

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Historically, Thirukkoodal has been an important temple in Madurai, with roots that extend through the Pandya period and later contributions from other dynasties. The temple has stood through centuries of change in the city, maintaining its identity even as the surroundings evolved. It is not as widely known as the Meenakshi Amman Temple nearby, but it holds its own place within the sacred geography of Madurai.

Architecturally, the temple reflects the Dravidian style, with a gopuram marking the entrance and prakarams guiding movement inward. The most distinctive feature is the vertical arrangement of the three forms of the deity. This structure creates a sense of movement within the temple without requiring physical distance. The experience shifts as one looks upward, moving from one state to another.

The daily rituals follow the Vaishnavite tradition, with regular pujas conducted throughout the day. Festivals such as Vaikunta Ekadasi and Brahmotsavam bring larger gatherings, but the temple does not lose its inward focus. Even during these times, the layered presence of the deity remains the central experience.

For pilgrims, Thirukkoodal often feels like a pause within the larger movement of Madurai. After navigating the busy streets and the intensity of the city, stepping into the temple creates a shift. The mind begins to settle, not into stillness alone, but into a recognition of different states coexisting.

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Culturally, the temple holds its place within the Divya Desam tradition through the hymns of the Alvars, who recognised its significance. Over time, it has come to represent a broader idea. Life itself does not remain in one state. It moves through action, rest and reflection. Thirukkoodal reflects that movement without separating it into different spaces.

In modern times, the temple continues to function as an active place of worship, drawing devotees from within the city and beyond. It remains part of a living tradition, even as it stands alongside larger and more prominent temples.

Thirukkoodal ultimately represents presence across change. Koodal Azhagar Perumal does not remain in one posture. He stands, sits, and rests, all within the same space. In the larger Divya Desam journey, this temple offers a simple but steady insight. The divine is not limited to one state, and neither are we.

In My Hands Today…

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The Last American Road Trip: A Memoir – Sarah Kendzior

It is one thing to study the fall of democracy, another to have it hit your homeland — and yet another to raise children as it happens. The Last American Road Trip is one family’s journey to the most beautiful, fascinating, and bizarre places in the US during one of its most tumultuous eras. As Kendzior works as a journalist chronicling political turmoil, she becomes determined that her young children see America before it’s too late. So Kendzior, her husband, and the kids hit the road — again and again.

Starting from Missouri, the family drives across America in every direction as cataclysmic events – the rise of autocracy, political and technological chaos, and the pandemic – reshape American life. They explore Route 66, national parks, historical sites, and Americana icons as Kendzior contemplates love for country in a broken heartland. Together, the family watches the landscape of the United States – physical, environmental, social, political -transform through the car window.

Part memoir, part political history, The Last American Road Trip is one mother’s promise to her children that their country will be there for them in the future – even though at times she struggles to believe it herself.