Recipes: Iru Puli Kuzambu

Belonging to the family of kuzambus, Iru Puli Kuzambu is what results from sambar and mor kozambu marrying and having a baby! I heard about this kozambu in the WhatsApp group of the retirement community my parents live in, and everyone was raving about this dish. I was intrigued and decided to find out more.

This is one of those deeply comforting dishes that manages to be both rustic and complex. It’s a beautiful example of heritage Tamil Brahmin cuisine, particularly from the Iyer households of the Thanjavur and Tirunelveli regions. The name “Iru Puli” literally means “two kinds of sourness,” traditionally referring to the combination of tamarind, or puli, and buttermilk, or mor, which are used in the same dish. That’s what makes it unique: it layers tanginess in a way that’s both subtle and rounded.

Iru Puli Kuzambu is considered a heritage recipe, often cooked on special occasions or when families want to use up leftover buttermilk without waste, a very Tamil way of resourcefulness. Many households in the Cauvery delta region, especially in Kumbakonam, Mayavaram, and Tirunelveli, still make this dish exactly as their grandmothers did, without onions, as part of the pathiya samayal or satvik style.

I made it slightly differently because I only had baby onions or sambar onions and white pumpkin at home. You can use any vegetable you use for a sambar, but if you want to go traditional, then don’t use onions or garlic in this recipe.

Iru Puli Kuzhambu

Ingredients:

  • 3 cups peeled and cubed vegetables
  • Lemon-sized ball of tamarind, soaked in warm water for 20-30 minutes
  • ½ cup yoghurt, beaten well
  • ½ tsp turmeric powder
  • Salt to taste
  • ¼ cup fresh grated coconut
  • 4-5 dried red chillies (adjust according to the chilli’s heat and your spice tolerance)
  • ¼ tsp fenugreek or methi seeds
  • ½ tsp raw rice, soaked in water for 20-30 minutes
  • ½ tsp mustard seeds
  • 5-6 curry leaves
  • ⅛ tsp asafoetida
  • Oil as required

Method:

  • Extract the water from the tamarind pulp and keep it aside.
  • Whisk the yoghurt and add some water to thin it, and keep it aside.
  • Drain the water from the rice and keep it aside.
  • In a small pan, add 1 tsp of oil, and once the oil warms up, add the fenugreek seeds and then the red chillies. Let them sauté for a few seconds until the fenugreek seeds turn golden brown. Keep aside.
  • Add this to a mixer along with the drained rice and coconut and grind into a fine paste. Add water as needed.
  • In the same pan, add 2 tsp oil and add the mustard seeds and let them sputter. Then add the curry leaves and let them crisp a bit.
  • Now add the vegetables you plan to use. Sauté for a few seconds, then add the turmeric powder and asafoetida, and continue to sauté.
  • Add 1 cup of water and salt, and let the vegetables cook until they are 50% done.
  • Now add the tamarind water and cook for an additional five minutes, until the raw smell of the tamarind has dissipated.
  • Now add the ground paste, mix well, and add more water if the kuzhambu is thick.
  • Let this come to a rolling boil and cook for another 3-5 minutes.
  • Lower the flame and add the whisked yoghurt. While adding in the yoghurt, make sure you are continuously stirring the kuzhambu.
  • As the kuzambu comes to a boil, let it boil for a minute and switch off the flame.
  • Serve with rice and any curry of your choice.

Note: The key to this dish is balance. Too much tamarind and the yoghurt flavour disappears; too much yoghurt and it becomes mor kuzhambu. The ideal ratio is about 2:1 tamarind to buttermilk.

2026 Week 35 Update

Today’s quote, often attributed to Abraham Lincoln, the 14th President of the United States of America, and who led the country through the American Civil War, is a witty reminder that sometimes silence is wiser than speaking simply for the sake of being heard. We often feel compelled to have an opinion about everything. Silence can make us uncomfortable, particularly when everyone around us seems confident about what they think. Yet speaking without enough knowledge or understanding can reveal far more than saying nothing at all. The quote encourages us to listen, observe, and think before contributing to a conversation.

There is also an important distinction between silence and ignorance. Choosing not to speak doesn’t necessarily mean we have nothing worthwhile to say. Sometimes it demonstrates self-awareness: recognising when we don’t know enough, when emotions are running high, or when our words would add little value. Asking questions and listening can often teach us far more than rushing to demonstrate what we know. The idea feels particularly relevant today, when social media makes it possible to respond instantly to almost anything. We are encouraged to react before we have had time to understand. Yet not every opinion needs to be expressed, every argument entered, or every provocation answered. There can be enormous strength in knowing when to remain silent. Ultimately, the quote isn’t telling us to be afraid of speaking. It is encouraging discernment. Words have greater value when they come from thought, understanding, and intention rather than impulse.

This week felt like one of those strange spaces between finishing and beginning. There was satisfaction in looking at something substantial and realising that, after weeks of decisions, revisions and seemingly endless little details, it was finally organised enough to close the folder, metaphorically and almost literally. There is something deeply satisfying about bringing order to what was once scattered.

But clearing one space inevitably makes room for another. Alongside the practical work came thoughts about the future: money, security, creativity, and how to build a life that isn’t overly dependent on any single path. These weren’t anxious thoughts so much as exploratory ones. What else could I create? What could I build now that might quietly support me later? The answers aren’t there yet, but perhaps asking the questions is the beginning.

There was learning too, including the slightly uncomfortable kind where you attempt something unfamiliar, stare at the screen wondering why absolutely nothing happened, try again, accidentally do something you don’t understand, and eventually discover that you have, in fact, made it work. Sometimes progress looks remarkably like confusion until you turn around and see what you’ve learnt.

And threaded through everything were the smaller things: thinking about family, planning meals, photographs worth stopping for, everyday decisions, and the continuing process of making systems work better rather than simply adding more to life. Perhaps that’s what this week was really about: editing. Finishing what no longer needs attention. Organising what remains. Learning something new. Looking at what comes next. Not a dramatic reinvention. Just quietly creating a little more room for the person, and the life that is still unfolding.

Today’s verse is 18.78 from the Bhagavad Gita. The final verse of the Gita serves as a fitting conclusion to this month’s journey. Notice that victory does not arise from strength alone. It comes from the union of wisdom and action. Krishna represents insight. Arjuna represents effort. One without the other is incomplete. Many people spend their lives gathering knowledge without acting on it. Others rush into action without reflection. The Gita teaches that lasting success emerges when understanding and effort work together. This verse is ultimately hopeful. It reminds us that we do not need to be fearless before we begin. We do not need perfect certainty before we act. We simply need the courage to move forward with wisdom as our guide. When clarity and action walk together, progress becomes inevitable.

Earlier this week, BB earned his first pay cheque. It is not a lot, but the first step toward financial independence. It’s hard trying to toe the line between giving them their independence and making sure they don’t spend all the money without saving the bulk of it because right now, other than personal expenses, they don’t have any other expenses.

This week, I learned that radical acceptance is the key to finding peace right where you are. But strong emotions often become major obstacles to cultivating that acceptance. We may have intense emotional reactions to other people’s actions, or to situations that feel unfair or unfavorable. The practice is to engage with these moments in ways that reduce our struggle and suffering. Instead of obsessing over catastrophic thoughts or insisting that “this shouldn’t be happening,” gently guide your mind in a more positive direction. What you need is a willingness to be at peace with whatever is unfolding. A big part of nurturing that openness is trusting that everything is ultimately happening for your highest good, even if it’s not apparent right now.

That’s all I have this week! Stay safe, stay positive and keep smiling!

In My Hands Today…

Girl on Girl: How Pop Culture Turned a Generation of Women Against Themselves – Sophie Gilbert

When did feminism lose its way? This question feels increasingly urgent in a moment of reactionary cultural and legislative backlash, when widespread uncertainty about the movement’s power, focus, and currency threatens decades of progress.

Sophie Gilbert, a staff writer at The Atlantic and finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in criticism, provides one answer, identifying an inflection point in the late 1990s and early 2000s when the energy of third-wave and “riot girl” feminism collapsed into a regressive period of hyper-objectification, sexualization, and infantilization. Gilbert mines the darker side of nostalgia, training her keen analytic eye on the most revealing cultural objects of the era, across music, film, television, fashion, tabloid journalism, and more. And what she recounts is harrowing, from the unattainable aesthetic of Victoria’s Secret ads and explicit music videos to a burgeoning internet culture vicious towards women in the spotlight and damaging for those who weren’t. Gilbert tracks many of the period’s dominant themes back to the explosion of internet porn, tracing its widespread influence as it began to pervade our collective consciousness.

Gilbert paints a devastating picture of an era when a distinctly American confluence of excess, materialism, and power-worship collided with the culture’s reactionary, puritanical, and chauvinistic currents. Amid a collective reconsideration of the way women are treated in public, Girl on Girl is a blistering indictment of the matrix of misogyny that undergirded the cultural production of the early twenty-first century, and how it continues to shape our world today.

Sacred Stones, Spaces, and Stories: Divya Desams Part 21

Thirukkoyilur Temple, Thirukoilure, Tamil Nadu
Thirukkoyilur, located along the banks of the South Pennar River in Tamil Nadu, is one of the most historically and spiritually significant Divya Desams. The presiding deity here is Trivikrama Perumal, with Poongothai Thayar as the goddess. What makes this temple distinct is not only its connection to the Vamana avatar but also its deep link to the birth of Tamil Vaishnavite devotion. It was here, in this town, that the first three Alvars met for the first time. Their meeting was not planned, and yet it changed the direction of devotional history.

The mythology of the temple begins with the story of Vamana and Mahabali. When the asura king Mahabali grew powerful and generous, Vishnu appeared before him in the form of a small Brahmin boy and asked for three steps of land. Mahabali agreed, and in that moment, Vishnu expanded into the vast form of Trivikrama. With one step, he covered the earth, with the second, he spanned the heavens, and for the third, Mahabali offered his own head. The story is familiar, but in Thirukkoyilur, the form of Trivikrama carries a particular emphasis. One foot stands grounded, the other raised high, reminding devotees that humility can transform into boundless expansion. The form suggests that the divine can fill all directions at once, without losing composure.

Yet the temple’s emotional centre lies in another story altogether. On a stormy night, Poigai Alvar sought shelter in a small mandapam in Thirukkoyilur. Soon after, Bhoothath Alvar joined him, and the two adjusted themselves in the tight space. When Pey Alvar arrived, the three stood pressed together in darkness, making room for one another. As lightning flashed, they sensed a fourth presence among them. The space, though small, suddenly felt filled. They realised Vishnu Himself had entered, standing so close that there was no room left for anything else. Each Alvar responded by composing a hymn, lighting what they described as lamps of wisdom, love and vision. That night, devotion found its poetic voice. What began as shelter from rain became the beginning of the Divya Prabandham.

Because of these layered stories, Thirukkoyilur occupies a unique place in Tamil Vaishnavism. It is not only a temple of myth but a temple of literary birth. The meeting of the three Alvars established a devotional tradition that would grow across centuries. Their hymns shaped the spiritual vocabulary of the region and laid the foundation for later saints and scholars. In this sense, Thirukkoyilur represents both expansion and beginning. The cosmic stride of Trivikrama and the intimate gathering of the Alvars reflect two scales of divine presence: vast and immediate.

Historically, the temple reflects its importance. The structure likely dates back to the Pallava period, with significant expansions during the Chola era. The Cholas strengthened the granite foundations, expanded the prakarams and supported ritual practice through land grants and donations. Later rulers, including the Pandyas and Nayaks, added mandapams and reinforced the complex. Unlike smaller rural shrines, Thirukkoyilur carries architectural weight that matches its devotional significance. The tall gopuram rises clearly above the town, and the inner corridors create a sense of movement and continuity.

Inside the temple, the form of Trivikrama immediately draws attention. The raised leg is striking, but the expression remains calm. The energy is expansive, yet controlled. The idol communicates power without aggression. Nearby, Poongothai Thayar’s shrine offers balance. Her presence softens the intensity of the cosmic form, bringing warmth to the space. There is also a shrine dedicated to the three Alvars, reminding visitors that this temple belongs as much to poetry as to mythology.

Worship at Thirukkoyilur follows traditional Vaishnavite practice, with daily rituals carried out in a steady rhythm. The temple becomes especially alive during Brahmotsavam, Vaikunta Ekadasi and Vamana Jayanti. However, the festival honouring the first three Alvars carries particular emotional resonance. During this celebration, their hymns are recited in the very place where they once stood pressed together in the dark. The recitation does not feel ceremonial alone; it feels like a continuation of something that never truly stopped.

The pilgrimage experience reflects this layered identity. Approaching the temple, the tall gopuram announces its presence from a distance. The streets are lined with small shops and traditional houses, giving the town an older rhythm. Once inside, the prakarams feel spacious and steady. The raised foot of Trivikrama draws the eye upward, while the Alvar mandapam invites quiet reflection. Standing in that small space where three saints once gathered, one begins to understand the deeper message. Revelation does not always require vastness. Sometimes it begins in cramped, uncomfortable spaces where people choose to stand together.

Culturally, Thirukkoyilur stands as a bridge between epic mythology and Tamil bhakti. It connects the Vamana story from the broader Indian tradition with the intimate poetry of the Alvars. The temple reminds devotees that devotion is both personal and communal. The Trivikrama legend teaches humility and surrender, while the Alvar story teaches closeness and shared faith. Together, these narratives shape a temple that speaks to both expansion and intimacy.

In modern times, Thirukkoyilur continues to draw pilgrims, scholars and devotees. Renovations have strengthened the structure, improved lighting and maintained the prakarams without altering the temple’s core identity. It remains a place where one can feel both the weight of history and the immediacy of presence. The lessons embedded here remain relevant. The ego can be dissolved. Small spaces can hold vast truths. Devotion can begin unexpectedly.

Thirukkoyilur ultimately represents the moment when space was filled by divine presence, by poetry and by shared devotion. Trivikrama’s raised foot reminds us that the divine reaches beyond boundaries, while the story of the three Alvars reminds us that when hearts gather sincerely, there is no empty space left. In the larger Divya Desam journey, this temple stands as a place of beginnings, expansion and the quiet birth of something enduring.

Thirukkachi – Atthigiri Temple, Kanchipuram, Tamil Nadu
Thirukkachi, better known as the Varadaraja Perumal Temple at Atthigiri in Kanchipuram, is one of the most revered Divya Desams in Tamil Nadu. Kanchipuram itself is an ancient temple town, layered with centuries of philosophy, debate and devotion, and within it Atthigiri stands with quiet authority. The presiding deity is Varadaraja Perumal, and the goddess is Perundevi Thayar. The name Atthigiri comes from “Athi,” meaning fig tree, and “giri,” meaning hill. According to tradition, the original idol of the Lord emerged from beneath a sacred fig tree on a small hill, giving the temple both its name and its character. Even today, the sense of elevation remains, not dramatic, but steady and grounding.

The mythology of Thirukkachi begins with Brahma. It is believed that Brahma once performed an Ashwamedha Yagna here to worship Vishnu and seek divine grace. However, Indra grew anxious about losing his own position and tried to disrupt the ritual. Vishnu intervened, protected the sacrifice and appeared as Varadaraja, meaning “the King who grants boons.” The story is not about rivalry as much as it is about reassurance. When devotion is sincere, the divine stands firm. That message has stayed with the temple across centuries.

There is another legend closely tied to this shrine, one that deepens its emotional weight. The temple is associated with Ramanuja, the great philosopher who shaped Sri Vaishnavism. It is said that Ramanuja sought clarity here on key theological questions. Varadaraja Perumal is believed to have responded through his devotee Thirukkachi Nambi, who served the Lord daily. The answers given to Ramanuja here shaped major principles of Vishishtadvaita philosophy. Because of this, Thirukkachi is not only a place of worship but also a place of intellectual and spiritual turning points. The Lord here is seen as one who clarifies doubt rather than creating mystery.

Historically, the temple reflects layers of patronage from Pallava, Chola and Vijayanagara rulers. The Pallavas likely laid the early foundations, but it was the Cholas who expanded the structure and formalised ritual practices. Later, the Vijayanagara kings added the towering gopurams and expansive mandapams that define the temple’s current scale. Walking through the temple complex, you can see this progression. Granite pillars, carved corridors and high walls speak of centuries of continuity. Yet despite its size, the temple does not feel overwhelming. It feels ordered. Balanced. Structured in a way that encourages both movement and pause.

Architecturally, Atthigiri stands apart from many other Divya Desams because of its scale. The massive eastern gopuram rises prominently above Kanchipuram’s skyline, and the hundred-pillared hall reflects the intricate artistry of the Vijayanagara period. Each pillar carries carvings of warriors, dancers and mythological scenes, but none distract from the central focus of the sanctum. Inside, Varadaraja Perumal stands facing west, an unusual orientation that adds to the temple’s uniqueness. His posture is regal but approachable. There is strength in the stance, but also gentleness in the expression. Perundevi Thayar’s shrine lies nearby, radiating warmth and emotional steadiness. Devotees often visit her first before approaching the main sanctum, a quiet acknowledgement that compassion prepares the heart for clarity.

One of the most distinctive aspects of this temple is the legend of the Athi Varadar idol. According to tradition, the original wooden idol carved from the sacred fig tree is kept submerged in the temple tank and brought out for public worship once every forty years. When this happens, millions gather. The atmosphere becomes electric, yet deeply reverent. The rarity of the event reinforces a powerful idea: some forms of grace reveal themselves only occasionally, but they are never absent. Even when unseen, they remain present beneath the surface.

Daily worship at Thirukkachi follows the Vaishnavite tradition, with rituals performed at regular intervals. The rhythm of the temple day carries its own calm assurance. Suprabhatam, alankaram, neivedyam and evening aradhanai unfold without haste. Festivals such as Brahmotsavam and Vaikunta Ekadasi draw large crowds, but the temple’s vast courtyards absorb them without chaos. During Garuda Sevai, Varadaraja Perumal is taken out in procession, and the sight of the deity moving through the temple streets creates a sense of shared devotion that stretches across generations.

The pilgrimage experience here is layered. Entering through the tall gopuram, you pass through expansive corridors before reaching the sanctum. The journey inward mirrors the internal process many devotees describe — moving from noise to stillness, from distraction to clarity. The temple tank, Anantha Saras, lies nearby, adding reflection to the physical space. The climb up the small hill within the complex reminds you of the temple’s origin story. Even in a vast structure, the memory of the fig tree and the small rise of earth remains central.

Culturally, Thirukkachi holds enormous significance. It stands at the intersection of devotion and philosophy. The connection to Ramanuja ensures that the temple remains central to Sri Vaishnavite identity. The responses given here, believed to have shaped theological understanding, continue to influence discourse even today. Beyond philosophy, the temple also lives in music, literature and community practice. Devotees speak of Varadaraja as a Lord who listens. That perception shapes the way people approach him, not with fear, but with trust.

In modern times, Thirukkachi remains active and well-maintained. Restoration efforts preserve ancient carvings while ensuring structural safety. The temple continues to attract pilgrims not only from Tamil Nadu but from across India and abroad. Despite increased footfall, the sanctum retains a sense of calm. The scale of the complex allows for personal space even during busy days.

Ultimately, Thirukkachi at Atthigiri represents clarity. Varadaraja Perumal is not a distant figure. He is a presence that steadies and answers. The mythology of Brahma’s yagna, the philosophy of Ramanuja and the legend of Athi Varadar all converge here into one message: devotion aligned with sincerity invites response. In the larger Divya Desam journey, this temple stands as a place where doubt is met with explanation and where seeking becomes understanding. It reminds you that elevation does not require height alone; sometimes it begins under a fig tree, in a small rise of earth, with a quiet answer given to a sincere question.

In My Hands Today…

Misbehaving: The Making of Behavioral Economics – Richard H. Thaler

Traditional economics assumes rational actors. Early in his research, Thaler realized these Spock-like automatons were nothing like real people. Whether buying a clock radio, selling basketball tickets, or applying for a mortgage, we all succumb to biases and make decisions that deviate from the standards of rationality assumed by economists. In other words, we misbehave. More importantly, our misbehavior has serious consequences. Dismissed at first by economists as an amusing sideshow, the study of human miscalculations and their effects on markets now drives efforts to make better decisions in our lives, our businesses, and our governments.

Coupling recent discoveries in human psychology with a practical understanding of incentives and market behavior, Thaler enlightens readers about how to make smarter decisions in an increasingly mystifying world. He reveals how behavioral economic analysis opens up new ways to look at everything from household finance to assigning faculty offices in a new building, to TV game shows, the NFL draft, and businesses like Uber.

Laced with antic stories of Thaler’s spirited battles with the bastions of traditional economic thinking, Misbehaving is a singular look into profound human foibles. When economics meets psychology, the implications for individuals, managers, and policy makers are both profound and entertaining.