Sacred Stones, Spaces, and Stories: Divya Desams Part 15

Thirusemponsaikoil Temple, Thirunangur, Tamil Nadu
Thirunangur in Tamil Nadu is home to eleven Divya Desams, each with its own mythology and emotional texture. These temples sit close to one another, bound by the same ancient story of Shiva’s grief and Vishnu’s balancing presence. Among these shrines stands Thirusemponsai Koil, dedicated to Perarulalan Perumal and Allimalar Nachiyar. This temple is known for the idea of divine gold, not material gold, but the golden quality of kindness, purity and renewal. The name Sempon means “pure gold,” signalling a place where devotees come to regain a sense of inner brightness. The temple is small and peaceful, settled within the quiet lanes of Thirunangur. Its calm atmosphere reflects the steady softness of the deity it houses.

The core mythology of the Thirunangur temples follows the same thread. After the death of Sati, Shiva was overwhelmed with sorrow and performed the fierce Rudra Tandava in this region. Each time his locks hit the ground, eleven forms of Shiva manifested. The intensity shook the land, and to balance this divine energy, Vishnu appeared in eleven forms, each one calming and stabilising the world. Thirusemponsai Koil is one of these eleven forms of Vishnu.

Local tradition says that this temple was created from gold donated by the gods themselves. The gods approached Vishnu seeking protection from disturbances caused by negative forces. Vishnu agreed and asked them to build a temple from golden materials as a sign of unity and devotion. Because of this, the place came to be known as Semponsei or the temple made of fine gold. While the physical temple today is granite, the “gold” represents sacred value, not wealth. The mythology emphasises inner renewal. Many believe that devotees who feel dulled, tired or emotionally drained regain brightness by praying here. The idea is not dramatic; it is gentle, like the slow restoration of colour after a long period of emotional fatigue. As with all Thirunangur temples, Thirumangai Alvar composed hymns praising this shrine. In his verses, he compares the deity’s grace to gold: steadfast, pure and unchanging. This poetic imagery shaped the temple’s identity and contributed to its Divya Desam status.

Though modest in scale, Thirusemponsai Koil carries deep historical roots. The Chola kings, who ruled much of the Tamil region, are believed to have supported the construction and upkeep of the temple. The structural style reflects early Chola influence, including a compact sanctum, simple granite base, and a clear, functional layout. Unlike large temples that received continuous royal patronage, the Thirunangur shrines were maintained mostly at the community level. Local families contributed land, lamps and offerings to ensure daily worship continued. Inscriptions related to nearby Thirunangur temples show donations of rice, ghee and land for conducting regular pujas. It is likely that Thirusemponsai Koil enjoyed similar support. During the Nayak period, the mandapam and outer walls were reinforced, adding stability to the structure without altering its essential simplicity. Today, the temple stands as part of a living heritage, preserved through devotion rather than grand architecture.

The temple follows the characteristic Thirunangur style: compact, practical and inviting. The entrance has a small gopuram that leads into a simple courtyard. Key architectural features include a short mandapam supported by granite pillars, basic carvings of lotus and yali motifs, stone floors that stay cool throughout the day, a tight circumambulatory path for a quick pradakshina, a small shrine for Thayar, and space for festival processions. The main deity is Perarulalan, meaning “the generously giving one.” He stands facing east, holding the conch and discus. The idol represents steady divine presence: calm, firm and protective. The golden association is metaphorical, and the deity embodies that concept through his name and posture. The goddess’s shrine is located near the sanctum. Allimalar Nachiyar represents gentle compassion. Her presence brings emotional balance to the temple, softening the protective stance of the main deity. The temple once had golden colouring on parts of its structure, according to local accounts. While the gold has long since faded, the idea remains alive through the stories and hymns. A small temple tank nearby is used during festival rituals. The water body adds an element of calm to the surroundings. The architectural simplicity keeps the focus on the deity rather than the structure.

Worship here is direct and unhurried. The daily rituals follow standard Vaishnavite procedure. The day starts with the Suprabhatam in the early morning, followed by the Thirumanjanam or abhishekam, then Alankaram with flowers, Neivedyam and last, the evening worship with lamps. Even during festivals, the temple maintains a sense of order and calm. Major festivals include the Thirunangur Garuda Sevai, Vaikunta Ekadasi, Brahmotsavam, Purattasi Saturdays, Sri Rama Navami, and Krishna Jayanthi. The most significant festival is the Garuda Sevai, when all eleven Vishnu deities from the Thirunangur temples are brought together on Garuda vahanams. This event draws thousands of devotees. Thirusemponsai Koil’s deity participates in this iconic gathering, and the recitation of Alvar hymns creates an atmosphere that is emotionally powerful. Because the temple is tied to gold and renewal, devotees often pray here for emotional recovery, stability after setbacks, strength during tiring phases of life, and inner brightness after prolonged stress. Offerings usually include butter lamps, tulsi garlands and small bags of rice. Worship is accessible and uncomplicated.

Reaching Thirusemponsai Koil is straightforward from Sirkazhi. The entire Thirunangur region feels like a spiritual neighbourhood: quiet lanes, fields, clusters of houses and a slow-moving rhythm. The temple blends into the village landscape. Its entrance is simple, and there are no long queues except during major festivals. Inside, the atmosphere is quiet. The sanctum is close to the doorway, giving an immediate sense of presence. The stone floors are cool, the air carries the scent of sandalwood paste, and the chanting from the sanctum is soft. Pilgrims usually visit all eleven Thirunangur temples in a circuit. Thirusemponsai Koil stands out because of its golden association. Many people say the temple feels subtly uplifting, like stepping into light after a dim few days. Tea stalls and small flower vendors near the temple provide basic support. There is almost no commercial activity, which keeps the mood natural and grounded. Thirusemponsai Koil holds an important place in the cultural memory of the region. The concept of “gold” in Tamil literature often symbolises purity, clarity and strength. This temple reinforces those ideas.

Thirumangai Alvar’s verse sits at the heart of the temple’s identity. His hymns describe Perarulalan’s grace as golden: clean, unwavering and full of promise. These verses are recited during festivals, household ceremonies and temple gatherings. The temple has become part of a cultural framework around emotional renewal. Elders encourage younger people to visit this temple when exhausted or after long struggles. The message is that the temple restores the “gold” within, the steady inner light that may have dimmed. For the people of Thirunangur, this temple is not just a shrine. It is part of the village’s identity. The stories of gold and divine presence shape local customs, advice and small rituals practised at home.

The temple continues to function with daily pujas and periodic renovation efforts. Though small, it remains steady and well-maintained. Recent improvements include repainting parts of the structure, strengthening the mandapam pillars, cleaning the temple tank, and repairing the outer wall. Social media and Divya Desam travel blogs have increased awareness of the Thirunangur temples. Younger devotees now visit more often, taking the opportunity to complete all eleven temples in one trip. Despite this growing visibility, the temple has preserved its calm atmosphere. Worship remains simple, honest and accessible. Its theme of emotional brightness and renewal resonates strongly in modern life, where many people feel drained or overwhelmed. Perarulalan Perumal’s identity as the “golden one” feels especially relevant—symbolising hope that returns even after difficult phases.

Thirusemponsai Koil stands as one of the gentler Divya Desams in Thirunangur. Its mythology connects Vishnu to the idea of gold: steady, pure and uplifting. The shrine’s small size creates a feeling of closeness, and the deity’s presence feels calm and reassuring. The temple’s connection with renewal makes it emotionally significant. Devotees come here not for grandeur, but for a sense of inner brightness returning. With its simple architecture, daily worship and deeply rooted traditions, Thirusemponsai Koil offers a quiet spiritual anchor within the Divya Desam network. Among the eleven temples born from Shiva’s grief and Vishnu’s balancing presence, Thirusemponsai Koil represents gentle recovery—the return of light, clarity and strength.

Thirumanimadakoil Temple, Thirunangur, Tamil Nadu
Thirunangur in Tamil Nadu is home to eleven small but powerful Divya Desams, each tied to the same ancient story of Shiva’s grief and Vishnu’s appearance in multiple forms. These temples sit close together, forming a compact spiritual landscape. Among them stands Thirumanimadakoil, dedicated to Narayanan Perumal and Pundarikavalli Thayar. This temple’s name carries the idea of a crystal tower where mani means gem or crystal, and madam means elevated structure or tower. Symbolically, it represents clarity, stillness and the ability to see things as they are. Thirumanimadakoil is known as a place where the mind settles, and where the fog of confusion begins to lift.

The Thirunangur temples all arise from one shared origin story. After the death of Sati, Shiva’s overwhelming grief triggered the fierce Rudra Tandava. With each thundering movement, eleven expansions of Shiva** emerged across this region. The earth trembled under this energy, and the gods prayed for relief. Responding to their plea, Vishnu appeared in eleven forms, each one calming one of Shiva’s manifestations. These eleven Vishnu forms became the eleven Divya Desams of Thirunangur.

For Thirumanimadakoil specifically, the legend says that Vishnu manifested here in a radiant, crystal-like form. The idea of the crystal tower is symbolic: clarity, transparency and lightness. Local tradition holds that whoever worships here gains mental clarity and emotional steadiness. Another small myth says that long ago, a devotee struggled with indecision and turbulent thoughts. Vishnu appeared to him in this place in a form that was clear and luminous, like a shining gem. The devotee’s confusion dissolved, and he understood the path he needed to take. This simple story shapes the temple’s emotional identity: a place where cluttered thoughts settle.

Thirumangai Alvar visited the temple and composed verses describing the deity as one of gem-like brilliance. He portrayed Vishnu as a steadying force: not dramatic, not overpowering, but quietly illuminating. His hymn anchors the temple in the Divya Desam tradition. Thirumanimadakoil, like the other Thirunangur shrines, carries traces of the Chola period. The structural design: compact sanctum, simple pillars, granite base, reflects early Chola architectural patterns common in rural shrines. The temple likely received support from local chiefs and landowners rather than major kings. Inscriptions found in neighbouring temples mention land donations, oil endowments for lamps and small grants for festivals. Although fewer inscriptions survive in this temple, it is assumed to have been part of the same devotional ecosystem. During the Nayak era, small renovations were made to reinforce walls, add mandapams and support pathways. These changes prioritised functionality rather than elaborate decoration. Across generations, families in Thirunangur maintained the temple through daily worship, festival traditions and oral storytelling. The temple has endured because of continuity, not scale.

Thirumanimadakoil is simple and compact, like most Thirunangur Divya Desams. The architectural style is minimal but purposeful. Key features include a small entrance gopuram, a short mandapam supported by granite pillars, unadorned stone floors, a compact sanctum where the deity resides, a circumambulatory path, and a separate shrine for Thayar. The temple’s simplicity reflects its symbolic meaning: clarity free from unnecessary ornamentation.

The main deity, Narayanan, stands facing east. The idol is serene, with a calm expression. The posture conveys stability and assurance without heaviness. The deity’s presence reflects the temple’s crystal clarity symbolism: quiet illumination rather than force. The goddess’s shrine stands near the sanctum. Her presence adds warmth, softening the temple’s cool tone. Devotees often pray to her for emotional steadiness, especially during times of transition. Though the physical temple is granite, ancient lore says the original vision of the temple appeared to sages like a tower made of shining crystal. This imagery remains central to the temple’s identity. A small temple tank nearby plays a role during ceremonial rituals, though it is not as prominent as in other temples. The architecture keeps the focus on the experience rather than the structure.

The temple follows a standard Vaishnavite worship pattern, with rituals performed in a calm and unhurried way. Daily pujas include Suprabhatam, Thirumanjanam, Alankaram with flowers, Neivedyam, and evening lamp worship. The chanting inside the temple carries softly, giving the shrine a contemplative mood. Major festivals here are the Thirunangur Garuda Sevai, Vaikunta Ekadasi, Brahmotsavam, Purattasi Saturdays, Krishna Jayanthi, and Rama Navami. The Garuda Sevai is the central attraction. All eleven Vishnu deities from the Thirunangur region are brought together on Garuda vahanams. Devotees follow the procession from temple to temple, reciting the Divya Prabandham. Thirumanimadakoil becomes part of this living tradition, and the festival keeps the temple strongly connected to the region’s cultural identity.

Because the temple is associated with mental clarity, devotees come here when they are facing difficult decisions, recovering from emotional confusion, entering new life stages, or seeking peace after prolonged stress. Worship remains straightforward: small lamps, fresh flowers and simple prayers. There is no sense of pressure or ritual complexity.

A visit to Thirumanimadakoil usually begins with a ride through the fields and narrow lanes around Thirunangur. The atmosphere is unhurried, with quiet stretches of farmland and clusters of village homes. The temple blends seamlessly into this landscape. There are no imposing structures or heavy crowds except during festival days. Inside, the temple feels peaceful. The sanctum is close to the entrance, giving the impression of an immediate connection to the deity. Pilgrims often sit in the mandapam after darshan to reflect or simply enjoy the stillness. The cool stone floors and gentle chant sounds create a grounding experience. Pilgrims visiting all eleven Thirunangur temples often say Thirumanimadakoil feels softer and mentally refreshing. It serves as a quiet pause in the middle of the circuit. There are few shops around, mostly flower stalls and small tea stands. The experience remains close to its rural roots.

Thirumanimadakoil occupies a clear place in the cultural heart of Thirunangur and Vaishnavite tradition. Thirumangai Alvar’s hymn is central to the temple’s cultural identity. He compares the deity’s clarity to a bright gem: simple, luminous and emotionally uplifting. Families in the region tell stories of devotees who regained clarity after praying here. Parents often bring their children before exams or important decisions, reinforcing the idea that the temple sharpens focus. During the annual festival, the entire region comes alive. Traditional musicians, reciters and villagers fill the area with songs from the Divya Prabandham. This event keeps the temple culturally vibrant and ensures that the stories continue across generations. The temple has shaped local cultural values around calm thinking and measured action. The idea of the “crystal tower” has become part of the emotional vocabulary of the region.

Today, the temple functions smoothly with daily pujas, festival routines and periodic renovations. Recent improvements include repainting sections of the structure, reinforcing the mandapam pillars, repairing the wall around the prakaram, and cleaning the tank during festival season. The temple retains a strong presence on the Divya Desam pilgrimage routes. Social media and travel blogs have drawn new visitors, especially younger devotees who want to complete all 108 temples. Despite this, Thirumanimadakoil remains simple and uncommercial. Worship is still intimate, without large crowds or elaborate structures. Its symbolic message of clarity and inner brightness feels especially relevant today, when many people seek spaces that quiet the mind.

Thirumanimadakoil stands as one of the gentler Divya Desams in Thirunangur. Its mythological roots tie it to Shiva’s grief and Vishnu’s balancing presence, but its emotional meaning is unique.It invites devotees to slow down, gather themselves and rediscover a sense of clarity. Narayanan Perumal’s presence feels steady, quiet and illuminating. The temple’s simple architecture, daily worship and cultural traditions reinforce its role as a spiritual pause point within the Divya Desam network. Among the eleven Thirunangur shrines, Thirumanimadakoil represents stillness, the moment when confusion fades and understanding becomes clear again.

In My Hands Today…

India that is Bharat: Coloniality, Civilisation, Constitution – J. Sai Deepak

India, That Is Bharat, the first book of a comprehensive trilogy, explores the influence of European ‘colonial consciousness’ (or ‘coloniality’), in particular its religious and racial roots, on Bharat as the successor state to the Indic civilisation and the origins of the Indian Constitution. It lays the foundation for its sequels by covering the period between the Age of Discovery, marked by Christopher Columbus’ expedition in 1492, and the reshaping of Bharat through a British-made constitution-the Government of India Act of 1919. This includes international developments leading to the founding of the League of Nations by Western powers that tangibly impacted this journey.

Further, this work also traces the origins of seemingly universal constructs such as ‘toleration’, ‘secularism’ and ‘humanism’ to Christian political theology. Their subsequent role in subverting the indigenous Indic consciousness through a secularised and universalised Reformation, that is, constitutionalism, is examined. It also puts forth the concept of Middle Eastern coloniality, which preceded its European variant and allies with it in the context of Bharat to advance their shared antipathy towards the Indic worldview. In order to liberate Bharat’s distinctive indigeneity, ‘decoloniality’ is presented as a civilisational imperative in the spheres of nature, religion, culture, history, education, language and, crucially, in the realm of constitutionalism.

Adulting 101: Interview Red Flags

Starting university, landing your first internship, or prepping for an entry-level job will make you think a lot about interviews. Yes, you need to prepare your answers, dress appropriately, and arrive on time. But what happens when you’re in the room and something feels off? If adulting is about making smarter moves, spotting trouble before it starts is critical.

What are interview red flags? Interview red flags are warning signs that something’s wrong with the job, the manager, or the company itself. Think of these as early signals: tiny clues that can mean disappointment, a toxic boss, or bad work culture down the line. Red flags can show up even before you sit down; sometimes, they’re hidden in how people treat you or what they say about the job or company. The biggest problem? Most people see something odd but ignore it, hoping things will improve. That’s risky.

The usual suspects: Common red flags
The list seems endless, but some warning signs recur frequently. Here’s what to look out for:

  1. First, watch for disorganised scheduling. Did the interview get moved three times? Did you wait ages in reception with no explanation? Did no one send a calendar invite or confirm the meeting time? If an employer can’t manage the basics, things may be even messier once you’re hired. A company that’s serious about filling a role treats you with respect and keeps its process clear.
  2. Second, check for questionable communication. Did the interviewer turn up late or seem to have no clue who you were? Did people dodge questions or give vague answers? When folks avoid discussing roles, work hours, or pay, that’s a red flag. If they’re hiding stuff now, it could be worse later.
  3. Third, pay close attention to bait-and-switch tactics. This is when the job described at first suddenly changes, or you’re shown an offer with weird clauses: a 2-year non-compete, broad duties, or responsibilities you said you wouldn’t handle. If what’s discussed at the interview doesn’t match what’s written in the offer letter or contract, step back and reconsider.
  4. Fourth, be wary of high turnover. If you ask how long people stay, and the answer is short, or if they’re always hiring for the same position, something’s wrong. Constant churn means people can’t wait to escape. You don’t want to join a sinking ship.
  5. Fifth, notice forced “family” vibes. When an interviewer keeps stressing, “We’re all family here,” or “Everyone wears many hats,” ask yourself, are they setting up unclear expectations? Sometimes this is code for poor boundaries, unpaid overtime, or covering for chaos. Don’t assume friendliness equals safety; sometimes it’s a way of hiding problems.
  6. One more: dodgy contracts or requirements. If you get handed documents with requirements that seem extreme, like broad non-compete or exclusive work agreements, walk away. If you sign, you could be trapped in ways you won’t see until it’s too late.

Red flags from the interviewer’s behaviour

Focus on the interviewer. They’re giving away more than they realise. If they interrupt you, dominate the conversation, or never ask about your interests, it tells you how they lead. If someone regularly talks over you or fails to listen, they probably aren’t kind or collaborative once you’re on the team.

How do they talk about past employees? “Our last hire didn’t make it.” Or, “We’ve had some loyalty issues.” The blame game means trouble. People who criticise former staff are likely the real problem.

Do they answer your questions, or dodge them to sell a dream? When you ask about team culture or work-life balance, listen for clear, honest answers. If they seem uncomfortable, stall, or sound rehearsed, that might mean the environment is rough and they know it.

Are they transparent about the role? If answers change halfway through or they contradict themselves, something’s off. Maybe they don’t know the job well, or worse, they’re hiding a real problem and hoping you won’t see it.

Company and culture red flags

Beyond one bad boss, the company’s bigger picture matters. If you go to the office and the vibe is tense, people look unhappy, or no one welcomes you, don’t ignore that feeling. A toxic work environment can ruin your enthusiasm and health. If there’s a lack of diversity or inclusion, notice it. All-male, all-female, or all-one-background teams may hint at narrow-minded hiring or workplace bias.

Ask about development, promotions, or how feedback works. Vague answers about growth or lack of a clear process signal you might get stuck doing the same thing for years. Companies that value employees invest in them. If they don’t, it’s a waste of your energy and time.

If they mention wild parties, “work hard, play hard,” or expect long hours with little say, check yourself. Is this the culture for you, or just a setup for burnout? Not all youthful, energetic workplaces are safe; they can be breeding grounds for unpaid overtime and little reward.

The “too good to be true” offer
Sometimes, you get dazzled with perks: high salary, crazy benefits, fancy office, and smooth promises. Step back. What aren’t they telling you? If things seem perfect but details are hidden, the real problems may only show up after you sign the contract. What matters is transparency. If someone offers loads of money but can’t define your job responsibilities, explain career growth, or stick to their word, ask yourself why. Companies desperate to fill roles will promise anything. Your first job shouldn’t be a gamble. Find out the truth before you start.

What to do when you spot red flags

  • It’s easy to freeze when you see a red flag. Fear of missing out or being too picky gets in your head. But ignoring warning signs rarely pays off. Here’s what you should do:
  • Stop and reflect. Don’t say yes on the spot. Go home and sleep on it. Gut feelings exist for a reason. If something felt wrong, trust that.
  • Ask follow-up questions. Push for clarity. “Can I get that offer in writing?” Or, “Can you walk me through a typical day?” If the answers stay vague or sentiments shift, you’ve got your answer.
  • Research the company. Look up reviews on public boards, talk to current or former employees, and check if their reputation matches their pitch. Don’t just trust the words said in the room.
  • Never rush. If a company pressures you to accept an offer right now, walk away. Pressure-filled offers rarely end well. Good places want you to make informed choices.
  • If you spot sketchy contract clauses, take them to a trusted mentor or professional before signing. You can always decline an offer if the terms are bad. Saying “no” is better than fighting legal battles later.
  • If the company gets angry when you ask for more information, step back. A good employer welcomes questions.
  • Finally, remind yourself: not all jobs are worth it. Walking away is an option. It won’t ruin your career. If anything, it opens space for something better.

When is a red flag not a dealbreaker? Not every red flag means you should run. People make mistakes; sometimes an interviewer forgets your name or stumbles over a question. That’s not sinister. Small hiccups, bad days, or nerves don’t indict the whole company. If a company delays interviews but communicates well and apologises, maybe they’re just busy. If someone’s late once but explains transparently, it might not be a pattern. The key is seeing if issues repeat or grow worse when you push for clarity.

And not every weird vibe is a disaster. Some high-performing companies are chaotic but give you room to grow. Judge by patterns, not one-off moments. But don’t rationalise big problems. If the job changes on paper, if terms are dodgy, or if the people seem toxic, don’t convince yourself you can fix things. Trust your judgment.

Challenge your logic and avoid false optimism. It’s tempting to focus on the positives and ignore the warnings. You want your first job, you need money, and you might get blinded by hope. But optimism, unchecked, makes you easy to fool. Challenge yourself: Are you ignoring issues because of desperation? Are you excusing bad behaviour because of salary or title? Write down the reasons you want the job, along with the warnings you’ve noticed. See which side carries more weight. Spotting red flags is a skill. It takes practice and courage. The more you train your mind to see both the good and the bad, the better off you’ll be.

Alternative perspectives: Should you ever take a risk? Sometimes, you have few options: bills must be paid, you need work experience, or you’ve been job hunting for months. If you have to take a role with red flags, set a clear exit plan. Know what you want to get from the job (skills, experience, connections), and be ready to move when things get ugly.

Protect your time and energy. Give yourself permission to leave if promises are broken. And never sign contracts that feel unsafe. But don’t forget, every choice teaches you something. Even if a job turns out terrible, you can learn what fields, cultures, or practices aren’t for you. But challenge yourself not to repeat old mistakes.

Why does this matter? Adulting is about making smart choices, even when they’re uncomfortable. It’s about setting boundaries, trusting your instincts, asking the awkward questions, and knowing when to walk away. Spotting interview red flags may mean you lose a job offer, but it protects your sanity and future. Don’t let fear drive your decisions. Stay honest, ask the hard questions, and value your time. Every career move is a chance to get closer to what you truly want, not just run from what you fear. And above all: trust yourself.

In My Hands Today…

Supremacy: AI, ChatGPT, and the Race that Will Change the World – Parmy Olson

In November of 2022, a webpage was posted online with a simple text box. It was an AI chatbot called ChatGPT, and was unlike any app people had used before. It was more human than a customer service agent, more convenient than a Google search. Behind the scenes, battles for control and prestige between the world’s two leading AI firms, OpenAI and DeepMind, who now steers Google’s AI efforts, has remained elusive – until now.

In Supremacy, Olson, tech writer at Bloomberg, tells the astonishing story of the battle between these two AI firms, their struggles to use their tech for good, and the hazardous direction they could go as they serve two tech monopolies whose power is unprecedented in history. The story focuses on the continuing rivalry of two key CEOs at the center of it all, who cultivated a religion around their mission to build god-like super intelligent machines: Sam Altman, CEO of OpenAI, and Demis Hassabis, the CEO of DeepMind.

Supremacy sharply alerts readers to the real threat of artificial intelligence that its top creators are ignoring: the profit-driven spread of flawed and biased technology into industries, education, media and more. With exclusive access to a network of high-ranking sources, Parmy Olson uses her 13 years of experience covering technology to bring to light the exploitation of the greatest invention in human history, and how it will impact us all.

Short Story: The Indigo Window

The window was painted indigo long before she moved into the apartment. It was not a fashionable indigo, not the soft blue that appears in catalogues under names like “twilight” or “coastal dusk.” This was a deeper, more stubborn colour, the kind that absorbed light rather than reflected it. In the mornings, it looked almost black. In the evenings, when the sun lowered itself carefully over the harbour, it turned rich and bruised, like a thought held too long.

She had never repainted it. Some things, she believed, arrived already complete.

She was sixty-two years old, never married, and had lived in this port city all her life. The city itself was a place of arrivals and departures, ships docking at odd hours, planes cutting through the sky with unbothered regularity, and trains groaning in and out of the station nearby. It was always on the move, even when she was not.

From her window, she could see all three. If she leaned slightly to the left, she caught the harbour. Container ships lined up like floating cities, their lights blinking patiently at night. To the right, beyond a strip of warehouses and a tangle of roads, the railway tracks stretched out, shining faintly under streetlights. And above everything, planes rose and fell, their engines a steady, distant roar, like the city breathing in its sleep.

Every evening, after work, she came to this window.

She did not sit immediately. First, she washed her hands. Then she changed out of her clothes, folding them carefully, smoothing the fabric as though it might remember her kindness. She made tea, always the same kind, strong and unadorned. Only then did she pull the chair closer to the window and settle herself in.

She had been doing this for years. Long enough that it had become less a habit and more a private ceremony.

Work had never been unkind to her. It was predictable, orderly, and filled with lists and schedules and people who knew her as reliable. She arrived on time, left on time, and did her job without fuss. There were younger colleagues now, full of plans and restlessness, and she liked listening to them, even when their words reminded her of things she had not done.

“You should travel,” one of them had said recently, over lunch. “You’d love it.”

She had smiled, the way she always did, politely and without explanation. Some truths were too layered to unwrap in a casual conversation.

She had not always known she wanted to travel. Or perhaps she had known and not allowed herself to think of it as wanting. Desire, she learned early, could be postponed indefinitely if you were disciplined enough.

Her parents had needed her. First one, then the other. A mother whose health had declined quietly, as if apologising for the inconvenience. A father who had relied on her competence more than he ever admitted. There were hospital visits, forms to fill, medicines to remember, and small domestic crises that required her steady presence. She did not resent it. Not exactly. It felt natural, inevitable, as though this was simply the role she had been assigned.

When they were gone, when the house grew quieter than she expected, she was already in her late forties. The world had shifted by then. People spoke of second marriages, late-in-life adventures, and reinvention. She watched it from a careful distance, unsure of where she fit in.

It wasn’t that she had never been asked. There had been moments, small intersections of possibility. A colleague who lingered a little too long. A neighbour who brought extra fruit and stayed to talk. But each time, she felt a faint, tightening hesitation. Not fear, exactly. More like the awareness of how deeply her life had already set around her, like concrete cured over decades.

By the time she admitted to herself that she might want something different, something wider, she decided it was probably too late.

And yet, every night, the window disagreed.

The ships moved with slow confidence. They carried names she sometimes looked up, tracing their routes across oceans she had never seen. Rotterdam. Valparaíso. Busan. The words alone felt like passports.

The trains were more familiar. She knew their schedules and the way they announced themselves with a particular metallic sigh. They went inland, through towns she had passed through once or twice, always with a reason to return. Watching them leave gave her a strange, steady comfort. Departure, she realised, did not always require explanation.

The planes were the most difficult. They rose so easily. She would watch them lift into the darkening sky and feel something loosen in her chest, a gentle ache she did not try to suppress. Somewhere inside her, a younger self leaned forward every time, hopeful and unreasonable.

Sometimes she imagined herself aboard one of them. Not in any specific seat, not yet. Just present. Unburdened. Anonymous in the best possible way.

She did not imagine lovers waiting for her at distant airports, or dramatic transformations. Her fantasies were quieter. Walking unfamiliar streets. Sitting in cafés where no one knew her routines. Waking up somewhere and needing a moment to remember where she was.

There was a particular ship she watched often, a blue-hulled vessel that seemed to come and go on a predictable cycle. She began to think of it as an acquaintance. When it was absent, she noticed. When it returned, she felt a small, private satisfaction.

“You go everywhere,” she once murmured, half-teasing, half-envious.

The window, for its part, remained indigo and impassive. It did not offer reassurance. It simply held space.

On weekends, she sometimes took longer to sit there. She would linger over her tea, watch the light change, let herself drift into memory. Not regret, exactly. Memory without accusation.

She remembered the first time she realised she might not marry. It was not a dramatic revelation. Just a quiet understanding, arriving late one night as she washed dishes in the family kitchen. The thought had not frightened her then. It had felt practical. Sensible.

Life, she had believed, was something you managed.

Now, watching the world pass her window, she wondered when she had confused management with living.

The city itself had changed around her. New terminals, expanded runways, renovated stations. Everything had grown more efficient, more connected. She had stayed still long enough to watch it happen, like a fixed point in a moving map.

One evening, as rain streaked the glass and blurred the lights beyond, she did something small and unexpected. She turned away from the window before she was ready.

Instead, she opened her laptop.

She did not know exactly what she was looking for. She typed the name of a city she had once overheard on a train announcement, just to see what would appear. Images loaded slowly. Streets. Buildings. A coastline that looked nothing like hers.

Her heart beat faster than she expected.

She closed the laptop almost immediately, unsettled by her own reaction. Desire, when uncontained, could still surprise her.

That night, she slept poorly. The sounds of planes overhead seemed louder, closer, as though they were calling her attention to something she could no longer ignore.

The next evening, she returned to the window as usual. But the ritual felt altered. The indigo frame seemed less like a boundary and more like an invitation.

She began to notice details she had overlooked. How often the ships changed. How the trains did not all go in the same direction. How the planes never hesitated.

“What if,” she thought, and then stopped herself. The question felt dangerous.

But it did not go away.

Over the following weeks, she allowed herself small acts of rebellion. Reading travel essays during lunch. Watching documentaries set in places she had never considered before. Learning how other people navigated the world after sixty, after seventy.

She was surprised by how many of them existed.

One Sunday afternoon, she cleaned out a cupboard and found an old suitcase. It smelled faintly of dust and something floral she could not place. She opened it and laughed softly. It was perfectly serviceable. Waiting, perhaps, longer than she had.

That evening, at the window, she felt a shift. The ache was still there, but it had sharpened into something clearer. Not longing. Intention.

She did not want to imagine anymore. She wanted to go.

The fear came later, predictably. What if she hated it? What if she felt foolish, out of place, and too old to begin? What if she returned unchanged and disappointed?

But another thought followed, quieter and more insistent.

What if she didn’t?

The booking happened on an ordinary Tuesday. No dramatic music, no sudden courage. She came home, washed her hands, and made tea. Sat at the window for a while, watching a familiar ship ease out of the harbour.

Then she opened her laptop and did not close it.

She chose a place that felt manageable. Not too far, not too close. Somewhere she could walk, observe, and blend in. She did not tell anyone yet. This was hers.

When the confirmation email arrived, she stared at it longer than necessary. Her name looked strange there, attached to dates and destinations.

Passenger,” it said.

She laughed then, a small, disbelieving sound. Passenger. As though she had always been one.

That night, the window felt different. The indigo frame no longer held her still. It marked the edge of a chapter, closing gently.

She watched the planes rise with something like kinship now. The trains no longer felt like missed opportunities. The ships seemed to nod in quiet approval.

She would still return here, she knew. This was home. But home, she realised, did not have to be a reason to stay.

As she turned off the light and prepared for bed, she paused once more at the window. The city hummed, unremarkable and miraculous all at once.

“Alright,” she said softly, to no one in particular. “I’m coming.”

The indigo window held the night, and for the first time, it did not feel like a frame at all. It felt like a threshold.