Category Archives: Musing

Sacred Stones, Spaces, and Stories: Divya Desams – Part 29

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Thiruvallur Temple, Thiruvallur, Tamil Nadu
Thiruvallur, located not far from Chennai, is one of the most well-known Divya Desams in northern Tamil Nadu, and yet it carries a quietness that stays with you long after you leave. The presiding deity here is Veera Raghava Perumal, and the goddess is Kanakavalli Thayar. The temple is also known as Thiru Evvul, a name that comes from a simple but meaningful question. When a sage once asked the Lord, “Evvul?” or “Where shall you stay?”, Vishnu chose to remain here. That act of choosing to stay, of not moving on, shapes the identity of this temple. It is not built around a moment of action. It is built around presence.

The central legend of Thiruvallur begins with a sage named Salihotra. According to tradition, he lived a life of discipline and simplicity, offering food daily to anyone who came seeking it. One day, an old man arrived at his hermitage, tired and hungry. The sage offered him food, and the old man ate everything that was served. When he asked for more, the sage gave whatever he had left without hesitation. After the meal, the old man asked for a place to rest. The sage agreed, and the guest lay down, placing his head on the sage’s lap. It was only then that the truth was revealed. The old man was Vishnu himself, testing the depth of the sage’s generosity. When the sage asked where the Lord would stay, the answer came not in words but in action. The Lord remained there, reclining in the same posture, and the place came to be known as Thiru Evvul, the place where the Lord chose to stay.

That story shapes the way the deity is seen in this temple. Veera Raghava Perumal is in a reclining posture, resting on Adisesha, but unlike many reclining forms of Vishnu that convey cosmic rest, this form feels closer to human experience. The Lord lies as one who has come as a guest and stayed as a presence. There is something deeply accessible about this image. It does not distance the devotee. It invites them closer. Kanakavalli Thayar’s shrine adds warmth to the space, grounding the experience in compassion. Devotees often move between the two shrines with a sense of familiarity, as though the temple allows for a more personal kind of prayer.

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Another important layer of Thiruvallur’s identity is its association with healing. The temple tank, known as Hridaya Pushkarini, is believed to have curative properties, especially for ailments connected with the heart. The connection between the heart and this temple feels appropriate. The central story is about generosity, trust and the ability to give without calculation. It is about the kind of openness that allows the divine to enter quietly. In that sense, healing here is not only physical. It is also emotional. The temple speaks to those who feel burdened, tired or uncertain, offering a space where one can rest without being asked to explain everything.

Historically, Thiruvallur has been an active and important temple for centuries. The structure carries the imprint of Chola and later Vijayanagara patronage, with inscriptions that point to sustained support for rituals, festivals and temple maintenance. Unlike smaller shrines that remained largely local, Thiruvallur grew into a significant pilgrimage site over time. Its location close to Chennai also contributed to its continued relevance. Yet even with that visibility, the temple has retained a sense of inwardness. It does not feel like a place that has been shaped by crowds. It still feels like a place shaped by a story.

Architecturally, the temple follows the familiar Dravidian style, with a tall gopuram marking the entrance and prakarams guiding the movement inward. The corridors are wide enough to hold festival processions, and the mandapams reflect later additions that expanded the temple’s capacity without altering its core identity. The sanctum, however, remains the emotional centre. The reclining form of Veera Raghava Perumal draws the eye immediately, and the stillness of that image shapes the entire experience. There is no rush here. Even the architecture seems to support a slower pace.

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The daily rituals follow the Vaishnavite tradition, with multiple pujas performed throughout the day. The temple becomes especially active during Brahmotsavam, Vaikunta Ekadasi and other major festivals, when the deity is taken out in procession, and the town itself becomes part of the temple’s rhythm. Yet even during these times, the image of the reclining Lord anchors the space. The sense of rest remains intact.

For pilgrims, the experience of Thiruvallur is often shaped by contrast. Coming from busier temples or crowded urban spaces, the act of standing before a deity who is simply resting creates a shift. There is no dramatic gesture to interpret, no intense narrative to hold onto in that moment. Instead, there is quiet. The story of the sage and the guest begins to settle in the mind. One starts to think about what it means to give without knowing who is receiving, to offer without expecting return, and to trust that such acts are seen even when they seem small.

Culturally, Thiruvallur holds a strong place within the Divya Desam tradition through the hymns of the Alvars, who recognised the presence of the Lord here and preserved its memory in the Divya Prabandham. Over time, the temple also became known as a place where prayers for health, especially heart-related concerns, are offered with faith. Families return here across generations, carrying stories of recovery, relief and quiet reassurance. These layers of belief do not feel imposed. They grow naturally out of the temple’s central theme of care and presence.

In modern times, Thiruvallur continues to function as a living temple with steady footfall from both local devotees and pilgrims following the Divya Desam circuit. Renovations and maintenance have preserved the structure, but the core atmosphere remains unchanged. The temple still feels like a place where one can sit, stand or simply remain without urgency.

Thiruvallur ultimately represents rest as a form of grace. Veera Raghava Perumal does not arrive here in motion or in battle. He arrives, stays and rests. The story of Salihotra reminds us that generosity does not always announce itself, but it creates space for the divine to enter. In the larger Divya Desam journey, this temple adds a quiet but important truth. Not every sacred moment is about action. Some are about staying, listening and allowing presence to do its work.

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Thiruvallikeni Temple, Chennai, Tamil Nadu
In Chennai, where the city moves fast, and the coastline carries its own rhythm, Thiruvallikeni feels like a place that has learned to hold both movement and stillness together. The presiding deity here is Parthasarathy Perumal, Krishna in his role as the charioteer of Arjuna, with Vedavalli Thayar as the goddess. The name Thiruvallikeni comes from alli, referring to lily or lotus, and keni, meaning pond, pointing to the temple tank that once held blooming lilies. Over time, the place came to be known as Triplicane, but the older name still holds the temple’s original mood. It reminds you that this was once a quieter landscape, shaped by water, reflection and steady devotion, long before it became part of a dense city.

What makes this temple distinct is the form of Krishna that it preserves. Parthasarathy is not the playful child of Vrindavan or the philosophical teacher of the Bhagavad Gita in isolation. Here, he stands as the charioteer in the middle of conflict, guiding Arjuna through confusion, doubt and moral tension. The temple holds onto that moment from the Mahabharata where Krishna chooses not to fight, but to guide. Even the idol reflects the lived reality. The face of the deity bears marks said to represent the wounds Krishna took during the war, and he is depicted with a moustache, an uncommon feature that gives the form a more grounded, almost human presence. This is not a distant or idealised figure. This is Krishna who stood in the dust of the battlefield and chose to remain.

The mythology of the temple is closely tied to this role. It is believed that the temple was established by King Sumati, who wished to see Krishna in his Parthasarathy form. The Lord granted that wish, appearing not as the all-powerful deity who resolves everything instantly, but as the one who stays beside the devotee and guides them through complexity. That distinction matters. The temple does not promise escape from life’s conflicts. It reflects the presence that helps you move through them with clarity.

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Inside the temple, this idea takes physical form. Parthasarathy Perumal stands in the sanctum with his family, including Rukmini, Balarama, Satyaki, Pradyumna and Aniruddha. The presence of the extended family adds another layer to the temple’s identity. It is not only about the individual devotee and the Lord. It is about relationships, responsibilities and the interconnected nature of life. The sanctum does not isolate Krishna as a solitary figure. It places him within a wider context, just as the Mahabharata places him within the complexity of human ties.

Historically, Thiruvallikeni is one of the oldest temples in Chennai, with roots that go back to the Pallava period. Later, Chola and Vijayanagara rulers expanded and maintained the temple, ensuring that it remained an active centre of worship. Over centuries, as Chennai grew around it, the temple adapted without losing its identity. Today it stands in the middle of a busy neighbourhood, surrounded by narrow streets, shops and constant movement, and yet once inside, the atmosphere shifts. The temple holds its own space within the city.

Architecturally, the temple follows the traditional Dravidian style, with a prominent gopuram marking the entrance and multiple prakarams leading inward. The temple tank, known as Kairavini Pushkarini, lies beside the complex and continues to be an important part of ritual life. The corridors carry the sound of chanting, and the mandapams reflect the additions made over centuries. Yet the focus remains on the sanctum, where the form of Parthasarathy draws attention not through ornament but through presence.

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The daily rituals here follow the Vaishnavite tradition, but they unfold within the rhythm of a living city. Morning prayers begin before the streets outside fully awaken, and by evening, the temple fills with devotees returning after a day’s work. Festivals such as Brahmotsavam, Vaikunta Ekadasi and the float festival bring large gatherings, with processions moving through the surrounding streets. During these times, the boundary between temple and city becomes thinner. The deity moves through the neighbourhood, and the neighbourhood responds in return.

The pilgrimage experience at Thiruvallikeni is shaped by this closeness to everyday life. You do not approach the temple through long stretches of quiet landscape. You arrive through traffic, shops and noise, and then step into a space that holds something older and steadier. That contrast is part of the experience. It reflects the role of Parthasarathy himself. Krishna did not stand apart from life. He stood within it, guiding from the center rather than from a distance.

Culturally, Thiruvallikeni has a strong place in the Divya Desam tradition, with hymns by the Alvars, especially Thirumangai Alvar, praising the deity here. Over time, the temple has also become deeply woven into the identity of Chennai itself. For many, it is not just a pilgrimage site but a familiar presence, part of the rhythm of daily life. The temple’s festivals, rituals and sounds have shaped the neighbourhood for generations.

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In modern times, Thiruvallikeni continues to function as both a major temple and a lived space within the city. It receives a steady flow of devotees, from those following the Divya Desam circuit to those who come as part of their everyday routine. Renovations and maintenance have kept the structure intact, but the essential character of the temple remains unchanged. It still feels grounded, present and close to the lives around it.

Thiruvallikeni ultimately represents the divine in the middle of life, not outside it. Parthasarathy Perumal stands not as a distant figure offering easy answers, but as the guide who stays beside you when things are unclear. In the larger Divya Desam journey, this temple brings the message of companionship. It reminds you that guidance does not always remove conflict. Sometimes it simply helps you face it with steadiness.

Social Media: Yaay or Nay in the Age of Endless Scrolling

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Social media usually begins with a very small promise.

“I’ll just check for a minute.”

A minute sounds harmless. Yet anyone who has opened a social media app knows how elastic that minute can become. You open a platform to reply to a message or check an update. A video appears. Then another. Then another. Before long, half an hour has slipped past without much awareness of where it went.

Social media has become so woven into daily life that it no longer feels like technology. It feels like background infrastructure. It sits beside our morning coffee, accompanies us on train rides, and often becomes the last thing we see before sleep.

You can see this most clearly in public spaces. A train carriage full of people travelling together, yet each person is looking down at a small glowing screen. Occasionally, someone smiles at something on their phone or frowns at a comment, reacting to a world invisible to everyone else in the carriage. The physical journey continues, but everyone is briefly somewhere else.

For some people, spending twelve to fifteen hours across different platforms is not an exaggeration but a typical day. Teenagers, working adults, parents at home, retirees; the pattern cuts across age and occupation.

So the question arises again and again. Is social media a yaay or a nay?

The answer rarely sits comfortably on either side. Social media can feel beneficial and exhausting within the same afternoon. It can expand our view of the world while quietly shrinking our attention. It can connect people across continents and yet leave individuals feeling oddly dissatisfied. Perhaps the real question is not whether social media itself is good or bad. The more interesting question is what it does to the habits of our minds and the rhythm of our days. Because the cost of social media is rarely measured in hours alone. It is measured in patterns.

Social media is not one thing
Discussions about social media often become unproductive because people treat it as a single entity. In reality, it performs several different roles at the same time. First, it is a communication tool. It allows people to exchange messages instantly, share photographs, and maintain contact with friends and family who live thousands of kilometres away. Second, it is an attention marketplace. Most platforms are free to use because attention itself has become the product. The longer users remain on the platform, the more advertisements they see and the more data is generated about their interests. Third, it functions as a mirror. Reactions in the form of likes, views, comments, and shares subtly shape how people present themselves and how they interpret their own lives.

When people argue that social media is simply a neutral tool, they usually focus only on the first role. That interpretation feels reassuring because it suggests that everything depends on personal discipline. But the marketplace and the mirror complicate matters. Markets are designed to hold attention, and mirrors inevitably change how we stand in front of them.

This is why two individuals can use the same platform and come away with completely different experiences. One person may discover new ideas, creative inspiration, and meaningful communities. Another may feel distracted, dissatisfied, and strangely tired. The platform remains the same. The internal experience does not.

Which raises a more interesting question: if the platform itself has not changed, why do some people leave it feeling energised while others leave it feeling strangely depleted?

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The genuine “yaay”
Before criticising social media, it is worth recognising what it has genuinely improved. One clear benefit is connection. Families and friendships today often stretch across different countries and time zones. Social media allows daily life to travel across those distances. A photograph of a meal, a short video from a celebration, a quick update about work or school. Individually, these moments seem small, yet together they keep relationships alive.

Another benefit is access to knowledge. Cooking tutorials, photography tips, language lessons, book discussions, and professional advice. While the internet certainly contains unreliable information, it has also created unprecedented access to learning. There is also the possibility of creative expression. In previous decades, many people needed publishers, editors, or institutions to share their work. Today, an individual can write, photograph, film, design, or teach directly online.

Perhaps most interesting of all is the ability to see lives different from our own. Social media exposes people to cultures, experiences, professions, and perspectives that might otherwise remain invisible. A single feed can contain a scientist explaining a concept, a chef demonstrating a recipe, a traveller documenting a city, an artist sharing a sketch, and an ordinary individual reflecting on daily life. At its best, social media expands the visible world. Yet benefits alone rarely tell the full story of any technology.

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The tension behind the screen
The difficulty appears when we examine how social media platforms are designed. These platforms are not simply neutral meeting spaces. They are businesses built around engagement. Their success depends on keeping users active for as long as possible. Features such as endless scrolling, autoplay videos, personalised recommendations, and notifications are not accidental. They exist because they are effective at holding attention. This creates a subtle tension between the user and the platform.

You may open an app to relax for a few minutes. The platform, however, is designed to keep you slightly stimulated. Calm users tend to close the app. Stimulated users tend to continue scrolling. Over time, this produces a particular mental rhythm. One emotional reaction quickly replaces another. Amusement becomes irritation. Curiosity becomes outrage. Inspiration becomes comparison. Nothing lasts very long, yet the stream never stops. The strange result is that a person may spend hours on social media and still feel as if nothing meaningful happened during that time.

Attention: the quiet currency of modern life
For most of human history, attention was shaped largely by the physical world. A person’s focus moved between work, conversation, reading, rest, and observation of the environment around them. These rhythms were imperfect but relatively stable. The digital age changed that balance. Today, attention has become something that companies actively compete for.

In economic terms, attention is now a form of currency. Every notification, recommendation, autoplay video, or suggested post is part of a larger system designed to keep that currency circulating within the platform. The longer attention remains there, the more valuable it becomes. This does not necessarily mean the system is malicious. It simply means it is designed with a particular objective.

The difficulty arises because human attention is limited. When it becomes scattered across hundreds of small fragments throughout the day, the mind rarely has the opportunity to settle into deeper forms of thought.

A long conversation.
A challenging book.
A quiet walk without interruption.

In earlier generations, people worried about how they spent their money. Today it may be just as important to notice how we spend our attention. And wherever attention settles, life slowly follows.

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Does social media affect the brain?
The possibility that social media might influence the brain is frequently debated. Some claim that it permanently damages attention. Others dismiss such concerns completely.

The truth sits somewhere in between.

Researchers studying heavy social media use have observed links with differences in brain systems related to reward and impulse control. These systems influence how people respond to immediate gratification and how easily attention shifts between tasks.

However, scientists remain cautious about claiming direct cause and effect. It is difficult to determine whether social media creates these patterns or whether individuals with certain tendencies are more likely to use platforms heavily.

What is clearer are the everyday consequences. Late-night scrolling often reduces sleep. Frequent notifications interrupt concentration. Emotional content can create rapid shifts in mood. The more realistic concern is not permanent damage but habit formation.

The brain becomes efficient at whatever it practises. When people spend long periods moving rapidly between short pieces of content, slower activities such as reading or reflective thinking can begin to feel unusually demanding. Fortunately, habits can change. When interruptions decrease, and attention is given longer stretches of focus, the mind gradually readjusts.

The quiet costs people often overlook
The effects of social media rarely appear dramatically. Instead, they accumulate quietly. Sleep tends to suffer first. A few extra minutes of scrolling before bed gradually become an hour. Fatigue follows the next day. Attention becomes fragmented. When phones are checked repeatedly, the mind learns to expect interruption even during quiet moments.

Comparison increases subtly. Social media displays carefully selected highlights from other people’s lives. Repeated exposure to these moments can create unrealistic expectations of everyday life. Relaxation becomes confused with distraction. Many people believe scrolling helps them unwind, yet it often leaves them mentally restless rather than calm.

At this point, it may be worth asking a small question. “When was the last time you closed a social media app and felt quietly satisfied rather than slightly restless?”

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Returning to choice
Completely abandoning social media is one possible response, but for most people, it is unrealistic. These platforms are now woven into work, communication, and culture. A more practical response is to treat social media as a relationship that requires boundaries.

One helpful step is distinguishing active use from passive use. Active use involves sending messages, sharing ideas, or intentionally seeking information. Passive use involves scrolling without a clear purpose. Reducing unnecessary notifications also helps restore control. When the phone stops constantly interrupting attention, the mind regains longer stretches of focus. Some people also choose to keep parts of their lives deliberately offline. Not every experience needs to be shared. Private moments often carry a different kind of meaning. The question is no longer whether social media exists in our lives, but whether we remain awake to how it shapes them.

So, yaay or nay?
Perhaps the question should not be answered once but revisited regularly. When social media helps us stay close to people we care about, it deserves a quiet yaay. When it introduces new ideas, perspectives, and creativity, another yaay. But when it replaces sleep, fragments attention, or leaves us feeling strangely dissatisfied after hours of scrolling, that may be the moment for a gentle nay.

Technology rarely arrives as purely helpful or purely harmful. More often it becomes what our habits allow it to become. Which brings us back to that small moment. You pick up your phone to check something quickly. A message, perhaps. A notification. This time you pause before the second swipe. Not because social media is entirely good or entirely bad, but because you have remembered something easy to forget.

Your attention is valuable. And how you spend it quietly becomes the shape of your life.

Rethinking Donald Super’s Life-Career Rainbow: A Theory That Still Speaks, Even If Life Has Outgrown It

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Career theories often try to explain far more than they can. Donald Super’s Life-Career Rainbow is one of those ideas that has stayed popular long after its time. It has a simple appeal: our lives sit across many roles, and our careers grow and shift as these roles take shape. At a glance, the rainbow makes sense. It shows how childhood, work, family, and later life all blend into one long arc. And because the visual is clean, the idea feels clean. But life is not clean. And this is where the tension begins.

Super’s central point is that we move through life carrying different roles, each one taking up more or less space depending on age and circumstance. Child, student, worker, caregiver, partner, citizen. He treats these not as boxes but as changing identities that guide our decisions. This part of the theory still holds. Most of us have lived seasons where one role dominates everything else. And we’ve had moments where we realise that a role we once carried lightly has become heavy.

Super’s refusal to isolate “career” from “life” is one of his greatest contributions. Too many career models act as if work happens in a vacuum. It doesn’t. A crisis at home disrupts how you show up at work. A supportive family changes what you dare to attempt. A lack of resources shapes your path long before you realise it. Super saw all this early, and that makes the rainbow more honest than many newer models.

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But once you move past the broad message, the details feel dated. Super imagined life unfolding in stages: growth, exploration, establishment, maintenance, and decline. The sequence may have made sense in mid-20th-century societies built on stable jobs and rigid roles. It does not map cleanly onto modern life. Many people today establish a career only to tear it down and rebuild it. Exploration is no longer a youthful phase; it’s a recurring part of adulthood. And the idea of “decline” in later years assumes that work becomes smaller rather than different. That assumption says more about the era than human potential.

Super also leaned heavily on self-concept: the idea that we choose careers based on how we see ourselves. This is true to a point. Identity influences the work we enjoy and the goals we chase. But Super underplayed how much our self-concept is shaped by forces outside us. Culture, class, gender expectations, race, and money all press in. They limit choices long before personal identity enters the conversation. Someone may know precisely who they are and what they want, yet be locked out of opportunities for reasons the theory barely addresses.

This is the first major crack: the rainbow shows roles but not power. It shows movement but not struggle.

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Super also assumed a level of stability that many people do not have. His model suggests that people can make choices freely as they move across stages. But plenty of lives do not follow that arc. Some people shoulder adult responsibilities as children. Some have to work early to support their families. Some experience sudden disruptions that collapse multiple roles at once. And modern work does not stay still long enough for the rainbow to feel realistic. Industries shift faster than human development ever could.

Yet the theory still has one enduring strength: it treats career change as normal. Not a crisis. Not a personal failure. Just a part of being human. Super framed development as a cycle rather than a straight climb. Every time we face a transition, we revisit earlier phases. We explore again. We test again. We rebuild again. This cyclical view feels accurate today, especially when careers stretch across so many reinventions.

But here’s the part we often ignore: Super’s model still presumes choice at every turn. It does not fully account for exhaustion, burnout, caregiving strain, financial pressure, or structural inequality. It looks at roles from above, as shapes on a chart. It does not show how some people live in tension between roles for years. Or how some cannot grow one role without sacrificing another.

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If the rainbow wants to represent real lives, it needs to show constraint alongside possibility.

The rainbow also struggles with the speed of modern change. People now move between roles quickly. A person can be a student, freelancer, caregiver, and volunteer within the same week. Technology amplifies the pace, and careers shift almost as fast as personal identity. The rainbow’s arcs feel too slow for that reality. They assume predictable movement in a world that rarely gives us anything predictable.

Still, the model gives us something useful: a reason to pause and look at which role is driving our life right now. Not the role we’re supposed to prioritise. The one that actually takes our time, energy, and mental space. Many people get stuck because their lived reality does not match their self-image. They think they are still in an “establishment” mode when they are actually deep in exploration again. Or they act as if they have endless capacity when another role has already consumed half of it.

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Super’s theory helps name that gap, even if it cannot solve it.

What do we do with a theory that is partly true, partly outdated, and partly blind to the world we live in? We use it with clear boundaries. We take what helps: the view of life as multi-layered, the idea that identity evolves, and the acceptance that career paths are not linear. And we challenge the rest. We reject the timelines that no longer match reality. We question the idea that exploration belongs only to the young. We expand the concept of roles to include the complexity of modern work, migration, caregiving, and economic survival.

Super didn’t foresee global movement, gig work, AI, or the collapse of lifetime employment. He couldn’t. But his theory still gives us a way to think about the long arc of living and working. It reminds us that careers don’t start and end at the office door. They stretch into our personal lives, our values, our responsibilities, and our hopes. And they are shaped by both our choices and our limits.

If we were to update the rainbow today, we would soften the edges, blur the lines, and allow overlap without implying sequence. We would acknowledge that some roles grow not by desire but by necessity. We would show that identity shifts not once but many times. And we would treat life not as stages, but as seasons that return in different forms.

But even without rewriting it, the rainbow still asks a useful question: Who are you becoming, and how is that influencing your choices? It’s a question worth revisiting at every major change, not to fit ourselves into a model, but to understand the model we’re unconsciously living.

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Super’s rainbow is not perfect. It isn’t even close. But it gives us language for moments we don’t always know how to describe: the unease of outgrowing roles, the tension of conflicting responsibilities, and the need to rebuild ourselves midstream. If a career theory can help us see these things more clearly, it remains valuable, even with its flaws.

And that may be the most practical way to use it today: take the clarity, leave the assumptions, and keep your eyes on the real world, the one where no rainbow runs in a straight line.

Festivals of India: Shapawng Yawng Manau Poi

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The Shapawng Yawng Manau Poi festival is a vibrant annual celebration of the Singpho tribe, primarily in Arunachal Pradesh, held in memory of their ancestral forefather, Shapawng Yawng. Also known as the Manau Poi or Dance Festival, it holds great cultural and spiritual significance for the Singpho people, bridging generations and fostering unity within the community. Celebrated between 12th and 15th February, this festival showcases the rich traditions, customs, and heritage of one of Arunachal Pradesh’s important tribal groups.

Shapawng Yawng is revered as the progenitor of the Singpho tribe, who trace their lineage back to this legendary ancestor. The festival originated as a homage to him, incorporating elements of nature, spirituality, and community bonding. The traditional Manau dance symbolically connects the Singpho people with their environment and history, deriving inspiration from the movements of birds feasting and celebrating life.

This festival is not only an expression of cultural pride but also a concerted effort to preserve the Singpho heritage in the face of modern challenges, including substance abuse among youth and cultural dilution. Its organisation and revival in the 1980s underline the community’s resilience and commitment to passing their legacy intact to future generations.

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The rituals and attire of the Shapawng Yawng Manau Poi festival carry deep symbolic meanings that reflect the Singpho tribe’s cultural values, spiritual beliefs, and connection to nature. The festival’s key ritual centres around the sacred “Shadung,” tall, multicoloured wooden poles that represent male and female energies, symbolising the creation of life and the cosmic balance between these forces. Dancing around the Shadung during the Manau dance embodies unity, harmony, and the intimate relationship between the community and the environment, inspired by the movements of birds that signify life and prosperity.

The traditional attire worn during the festival further expresses cultural identity and heritage. Men wear patterned lungis, turbans, and shirts symbolising strength and valour, while women don colourful Choi or Pipa tops and Singket skirts adorned with intricate jewellery, representing beauty, fertility, and continuity of family lineage. The vibrant colours and designs in the costumes celebrate joy, abundance, and the community’s unique craftsmanship, while also signifying social status and respect for tradition.

Rhythmic beats from traditional drums called ‘Gongs’ and ‘Thongs’ set the tempo for dancers, who move in unison to express unity, strength, and the community’s collective spirit. More broadly, the rhythmic drumming and coordinated dance movements function as ritualistic expressions that reinforce social cohesion, collective identity, and the transmission of ancestral wisdom. The festival’s symbols and attire thus serve as visual and performative vessels carrying centuries of Singpho history, beliefs, and values, fostering pride and cultural continuity amid changing times. Alongside dance performances, there are exhibitions of local handlooms, handicrafts, folk songs, and fashion shows, providing a comprehensive view of Singpho artistry and lifestyle.

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The festival acts as a social adhesive, fostering communication, cohesion, and mutual understanding among different segments of the Singpho and wider communities. It strengthens social bonds and reinforces a sense of identity and belonging. The economic benefits through tourism and the promotion of indigenous crafts and cuisine further empower the community and help integrate the Singphos into the larger cultural mosaic of India.

Primarily celebrated in the Changlang and Namsai districts of Arunachal Pradesh, the festival rotates its main venue, often held at Bordumsa. It has grown in visibility and participation each year, drawing visitors and dignitaries keen to experience this unique cultural exposition.

As a vibrant cultural festival, Shapawng Yawng Manau Poi continues to educate youth, promote cultural pride, and showcase the Singphos’ rich traditions on national and international stages. The festival embodies the dynamism of tribal culture, adapting while retaining its roots, making it both a heritage celebration and a progressive social movement.

In My Hands Today…

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The Whole Foods Diet: The Lifesaving Plan for Health and Longevity – John Mackey, Alona Pulde, Matthew Lederman

The Whole Foods Diet simplifies the huge body of science, research, and advice that is available today and reveals the undeniable consensus: a whole foods, plant-based diet is the optimum diet for health and longevity.

Standing on the shoulders of the Whole Foods Market brand and featuring an accessible 28-day program, delicious recipes, inspirational success stories, and a guilt-free approach to plant-based eating, The Whole Foods Diet is a life-affirming invitation to become a Whole Foodie: someone who loves to eat, loves to live, and loves to nourish themselves with nature’s bounty.

If Whole Foods Market is “shorthand for a food revolution” (The New Yorker), then The Whole Foods Diet will give that revolution its bible – the unequivocal truth about what to eat for a long, healthy, disease-free life.