“Hi, I’m Priyanka. An HR professional, a mother to an almost two-year-old, and a woman constantly learning to find balance between work, motherhood, and myself. Though my roots trace back to Kerala, my heart has always belonged to Chennai. I’ve spent all my thirty years here, and every season of my life has been painted with the colors of this city, its warmth, rhythm, and chaos have shaped who I am.
If there’s one thing that has grounded me through every phase, it’s been music, art, and cinema. They’ve always helped me make sense of the world. Mani Ratnam and Imtiaz Ali’s films feel like conversations I’ve had with myself, honest, vulnerable, and deeply human. Ilaiyaraaja and A.R. Rahman’s music is like therapy; the songs I listen to often set the tone for my day. In a way, music and movies have always been mirrors to my emotions, quietly guiding me through joy, heartbreak, and everything in between.
After completing my MBA, there was a time when I felt completely lost, unsure of what direction life was taking me. That’s when I turned to painting and sketching more seriously. My family encouraged me to make it a career, to turn my passion into my profession. It sounded ideal, but somewhere along the way, I started losing the joy it once gave me. Art, which used to be my escape, began to feel like a job. I realized that when passion becomes performance, it starts to lose its magic.
Over time, I understood that art doesn’t always need a purpose. It doesn’t have to lead anywhere or be measured by likes, clients, or validation. Sometimes, it’s enough to create simply because it fills your heart. Now, I paint when I feel like it, for myself, without rules or expectations. It’s my quiet space again, a gentle reminder that joy often hides in simplicity. I’ve also learned that there’s nothing wrong with living a steady, simple 9-to-5 life. For some, it may sound unremarkable, but for me, it’s peaceful, a rhythm that keeps me grounded.
One of the biggest turning points in my life came in 2011 when I lost my grandfather. His passing left a void that words still can’t fill.
I was deeply attached to him; his quiet strength and wisdom shaped my values and my approach to life. Even now, years later, I often find myself drawing strength from his memories, his calm presence still guides me whenever life feels uncertain.
Years later, love entered my life in an unexpected way, through a puppy named Chevy. My husband brought him home, and since then, everything changed. Chevy taught me what unconditional love really looks like. His gentle, wordless presence has comforted me in moments when nothing else could. He doesn’t fix things; he just stays. And somehow, that’s enough. Because of him, I now dream of doing something for the dog community, to rescue, feed, and care for the ones who love without asking for anything in return.
When I think of Chennai, I think of summers at my Ammamma’s house, laughter echoing through the rooms, cousins filling the air with stories, and long evenings spent at the bougainvillea park in Anna Nagar. Those are the memories that built my idea of happiness. I also think of mornings at Marina Beach with my family, watching the waves under the soft glow of sunrise. That rhythm of the sea still feels like home, a place where time slows down and everything feels right.
We’ve never wanted to leave this city, not even for work. That’s the kind of pull Chennai has, gentle yet strong, like a hug that doesn’t let go.
Through my work, my art, my motherhood, and my love for this city, I’m still learning and still growing. Maybe that’s the truth about life, we never really have it all figured out, but we keep showing up, one step at a time.
And who knows, maybe someday I’ll be back here with another story, a new version of me, still finding my way, still falling in love with Chennai all over again.”