There is a strange, enduring intimacy between the Malayali and the humble Corvus splendens—the common house crow. At first glance, it isn't an obvious mascot for a diaspora. It lacks the elegance of the peacock or the ambitious stride of an eagle. We are often like the crow: quiet, self-contained, and staying out of the spotlight until the situation calls for us. But do not mistake that composure for weakness.
The crow is defined by its collective spirit. Threaten a single crow, and you will not be spared. Within seconds, a solitary bird turns into a deafening, unified swarm that defends its own with relentless fury. The Malayali operates on the exact same ancient frequency. When disaster strikes or an injustice is committed, we do not wait for external armor—our strength lies in numbers, solidarity, and immediate, overwhelming community support.
Our connection to this bird runs deep through our geography, language, and spiritual heritage:The crow is the vahana (vehicle) of Lord Shani, the deity of karma and divine justice. It is fitting for Kerala, a land deeply anchored in social consciousness and fairness. Just as crows guard sacred grounds in ancient lore, millions of Pravasi Malayalis act as guardians across the globe—most visibly as nurses, doctors, and healthcare workers tending to humanity's most vulnerable moments. In our rituals, like Bali Tharpanam, the crow bridges the living and the departed. Through these ancestral ties, perhaps we continuously inherit and re-adapt the bird's sharp intelligence, problem-solving prowess, and remarkable memory.
Before Kakkanad became a glittering IT hub and Smart City, it was a sanctuary defined by massive, noisy roosts of these very birds. Our language carries its footprint—from affectionate terms like Kaka to our playful proverbs ("Kakka kulichal kokkakkumo"). Even our regional dialects mirror the crow: distinct in every district, sounding different on the surface, yet unmistakably from the same nest.
To bring this powerful metaphor to life, Dr. Najeeb Osman has launched this creative campaign for AKMG Niagara. The initiaitive is also featuring a female mascot avatar designed by Dr. Reena Kavilaveetil: Sundari Kakkachi. She represents our humility, adaptiveness, and unyielding work ethic. She reminds us that we don't need to posture to be powerful; we simply need to stick together, adapt to any foreign land, and build something lasting from the ground up.
In Kerala tradition, when a crow lands on the porch and caws, it signals the arrival of unexpected guests. May Sundari Kakkachi’s call bring an unprecedented gathering of friends, colleagues, and Pravasis to AKMG Niagara this year. It is time to show up, reconnect with our roots, celebrate our shared resilience, and reflect on the quiet labor that keeps our community thriving.
As Vyloppilli Sreedhara Menon beautifully penned in Kakkayum Nattilaveyilum:
പാടിക്കളിക്കട്ടെ നാലുകെട്ടിൽ
മാടത്ത, തത്ത, കുയിൽ, പ്രാവുകൾ;
ഉൾപ്രിയമെങ്കിലും ഗഗേഹലക്ഷ്മി-
ക്കെപ്പോഴും കാക്കയോടെന്തു ന്യായം!
NB: After this weekend..
🐦⬛ The Early Bird flies away.
🐦⬛ The Hairy Crow goes back to Kerala.
💸 PLEASE REGISTER ASAP: www.akmgniagara.com
Please be reminded that this campaign was just for promotion and fun and not for any cultural events or decor. Those programs and arrangements are going to be centred around the event’s waterfall and Ezham kadanilakkare..theme.
When people ask what it is like to be a woman in interventional electrophysiology, I tell them the truth: for most of my career, I was the only one at the table. Not the only woman in the EP lab; nurses, techs, and coordinators have always been the backbone of every EP lab I have worked in, but the only woman standing in lead, with the catheters in her hands. That has changed. It has not changed enough. Cardiology remains one of the least gender-balanced fields in medicine, and the procedural subspecialties EP, interventional, structural are the narrowest part of that funnel. We are not short on talented women entering medical school. We lose them somewhere between the classroom and the lab. I have thought a lot about where that loss happens, and I no longer believe it is mostly about ability or even about ambition. It is about permission, the quiet, cumulative sense of whether a room expects you to be in it. The room does not hand you authority ... Early on, I learned that bei...


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