Athulya E

Artist, Engineer, Philanthropist, Student, Writer/Editor

Final-year Mechanical Engineering student. Artist. Writer. Curator. Content creator. Public speaker. I wear many hats, but they all come together with one purpose, that is, to tell stories that inspire and connect. As the Co-Organizer of TEDxMACE, I bring together my love for creativity and my knack for meticulous planning to craft an experience where ideas feel alive and people feel at home. Beyond TEDx, I’ve been a part of award-winning engineering teams, hosted events that spark dialogue, and penned heartfelt pieces for my blog Unbridled Sentiments. Whether I’m sketching on a quiet evening or moderating a roundtable in front of hundreds, my goal is the same, to create moments that linger long after they pass.

I’m passionate about turning ideas into experiences that linger not just in the memory, but in the way they change how we see ourselves and the world. For me, it’s never been only about organizing an event, writing a story, or speaking to an audience. It’s about crafting spaces where people feel safe to share, brave enough to listen, and open enough to be moved by something they didn’t expect. As a final-year Mechanical Engineering student, I live in two worlds : one of precision, equations, and problem-solving, and another of stories, creativity, and human connection. I’ve learned that the most powerful ideas are born when these worlds meet: when structure gives shape to imagination, and when imagination gives meaning to structure. I find joy in the subtle moments, the spark in someone’s eyes when a talk resonates with them, the unspoken bond between strangers during a shared laugh, the quiet courage of a speaker taking the stage for the first time. These are the moments that remind me why I do what I do. I believe creativity, curiosity, collaboration, and intention are the cornerstones of anything worth building. My passion lies in mixing these together- to turn even the smallest gathering into something transformative, and even the simplest idea into something worth remembering. Because at its core, my work is not just about spreading ideas, it’s about building connections.

If I could leave one message behind, it would be this: Life isn’t built only on the milestones we remember, it’s built on the moments we almost forget. We’ve been taught to mark life by its milestones - the graduation ceremony with its proud photographs, the job offer letter neatly folded in an envelope, the award received under bright lights and loud applause. And yes, these moments matter. They give us direction, they show progress, and they remind us of how far we’ve come. But the heart of a life well-lived is rarely found in those scripted moments. More often, it lies in the unexpected moments, in the unplanned laughter on a late-night call that stretches until morning, in the friend who turns up quietly at your doorstep when you didn’t even know how much you needed them, in the small victory that no one else noticed but you celebrated anyway. These are the moments that slip through the cracks of memory unless we hold them close. They’re not framed on our walls or typed into our resumes. But they are the quiet proof that joy, connection, and growth don’t wait for a perfect setting, they just bloom in the middle of our ordinary days. As someone who has juggled engineering deadlines, event curation, and the late-night hum of writing, I’ve realized something: I don’t remember every grade I scored, every technical calculation I perfected, or every bullet point I completed on a to-do list. But I do remember the coffee shared with a friend before a big presentation, the chaotic yet beautiful backstage moments before an event went live, the inside jokes that carried us through sleepless nights of preparation. And here’s the thing, these moments are not “lesser” than the milestones. In fact, they are what give the milestones their meaning. A degree is not just a piece of paper; it’s the countless shared lunches in between classes, the friends made during group projects, the relief after a hard-fought exam. A team trophy is not just the win itself, it’s the months of small wins, failures, and encouragements that built the road to that stage. We often wait for life to give us something “big” before we start living fully. But what if the most valuable parts of our life are already happening quietly, every single day, in the spaces between those “big” moments? What if instead of rushing from one milestone to another, we allowed ourselves to notice the everyday magic along the way? The truth is, milestones are fleeting. They pass quickly, leaving us looking for the next one. But moments, those unexpected, ordinary, yet deeply human moments, they stay with us in ways we can’t always explain. So my idea worth spreading is this: don’t just chase the big wins, collect the small moments. Laugh without glancing at the clock. Take the extra two minutes to really listen when someone is speaking. Celebrate the small things, even if no one else is watching. Because one day, when you look back, you may find that the small things were never small at all. They were the big things all along, the ones that made your milestones worth remembering in the first place.

Automotive projects, Content writing, Creative direction and branding, Public speaking and audience engagement, Storytelling

I have always been a curious soul, drawn to ideas, stories, and the spark they cause in people’s minds. Even before I stepped into college, TED Talks on YouTube were a constant companion for me. I hadn’t yet seen, voices that challenged my thinking, and perspectives that stayed with me long after the video ended. I was just a curious watcher then, someone who sat at home and consumed these talks with fascination, wondering what it would be like to be part of something so impactful. When I joined college, that wondering turned into an opportunity. I found my space. My seniors in the TEDxMACE community gave me the trust, encouragement, and space to grow. That’s where I truly stepped into the world of curation as someone who helps transform a speaker’s raw ideas into powerful narratives. In TEDxMACE, I started as a member of the curation team. Every story I helped shape felt like a bridge between the speaker and the audience, a bridge built out of carefully chosen words, structure, and emotional flow. It was deeply fulfilling work, knowing that I was playing a part in making someone’s voice reach people in its truest form. One of my most memorable experiences was being the point of contact for actor Chinnu Chandni, a TEDxMACE speaker. Chinnu’s talk explored how introverts could navigate a world designed for extroverts. I had the privilege of understanding her personal journey, working closely with her to align her story with our event’s theme, “Curating Curiosity.” Together, we explored not just what she wanted to say, but how she wanted people to feel when they heard her. It was a rewarding process: balancing the speaker’s authentic voice with the TED format’s clarity and impact. But my most defining moment came when my friend Krishnapriya , someone I admired immensely was selected as a TEDx speaker. She was the captain of an all-girls team that won the Formula Kart Design Challenge, a story that deserved to be heard far and wide. I had the chance to curate her speech, shaping her journey of resilience, leadership, and breaking stereotypes into a powerful 18 minutes on stage. Sitting in the audience that day, watching her confidently share her story, I felt a sense of pride and joy unlike anything I had experienced before. That moment was when I realized, I didn’t just like this work. I loved it. The process of curation wasn’t just a skill I had picked up, it was a passion. I found joy in listening deeply, asking the right questions, drawing out a person’s core message, and helping them present it in the most impactful way. I realized that for me, TEDx wasn’t just about the event itself, it was about giving people the space, tools, and confidence to tell their story in a way that could move others. TEDx taught me the art of balancing empathy and structure, of preserving authenticity while ensuring clarity. It also taught me the importance of trust that every speaker I worked with placed their story in my hands, and I treated it with the respect and care it deserved. Over time, I grew not just as a curator but as a communicator, a listener, and someone who could connect dots between ideas and audiences. Looking back, my journey from a curious YouTube viewer to a TEDx curator to a co-organizer has been one of transformation. I’ve learned that stories can change the way people see the world and that behind every powerful talk is a collaborative process of refining, shaping, and conveying a message. That process is where my heart lies. Today, I carry forward the lessons I’ve learned from TEDxMACE. More than anything, I carry the belief that a single idea, when shared well, can touch countless lives. And if I can play a part in making that happen, then I know I am exactly where I’m meant to be.

I have loved teaching for as long as I can remember. As a child, I didn’t need an audience. My toys, books, and imaginary students were enough. I would line them up neatly, scribble lessons on scraps of paper, and speak with the confidence of someone who believed her class was the most important in the world. Those pretend classrooms were my first stages, and my chalk and board dreams began there. As I grew up, those imaginary students slowly gave way to real people. The classroom expanded beyond the four walls of my bedroom, sometimes it was in a school program where I volunteered to explain a topic, sometimes during group study sessions where I naturally took the role of the explainer, and sometimes at events where I found myself sharing ideas with strangers. I began to realise that what I loved about teaching was not just the act of explaining something, but the exchange of energy that happens when an idea clicks for someone. That moment when their eyes light up, it’s the quiet applause only a teacher knows. Over time, my passion evolved into public speaking. At first, it was simply another outlet for the same instinct: to share knowledge, to make complex things simpler, and to keep people engaged while doing it. But public speaking brought with it a different rhythm, it was less about step-by-step guidance and more about painting a picture with words, leading an audience on a journey. I learned how to turn stories into facts, how to use pauses like punctuation, and how to sense whether an audience was leaning in with curiosity or drifting away in thought. I’ve often thought of teaching and public speaking as cousins. Teaching is about patiently walking beside someone until they can take the next step on their own. Public speaking is about opening a door in someone’s mind and inviting them to explore it, sometimes in just a few minutes. Both require clarity, empathy, and a deep respect for the people you are speaking to. In both, I have found not just a skill but a calling. Whether it’s explaining a technical concept to peers, delivering a talk to inspire action, or simply guiding a conversation in the right direction, I feel most at home when I am in that role. I’ve come to understand that for me, speaking whether to one person or a hundred is not about performance, but about connection. And perhaps, in a way, I am still that child surrounded by imaginary students. Only now, the students are real, the lessons are richer, and the stage is anywhere I choose to stand.