It’s raining a lot in California. And with rain and then blooming flowers in cold sunshine, March seemed like the longest yet the happiest month after two foggy months. I have decided to write five happy things from every month this year, so that even the long months don’t look dead afterward. Someone said, happiness is a journey not a destination. I must have paused at every turnout to note down these stories from life. Continue reading “Five Things That Made Me Happy In March”
See how the green smiled at the morning,
green, that happy thing, Continue reading “Spring”
January doesn’t amble, stroll, or linger. January strides, with pride and such motion that I fear of reaching the year end in a blink.
For several years, I lived a resolution free January- my January mornings were mostly cautious, looking at Facebook feeds of other people who wanted to try new things, amend new lifestyle in the first week of January. In two weeks everything fades. Every. Single. Year. A new year starts looking like every other year- sometimes breezy, sometimes anxious, sometimes in melancholy. There is no romance or performance to these first week resolutions, but there is a real intimacy. In a year after a daunting, enormous, and never ending 2016, it is striking, even comforting, that you can always try for a change. Continue reading “Same journey, new shoes”
The timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness. And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream. ― Kahlil Gibran,
The year is dying soon.
Continue reading “Goodbye, 2016”
How fast a month can fly?
It was just first day of November and the pumpkin patches were weary, soon their orange color was vanishing into lush greens of fresh cut Christmas trees. People were waiting for Thanksgiving dinner, long commutes, lengthy political discussions with know-it-all relatives, and those black Friday deals. Shops were selling pumpkin pies, pumpkin cheesecakes, pumpkin ice-creams, pumpkin recipe books. A dozen of dead turkeys were always on display on the shelves. Continue reading “November Nostalgia”
“It’s a short journey, be comfortable,” he says with a friendly smile.
I adjust the seat belt and notice him from the backseat. He is wearing tall boot socks and a pair of shorts. His vintage aviator is clean from a good maintenance.
“Can you suggest a shorter route?” he asks again with a smile. Continue reading “A stranger passes by”
“Time is a game played beautifully by children.”- Fragments
The small girl looks at my baseball cap, then slowly at my watch, then my face, and hair. I smile, and greet her “Hello.” She holds her mom’s hand and takes a few steps away. Then she tilts her head, stares at me for a couple of seconds, and smiles back. Her teeth have gone to the tooth fairy, and messy hair tucked into a ponytail. In a minute, she says, “Hello” and hides her face behind the bread aisle of the relaxed grocery store. Continue reading “11 AM”
“Socrates said, ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ But the examined one … is no bargain” – My most favorite take-away from Woody Allen’s latest ‘Café Society’
In my building, the walls are so thick that you cannot hear your neighbors. I know couple of them by the things they display- their well groomed pets, and cars that silently stop behind me when I try to reach the crosswalk. I found each family owns multiple cars, at least one for each family member. Continue reading “In the depth of August”
“Gardening is akin to writing stories. No experience could have taught me more about grief or flowers, about achieving survival by going, your fingers in the ground, the limit of physical exhaustion.” ― Eudora Welty
I have observed silence from close and far. I have embraced it. I have fought with its shadow. I have listened to its harsh and mushy sounds. Then I have written five short stories.
♦ On a sunny day, the ocean is fierce, and people on the beach, fiercer. They hug the water like long lost friends, jump into each other out of joy, play for hours, and cook steaks to celebrate the togetherness. She watches them all from a distance, and notes down her observations on her little pink book. Isn’t everything a story from far? Continue reading “Symphony of Silence”