“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
Continue reading “Floral in summer”
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”
Someone once asked me if the valley was made of Silicon or silicone.
Not really. The valley is made of ideas, ideas that change the world. Change that grows on us.
Sometimes the world wants to look large on a small browser window, then it happily shrinks within mobile applications. Keyboards go virtual. People make friendship with each other without real meetings. People create their versions on different platforms to find like-minded acquaintances. On road one day I find self-driving cars within a few feet. Continue reading “Silicon Valley and Sourdough”
I don’t mourn perfectly. Grief acts like a shock to me, gives me chills, and puts my memory on a wide screen in a lonely theater. Lonely. Lonely, because most of the times, you’re the sole spectator of your own memory, unless you share the screenplay. Continue reading “The Journey”
A lot has happened since my last post. October has gone. Across the road, the area that was a bright orange pumpkin patch is now a green field selling Christmas trees and glittery ornaments. Christmas gifts have replaced Halloween costumes in all nearby stores. The bright Sun which I hated in last ten months is kind of a kinder friend these days. There was rain in California. Finally. There were autumn leaves floating on the puddle of rain water. There were two whales playing close to the shore when we were driving by the ocean. Something so remarkable yet normal. I observed all. I noted down too. But I could not share. Continue reading “Somewhere but here..”
Someday, somewhere, it just happened. The sun escaped to the back side of Ghirardelli square. Those men sang a song while moving the direction of another cable car. At the intersection of Stockton and Sutter, some girls spoke tirelessly about all the deals some brands offered. A lady in a black suit passed by when you were trying to capture the waterfall falling to the ocean. Nobody noticed all that your eyes noticed. Nobody noticed the veil of sadness beyond your thick mascara and your artful persona. Continue reading “It’s okay to not be okay”
Once in a while, when people around me go to exotic locations or restaurants to celebrate holidays, I step into a library. The city library is heaven. I mean, if heaven exists, then it looks like a big library, with old books and well cushioned armchairs.
Once in a while I sit here and write out many things. I call them “word tears” from the eyes of the soul. Drop by drop. Word by word. Those words are solitude lovers, they hardly travel. They are hidden somewhere in a pretty peony printed diary. Continue reading “Library, The Quiet World Of Stories”
“Love art. Of all lies, it is the least untrue.” ― Gustave Flaubert
Continue reading “A piece of art”