I didn’t grow up with having too many choices. I re-read books because the choices were limited. I ate the same breakfast on all five weekdays and drank the same kind of milk that local milkman delivered to our house. My childhood was years away from the last decade.
Driving around Northern California in summer is like speeding up time. One afternoon lush green hills give your sweaty eyes comfort and shade. The next afternoon, you see them turning yellow, warning you of the fleeting horizons of seasons. Continue reading “A cup full of sunlight”→
I grew up in India. That means I know a country that kills its girls before they are born. A country where parents of a girl child have to work hard to save money for dowry. A country where wings of women are chopped and dreams are shoved. A country where love happens only on the screen of Bollywood films because marriages are arranged and girls from rural areas and cities still cannot choose love or life partners. Women’s day should have felt special because in a country like that womanhood definitely deserved a day of celebration to cheer up. India is also the country that had a female prime minister, a female president, a lot of warrior queens and princesses, goddesses who killed the evils and saved the goodness. India is also the country where a lot of women fought for independence from the British Government with guns and peace talks until seventy years ago. There are glories to shade the darkness. Continue reading “My thoughts about Women’s Day”→
As I am writing here, rain has returned to the bay. Hills over my shoulder are sleeping, tucked in fog and cloud. This time every year my mind becomes overactive, and creatively wanders on muddy paths, jumps in puddles, rescues fallen leaves, wipes off raindrops on the blurry windows of nostalgia, whispers to the rose bushes, hugs a sad tree, and opens up the refrigerator door multiple times to get some food for thoughts.Continue reading “Petrichor, once more”→
After a long wait, when June was getting over, I made it a farewell party. I packed my kitchen, books, and beloveds to a little chalet by an alpine lake. I sat outside, ignoring the afternoon sun that burnt my skin. I let it burn. They grow again. Skin. Hair. Joy. In night, I read in the dark room, under gigantic pine trees; I looked up often and there were always a handful of stars peeking from the open ceiling, omnipresent like best buds from memory. I cooked good meal, hiked down to collect pine cones, and some memories for the camera.
One morning in May, I went to climb a hill to take photographs of a seasonal view and I had a really bad fall. Next two weeks I spent taking each step carefully, measuring pain and pain medications, ignoring purple marks on the knees. I didn’t fall even once in last a few years. I do not want to fall again. Continue reading “Five Things That Made Me Happy In May”→
What are the key ingredients of happiness? For ages, wise people are seeking the perfect answer. I feel happy when season changes. When winter welcomes spring, and spring fades to the sunshine of summer. It’s the change that keeps us going, going to places, phases, and sometimes makes our muscles to time-travel.Continue reading “Five Things That Made Me Happy In April”→
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”→
Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering. ― The History of Love
Motherhood is not always a happy ride. I say that and add, ” But I accept it with a big bear hug.”
I hug my daughter often, more often than my mother did. In my very Indian childhood of 90’s, love didn’t always come to me in words or in much hugs and kisses. Love came in a platter, in different shapes and pre-cut slices. Most frequently love came in large portion of Sunday chicken curry, a ritual I loved in the household. If I fared well in tests or in some life-altering phases, my mother would shower me with two chicken leg pieces with extra creamy curry. If I scored a hundred in maths test, she would rush to her temple to shower God with gratitude and sing a silent prayer for my future. Continue reading “Love has a sound”→