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. ―
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”
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”
I don’t know how it is in nuclear families, but in large ones relationships shift over time. You might be best friends with your one cousin, and then one year later it might be some other cousin. Then it tends to change again, and again after that. It doesn’t mean that your life has fallen out with the person it used to feel closest to but that it has merged into someone else’s road, or had his or hers merge into yours. Thus a team of quartet morphs into quintets, and then splits again, before morphing into a trio. The beauty of such relationship is that it’s always evolving. Continue reading “Here, like every year”
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”
At 6 o’clock in the morning when loneliness stalks you,
visit your garden, listen to the whisper of the branches.
See how green the grass looks at the other side of your body.
Watch the cloud worshiping the bright orange hue in the sky,
see how everything in the nature is neatly arranged,
so individualistic, so alone, yet so much in order and friendship. Continue reading “At 6 o’clock in the morning”
“Touch has a memory.” ― John Keats
I don’t remember when I slept well last time. My mom smiles, “Welcome to motherhood.”
And I just stare at your sleeping face; I wipe your mouth with the corner of this soft cloth,
and put gentle kisses on your cheeks.
Twice. Every time.
“Can you believe we created her?” He says.
I nod in disbelief. Continue reading “Sunday afternoon”