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”
When I was in my twenties, my life felt like someone’s unending wedding party that I had to attend- joyful but stretchy. Continue reading “Temporary”
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”
Through the windshield now
a supermoon is staring at us,
escaping a handful of gray clouds
that are trying to blanket her in.
Cozy, she never wants to feel. Continue reading “So far”
“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”
“time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough” – E.E. Cummings
Continue reading “A note from the evening”
Writing fiction is the act of weaving a series of lies to arrive at a greater truth. ― Khaled Hosseini
It was one lazy Sunday afternoon. My husband decided to do cooking and laundry to give me a break from those mundane weekend activities. Alone in a corner, I was reading the first story from Jhumpa Lahiri’s “Unaccustomed Earth” and I was sobbing.
There was a part about mother-daughter relationship that made me speculate about a time in future when my mother won’t be around. Continue reading “Fictions and Feelings”
When the winter dies, my mother’s rose plants wake up. The pink one. The pale peach one. The red one. The white one. “Which one is your favorite?”
Continue reading “Call rose by any name”
Every time I visit my in-laws, they show me many old photographs from their photo albums. Photographs of their trips, old dogs, celebrations and special moments that they hold so dearly. Each photo album looks like a book of short story collections, narrating to me my husband’s childhood that I haven’t seen. Each of those photographs stands out in my memory. The way he dressed. The way he was celebrated on his 10th birthday. Continue reading “Quest for An Inner Selfie”
“The fact that love comes with expectations annoys me .”my friend M said to me.
“No, it sets you free , it makes you winner , everywhere! “I said to her, with eyes filled with teen-age hopes. Continue reading “Unseen camaraderie”