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”
It is not just another autumn evening. It is cold, calm, and composed. It is rainy, cloudy, and happy. People are home, drying their rain boots and raincoats. We are wandering outside. I am clicking the sky, my usual activity on rainy days. I am heavily pregnant.
A flock of birds is returning home. I am wondering why they need a home when they have wings.
Soon I am going to find the answer.
Continue reading “An urge to nest”
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”
The city library stores a million of books. On colder evenings when the sun and moon happily co-exist on the same sky, I love visiting the place. Mostly for a silent stroll. Mostly for the smell of the books. But truly to find new stories.
Nowadays my ability to smell things has increased. So when I enter the library, I am welcome with all my favorite fragrances- of old ink, of used books, of ignored coffee in the mug that people forget when they sit by the big windows gazing at those open pages. Each reader is a story there. And each reader has a favorite story where she looks for comfort.
At one corner, there is a little store that sells donated old books. I find some real gems, each time I stop by. It is a world where used wisdom sells for two bucks. Continue reading “Trading stories”