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”
“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”
I guess I have seen love
not just in words,
not just in black fonts
of sleepless poetry. Continue reading “Not just in words”
“Be melting snow.
Wash yourself of yourself.” ― Rumi
Perhaps the silence is what
annoys you the most,
silence that comes from
within and reflects on
your wounded present. Continue reading “Insight out”
“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”
“There’s a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother’s story, because hers is where yours begin.” ― Mitch Albom
I never celebrated Mother’s day. I never said to my mom how much I loved her. See we don’t talk love. We don’t express it in words. But ask me or her this question about our mutual love and understanding, we both can bring back a million memories and hours for the answer. Continue reading “Mother’s Day”
It was the night of a year-end. We were on the road in San Francisco, showing a New Yorker friend this city in night. Between the ocean and the sky there was no gap- they both were tucked in a blanket of fog. The city was so silent that we could hear our breath.
Continue reading “Youth: A note”
“The reason the beasts give among themselves is that Man is the weakest and most defenseless of all living things, and it is unsportsmanlike to touch him.”- Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book
It’s Sunday. All windows are open to welcome the sun in the house. I can smell French toast in the air. My mom is talking to the help in the kitchen. Four eyes glued on the TV. Dad and I, not ready to move an inch from our drawing room. On screen, Shere Khan is threatening Mowgli. There is an argument going on in the wolf family about the acceptance of a human being. I’m thinking of moving to some jungle. At least it won’t be this sunny. I’m allowed to have half a cup of tea with sub-merged biscuit today. My tea is already cold. But I don’t mind. I look at my dad and whisper, “Now what?”
Continue reading “Jungle Book of Nostalgia”
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”
I grew up having home cooked meal four times a day. A meal together was celebratory.
During many festivals in a year, people from extended family came together and made different kind of food. I hardly remember what we celebrated in those festivals. But I can never forget what each family cooked and what we ate. Continue reading “Cooked”