My two year old has been fascinated by “Santa” this year; she describes him as the old man who wears a belt on his big red outfit, and says, “Ho Ho Ho.” So when she spotted an old man in a red tee shirt and a white cotton bordered red hat in the weekend Farmers’ Market, she merrily pointed out, “Santa Santa Santa.” Continue reading “On stories, on ends, on perceiving”→
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.
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”→
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”→
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.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
– Mary Oliver
I met you at a very tender age. You wore a purple top, so tight and low cut that nothing was left to the imagination. Your husband gave us little lecture on love and new beginnings. You giggled at every silly joke the evening made that day, and your judging eyes stared at my uncomfortable face for hours. It was our first meeting. Continue reading “Woman to Woman”→