Chupke Chupke...Shhhh..

They had been friends for a really long time. She had no idea he was interested in her while she had just the slightest fantasy of ending up with him. That day, when he called her up and said, "Hey, I know it is 2016, and it sounds outdated, I am having a swayamvar. And yes, before you ask, it can be a boy who chooses too. Equality, in your argument." "Why do you want me to come?", she asked unsuspectingly. "How can I choose a girl if you are not around", he responded and laughed. "Okay. I will be there", she affirmed her presence in his life. He was dressed in a bright, blue sherwani and looked every bit a groom in search of a bride. When she reached his home, a huge, palatial home in the middle of their town, she noticed they were all of a different caste. Not that it bothered her, but it was the first time she had come to realize they were brought up differently. There was a short puja that was performed by his parents and he was not

A couple of months back, while we were celebrating Diwali, I had quite an unforgettable moment. I was finishing up on cooking and frying appalams. Somehow, on that day, my FIL was having a bath at the time, my MIL was in another room chanting, avoiding the rooms the maid was cleaning, and my husband was doing puja. I learned an important lesson that day. When there is no one who can take care of a toddler, do not cook with hot oil. Getting back to how the scar came to being. I was busy watching my son and making sure he was not running towards me that I got careless for a bit, splashed oil on my hand, dropped the ladle and some more hot oil on my hand, neck, and stomach. Wow. It hurt so bad. I felt like I was burning. I ran to my room, doused it with coconut oil, frantically screaming for my husband, who was still calmly continuing his puja and the in-laws unaware yet of my misfortune. I got hold of a tube of burnol and generously applied them over the burns. Still crying, m

Ever since I have remembered, I have always wanted a beautiful garden. Fresh flowers and all that jazz. We had limited space in our apartment in Chennai and we were not as creative to make that space work. My Grandmother's home in Delhi was my dream garden. We used to sip our coffee sitting in the garden on cold, winter mornings. The grass would be mildly wet and would feel cold against our bare feet. While our apartment in Bengaluru does not allow us to enjoy such luxurious outdoors, I found a website that got me the right materials to start with gardening.And just a few weeks earlier, was lucky to be part of a kitchen gardening workshop. And that was all that I needed to understand that the space restriction was no longer an issue. What to grow was the next thought that went through my head. I realized that with age, my priorities had changed. I no longer wanted flowers. I wanted a kitchen garden. I wanted to grow and use fresh herbs for my kitchen. Thus, 3 weeks back, I starte

She rested her head on his chest, playfully trying to hear his heartbeat. It was right then that he lifted her head silently with his hand, bringing her ear closer to his mouth. "I Love You", he whispered. She heard her heart stopping. She heard the end of reality. She thought nothing was true, except that very moment. She kept replaying that moment wondering what went wrong. Why they went their separate ways. Why such a magical moment did not last a lifetime.Every few days, she would shed a silent tear thinking about that, while working in a continent different from where he was. She had a successful career. She had a wonderful family. She was still unmarried, though not alone. "Adira", her boss called. She came back to reality and walked to the meeting with him. Life goes on. Not everyone has the perfect romance. But happiness was her choice. She hated romantic movies. She hated the lies they propagate and that a man needs to complete her.Not a pseudo-femini

2016 seemed to have breezed through at an exceptional speed. It was a very eventful year, but many things remained the same. Another year has gone by, a reminder of the fact that I am growing older too.  I have many responsibilities and I realize my need to be patient more than ever.  I do not have any special New Year's resolutions, though I do have some thoughts about how I can improve my life. I want to write more. I want to be more active and eat responsibly. I want to be fit.  I want to learn new skills. How I will do it is a work in progress. Writing this is a good start, right?  It is just that writing is my passion and eases my mind like nothing else can ever do.  Am I a decent writer?  Not even close.  Will that stop me?  No.  Writing is a skill that ages better with writing more and not by giving up. I am planning on writing a short story, and some gibberish every week to keep the momentum going. My son has so many experiences that I want to document