Desert Rose

That morning stretch & silent prayer; that tea or coffee that you prepare. A little sweat and some good smiles; and cleaning off some pending piles. A pleasant hello to the one across; a quick chat with someone you were cross. A plate full that satisfies the tummy and soul; a good watch without having to scroll. A goodnight with a book over the face;  and that feeling of not being part of any race. Most of the days - this is all we need.  The honesty and integrity of daily routine - the highest vibrating energy to take us ahead.

21 days. There were countdowns everywhere. Different kinds of them - cooking experiments, art and craft, reading, reviews of contents to watch on digital platforms, ludo tournaments, zoom calls, home work-outs, cleaning and rearranging spaces and so on. The interesting part is that most of us knew that these 21 days will not be the end. In fact we were sure that there will be more to it. But still there was the countdown. There was hope. In a sense, we've lost count of days but countdowns are still on. Quarantine activities and #hashtags are still trending. Economy has collapsed. People around the world are going through all sorts of tough situations. Some people are dying in bits and pieces and so many are just dying. Freedom has now taken a new definition. But we feel hope. We have faith. For many it has been about realizing that while searching all around to experience the profound, it was right there in their homes. For many it has been about re...

There are these things which seem so little or trivial but actually is so strong in its impact and intent.   At the end of every big discussion we realize that it's after all a list of small things that needs to be looked into.  When David and I started talking a few years ago, there were certain casual statements and major discussions that flowed between us which gave us both the confidence to look at a future with each other. I remember this one time, when we discussed children - funnily enough we both didn't seem too sure about whether we wanted to have children, and if we did, we had no idea when. But we both seemed to agree on what the child's name should be like and that seemed to be the most organic part of the conversation. Fast forward - And Last month, we welcomed our little one to this world and we were definitely feeling a whole lot of things. There obviously was so much excitement to tell the world about his arrival and so we did with the expected...

There are times when it is all about dreaming to go far and wide. There are too many frames in the mind of how lovely it would be to take journeys  where the nights live on forever and friends made will give you stories for a lifetime. Then comes the time to actually go far and wide - not being able to contain the excitement. The journey surely being more beautiful and rewarding than it looked like in the dreams - the time when the nights live on forever and the friends will do all the magic. And then comes the time where journeys begin to look different. Sometimes it even feels just perfect to be alone while experiencing it and sometimes it feels like a journey to find a place or person that will become home. Then for many comes the time when it feels like they have arrived in that space - place, person, passion or the like. At the end of so many journeys, you stumble upon that sense of belonging and all the experiences along the way feel like they were just ...

Hold fast to dreams, they say. For if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly. But somehow she tried every night to stay awake to keep away from those dreams. Some days the waves get her and on others a shadow screams. She did her little prayer and filled her heart with gratitude. But then into the night, her fears came haunting, breaking her fortitude. Like children bring their broken toys to mend, she surrendered it all to God and turned to her friend. Tell me, she said. About the journeys they’d make, places they’d live. About the children they’d have, the home they’d build.  But he didn’t tell because he didn’t know it yet. We’ll see it as it comes he said instead. But it wasn’t until the bad dreams took her that he understood;  she didn’t need the home or the journeys; she only needed a beautiful dream to hold on to. 

Some days I hear that voice. The unpretending harmony. But so rare are such days. Most days it is all about the pretentious. Isn’t that proof enough that she’s been missing something. She spends her mornings and nights in faith; submitting every bit of her to that omnipresent power. It is like she waits everyday for her greatest self to come and rescue her. When will she realize that she must go to her? You’re sincerely being nice to us and everyone. When will you be nice to yourself, woman? You breathing thing. That’s how life works – being a home to new life while being a memory to many. I am letting you be because without a shattered heart, you may not find the strength to build a life better that before. Oh but I am not letting you be forever. Let me whisper this into your ears. "You’re worth everything. Loving deeply and living fully. Because you’re here today and alive. That’s all the proof you need."   "It must be possible to s...

When everything seems to be in place but yet it doesn’t feel that way. When the heart is always wandering but even the destination finds it hard to believe that you could wander. When there is not a bit of emotional energy you have for yourself and yet you squeeze out all that is left for people around. When you are honest and say uncomfortable things only so as to make the future comfortable but all you’re left with is a judgmental  sigh. When we are busy making assumptions and judgement  without realizing that you are being judged too. When you give your everything professionally but stingy ones on the other side dismiss it over convenient excuses. When you say “Me too” and people around dismiss it by just saying “oh you too”. When you’re constantly watching series and movies on digital platforms which of course are so brilliantly made, but you wonder why it is all about killing, dying, evil & fantasy – more like the end of something is near....

Some days we get it all wrong. Sometimes we just have one of those days, where things happen to you over and over again, as if someone up above is testing to see if you really want to have a good day. At least I do. A little something that's been brewing up inside my head leads to everything else. And then even before I realize, I just want to run and close myself in a room. I sit down and go through every scene of my 'bad day'. What all did I do? What did not go too well? Why did I say it or do it? I try to justify myself as much as I can ; as hard as I can. I repeat great lines to my own brains - " It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case you fail by default." or shorter ones like - "Life is tough darling, but so are you.". I deceive myself like I'm going to fix myself and look for options for distraction and engagement. It keeps going for a w...

The dream catcher slowly shifting. The curtain slightly swaying. The night sky all lit yet dark. You are the silent type. Aren’t you? The thoughts in my head. The memories from all around. The dreams in all its glory and power. I am not too silent. Am I? So why don’t you speak too. Or even shout. It just takes a thunder or a storm after all. In that kind of night, you can dissolve my voice. And then maybe we can have a dance.

                                                                JO&LE I know. Beautiful. She seems to be at so much peace. Such calm. While it all seems so, her brain is exploding with questions and her eyes are filled with wonder. And mind you, those are the questions that actually matter. “Where does the sun hide when it goes to bed at night? Where does the moon stay all day long? Why is pink, pink and orange, orange? Why do some men have beard and some have a smooth face?” She mostly wants more – be it the carrot cake on her plate or the stories around the world. She says things as she feels it. She cries when she feels like. She sleeps when she needs to. Here I am. Grown up. So grown up that I am currently reading “The Subtle Art of not giving a Fuck”. That’s the fine line I guess. She giv...

She woke up that day with a smile.   Thank God. Lately days are bright and happy. Yet that day, it was something else. After a minute or two, she realized. The reason.   She was amused because she thought it was all long back ago. She thought she'd forgotten details. Days which once mattered the most.   And here she was, messed up hair and tiny eyes, and the smile. How a tiny bit from the past make us come alive without us realizing. How those pieces we thought were buried deep down or removed from our system find their way back on the days that makes most sense to those memories.   How we see the innumerable happy moments over the few that probably caused the drift. After all she's a wild child with stains.   Sometimes imperfect. Sometimes unclean. But so damn shiny underneath.

“Sending letters and cards have been a part of us for as long as I can remember. Texting, social media and phone calls all work out just fine but there's this electric, yet very soothing energy that revolves around the art of writing the same down on paper, digging up an envelope, throwing in som e stamps, lick-sealing it (Kidding, don't go there  #papercut ), seeing that beautiful red box, slipping it in, praying to all the Indian Post Gods ‘thou not leteth them goeth astray', hearing the khakhi attired person ring the cycle bell, see them walk in the gate, 'Sukumaretta, kathundo?' (‘Do I have letter?’), to which he'll nod. Your loved ones would run to the door, wind in their hair and take the letter to find a random LIC letter.”  Quoting Flynn George coz I couldn’t put this any better. Writing letters is fun, therapeutic, and has a much deeper meaning to the recipient than anything else. For that matter my husband proposed to me over a letter and I sai...

Whenever I watch a film, it is always the story telling that fascinates me. I just cannot stop thinking of how they came up with a certain story and developed it into a script. And lately it has been getting better – how an event or a certain something that we never thought was significant enough to be developed into a full-fledged engaging script actually gets made into such interesting films with technicality, creativity and yet realistic nature. And that is one of the many respects I consider myself lucky to be a malayali because Malayalam cinema’s affair with experimentation producing some avant-garde projects featuring both unknown and established stars has been striking our hearts and the box office! So the latest I watched was Parava, the directorial debut of Soubin Shahir. Having spent a significant period living in Cochin and exploring Fort Kochi, it was a feel good watch for the fact it was all happening in familiar frames. During my days there, I’ve come ...

You know that feeling? When you’re just waiting. Waiting to get home. Waiting to get into your room. To close the door, to fall on that bed. And to just let everything out that you kept in all day. That feeling of relief and desperation? Nothing is wrong. But nothing is right either. And you’re tired. Tired of everything. Tired of nothing. And you just want someone to be there, to tell you that it is okay. But no one is going to be there and you know that only you can fix you. But you’re tired of waiting. Tired of having to be the one to fix yourself and everyone else. Tired of being strong. And for once you want it to be easy. To be simple. To be helped. To be saved. You know the chances are slim. You’re still hoping, right? You’re still wishing, isn’t it? You’re staying strong and fighting with tears in your eyes. You’re fighting. Keeping fighting. Write yourself a warrior’s tale.

She walked in barefoot into the nature. Something whispering, murmuring, coaxing and invoking. The many trees that turn color in the fall. The sunlight filtering through the treetops making beautiful dappled patterns on the pond. Children all around making happy shrills. Running, playing and being their age. The lone couple under a sprawling banyan and the other couple freezing moments of maternity. The bald man asleep on a bench and another just like that on the grass. A young lady reading ‘God of Small Things’ and the grandpa with his kindle. A bunch of burqa clad women busy picking fallen leaves out of their lunch boxes as they sat in a circle, giggling. And another lot playing ice and water. Babies in their strollers and the puppies strolling around. Roses of every color and shape. Some as big as two palms cupped together. The gulmohar, silver oak, pink Cassia and hundreds of nameless astoundingly beautiful plants. The texture of the ...

Disclaimer : If anything from this post relates to you or offends you, please don't be. You know we're talking about the other parents! This aunt I know. Apparently she was this extremely fun woman who believed in breaking the stereotype norms and go far. She lived independently and did a lot apparently. But now years down the lane, her daughter is not allowed to stay out after 8 pm, not allowed to drive because it is too dangerous and a whole lot of not allowed to do things. Fair enough right? My little niece. Oh she be one adorable doll. So her mom had gotten her morning milk ready in a blue sippy cup. She pushed it away and demanded, “I want the pink sippy cup, not the blue!”. My sister’s face whitens and she rushes to get the preferred sippy cup before the baby throws a tantrum. Fail! What are you afraid of sister? I go out shopping with a family friend. Their little boy loves my company (or at least it feels that way with all the fun we have). We are at the...

The sun has almost set and as I stand in my balcony, I feel the city serenading my favorite songs for me.  As the night sets in, somewhere in a multi-storey building I sing back. Is it my never ending thirst to find new shores that brought me here? Or is it the never ending love from my heart only for you? I stand here taking in the unending long view of shining lights. From this shore of love and lust I look up at the sky longing for it to rain on me. I’m here for you in the beautiful night like a shadow of you. I look around to see this city the way you do before I paint my own picture. Each nook of the city smells like cigarette smoke at this hour. With a pint down their throat, the artists walk through the lanes, to capture life. As the city lives on - everyone is looking for something. I sure am. We are all finding something or making something or maybe just being. And suddenly I know, it is time to start something n...

Pistanthrophobia – Is this word familiar?  Well, I came across this one lately and was surprised to find out that fear of Trusting someone again is such a common reaction to being hurt in love that it has its own name. Thinking of it, what is one of the most crucial commodities for a person that’s becoming increasingly difficult to obtain these days?  Is the possibility of interruption and distraction everywhere taking a toll on most individuals and their relationships? Is it the fact that the juxtaposition of people’s loftiest hopes and aspirations with their deepest worries and fears is too difficult to be brought to a balance?  Is it the fear that if taken lightly, one day it might just become routine? Does this all boil down to the fact that we have forgotten about ourselves? That the other person is after all the secondary character and not primary. I don’t know.  What I believe is - It is good to love, because love is difficult. For one human ...