Desert Rose

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 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 ...

She woke up every morning convincing herself that it is a good time to be. After all, most things come to her doorstep without her having to go out and get exhausted; There was enough content to watch on digital platforms – so much that she spent more time on the decision than actually watching; Education was taking interesting turns with alternative learning systems to beat the conventional ones – so now we’d see more kids on the block who crack life better than we did apparently; Innovation in design and technology blew her mind with every aspect of daily life getting so much easier; Equality, empowerment, tolerance and what not – everything is in the air or at least on social media; Medicine is developing at a good pace to deal with all the increasing sickness in this world; Mental health is being taken seriously and therapists are all over the place - so obviously happier people with sorted life; People are making conscious shifts to organic products, sustainab...

“We were a thing, you know. It is almost like we wake up together and do all our stuff in sync. We also enjoy similar activities and styles. But somehow she was not okay with me being around with….” “We are so connected and I used to share everything with them. It never felt like they were so elder to me. It was more of a buddy vibe than grandparent vibe. But then…”  “Last time I did that work schedule since she wasn’t there right. Now apparently I need to take up that responsibility completely!”  “We both were the best of friends. Like literally! For a really long time, it was just that and then with all that happened later and for the mess it became – wish I could…”  “How can we say no nah? It is okay. We’ll manage somehow.” Every person I talk to seems to be having something going on along these lines on a personal and professional level. Of course – my life is full of it too.  Really – these kinds of issues that each of us encounter on a d...

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...

When I graduated, I was all set to pursue masters and do all the stuff that I was 'supposed' to. A year later, somewhere I felt I was not sure if I wanted to. And I began enjoying all the little big things I was up to. And then on it has been multiple things I engage myself in everyday which began to feel fulfilling. But there are those days where I am sent into this state of shock thinking about the questions I'm asked. So what's your plan? ( Earlier it was about my further studies alone but now it is also about my reproduction chart)  Am I not running this race fast enough?                                                                                                                Image so...

“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...

It was indeed a long wait - the kind where almost the whole of the rest of the world had watched it. But we had to wait. I mean obviously – we can take item numbers with bizarre lyrics and objectification of women but the real facets – that is worth censoring, isn’t it? *Item number - A song that can be dropped anywhere in the film with no narrative justification. A scantily-clad woman appears, dances to a cheesy song, often with double meaning, and is never seen again. Oh and it is censor board friendly. More like a product placement (female body) to get the cash registers flowing at the box office. Ever since I walked out after watching Lipstick Under my Burkha, various perspectives have been going through my mind. The immediate reaction was all focused on the stalling performance by each artist and the story telling. It always fascinates me how the writers knit a whole lot of characters and experiences that they probably have met along their journey into a structur...

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...

So lately it has been a lot about “You’re Getting Married?!” Well yes. I am getting married soon. No I am not taking a plunge or whatever. I am just getting married.  Obviously, I still don’t know much about “being married” since I am just about to get there. But there are a few things I realized over the last few months and this space works for me. There was an invitation that went viral on social media lately that portrayed a marriage as the most horrific thing to do. And then I just got thinking.  The sense of humour has for long compared a wedding to the end of everything. Phrases like “That’s it man”, “You’re screwed”, “End of freedom” and the like. Of course, no denials! I have been part of such conversations myself. But pondering over it lately, I realized that involuntarily these jokes have contributed in developing a kind resistance to the whole idea in most of our minds. We live in an era where commitment and trust is already the biggest fe...

“Oh I thought you were a feminist. Aren’t you? “ – One comment I encounter very often. Like even yesterday. So am I? Being a woman is a privilege I was born with and it is an identity I cherish more than any other. It is something that has shaped my emotional response and sensitivity for as long as I have known.  Like most women, I too am strengthened by my experiences and it is the truth when they say “a woman is like a reed, she bends to every breeze but she does not break in a storm.” ‘Woman’ is the far deeper, wider and greater word. Does it even fit to qualify a more limited term like ‘Feminist’?  Not in my opinion. Being labelled a feminist would misrepresent who I really am. I know that some dictionaries define feminism simply as ‘equality’. But I do not want to be part of a movement where too many of their actions do not match this definition. I know that not all feminists are man-haters, don’t care about men’s rights, or believe in female s...

We all have that WhatsApp group that is mostly asleep but when it wakes up, you have no choice but to mute it. So the same happened with one of the groups on my list a few days back. It kick started with reactions to the Telugu version of the Malayalam fame song ‘Malare’ and somehow drifted to reservation based on caste system. Participating in the discussion that followed, I got reminded of a time when I wished my father was a Latin Catholic and not a Syrian Catholic. I would have got that seat you know! I’m sure Jesus won’t care as much as the country did whatever I called myself. The constitution of India says all Indians are equal. Oh really? Reservation today is not just an affirmative action but has become a means for getting more and more benefits. As a matter of fact, the scope of reservation has enlarged to quite an extent. Oh so the backwardness has increased? It seems that nobody really cares about the welfare of the underdog but wants to gain a bit of th...

They wrote love letters like bed time stories and stacked them.  Those stacks. Reminders to never forget. They swam in a sea of open ended sentences.  Sentences punctuated with her scent. But did she know then, that the gravity of loneliness smelled the same as well. Broke. They rebuilt. Broke again. The 'lost cause' wrapped in 'remember when ' and 'what could have been' ;  all in an 'if only things were different'. And she's lost. Dizzy. Lost on that less traveled road.  He was like a December. Serene. He was the morning cool.  And she no less than a fool for mistaking glass for the openness ;  mistaking the calm for content. To awaken the lost, silent dreams ; wanting to gather hope and spirit ; those stacks found a place elsewhere ;  those bed time stories were put to sleep. Forever. 

It is the fire in her eyes ;  And the flash of her teeth ;    The swing in her waist ;  And the delight in her feet.   It is in the reach of her arms ;  The cross of her hips ;    The stride of her step ;    The red of her lips.      It is in the arch of her back ; The ecstasy of her smile ; The ride of her breasts ;  The grace of her style.  It is in the click of her heels,    The sway of her hair,    The palm of her hand,    The need for her care.     A woman. Phenomenally. You should know ;  Just why her head’s not bowed.    She doesn’t shout or jump about,  Or have to talk real loud.    When you see her passing,  It ought to make you proud.  Because it is her. Phenomenally. Courtesy : Maya Angelou