Desert Rose

 The hardcover was intact but a little sticky from years of perspiration from being stuck in the cupboard. It is lovely how seeing just the outer cover can stir a whole lot of emotions. It can wake up memories that you had put to sleep with a lot of effort. On turning each page, each of their faces smiling wide was so clear in the mind. In a phase of life where you’re wondering if memory is your thing anymore, it is quite reassuring to see your mind map the handwriting to the right faces.   A line here and a phrase there; a quick sketch here and an inside joke there; ink pen on a page that’s slowly fading (but you still remember enough to fill in); pages made all colorful with every line in a different pen. On a day when everything felt grey from the inside, just flipping the pages painted her mind red. They’d been the world at a point. Then there was a blur. Then there were years of questioning the blur. This phase was followed by some agitation and anger for not being...

It was in my 9th grade that I decided what I'd pursue as a career. I am not able to recollect when it all began and how I picked up Architecture as a potential profession. I remember my parents taking me to career counseling sessions and doing everything in their capacity to make sure I take an informed decision. When I look back, I believe I tailored the results of those sessions myself. In my head, I had that career implanted - so every questionnaire and every one on one interview - all boiled down to a career in design.  But what I strongly remember is that I never chose architecture because I wanted to run my own firm or work in an architectural studio - I don't believe I said that out loud! To be associated with the construction industry with a deep understanding of design so as to execute and get a project running was why I took this path. I knew it before I started my studies, but somewhere down the line, with the fraternity being inclined towards only the obvious career...

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.

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...

“You know what. I really can’t stand that. It is so distracting. Why can’t she stop doing it?” “He will never understand. He’s always been this and nothing is going to change.” “I don’t know. I can’t tell her this. My relation with her is not like you and your sister. We don’t connect or share much. So I don’t think me asking will work.” So what is the one common factor about these dialogues? It is the very fact that the issue is not being discussed with the person involved but with somebody else. And this aspect has been grabbing my attention way too much lately. Most problems I hear from people of my circle actually boils down to this – lack of the 2 C’s. Confrontation & Conversation                            Source : https://goo.gl/images/eN9vGx “Sometimes you just need to talk about something – not to get sympathy or help, but just to kill its power by allowing the truth of things to h...

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...

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...

It was my turn to move away from home. It was time for me, like they say, to go behind my dreams. And I was sure. My entire world was sure that my father would not deal with it well. I knew he wouldn’t wave goodbye without shedding some tears - joyous and anxious. (Somewhere I was proud of it. Proud of being his girl with whom he cannot stay.) And finally that day arrived for me to fly out and as I walked away, I noticed something was different. He didn’t shed tears and his look told me a thousand things that I couldn’t then perceive. Everyone around including my mother said he had prepared himself well for this change and was strong. But somewhere behind my mind that image remained. Tiny details but the most important things seemed different whenever I went home. He didn’t play his usual doze of morning music which was like an energizer to wake up for us all our life. There were not many evenings where movies were discussed to tiny details. Those evening walks where keeping up w...

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 ...

“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...

She : What is your take anyway? He : It is one's decision. See my idea is very simple. You being an individual have your own way of seeing things and deciding the right and wrong. She : True. He : I was raised being told that certain things are absolutely evil and till a point I even believed it. When I moved out into the world, I met people who were raised differently. Anything is like that. If you want to do something, do it. Just plain and simple. Not to show anyone or as a burden. But with joy and the feeling of RESPONSIBILITY. She : But what if you do it irresponsibly and hurt a few in the process? He : That is what I am coming to. It isn't easy at all. This is applicable only if you are independent of the action. The moment you engage someone into your freedom, it is your responsibility to ensure the other person is also equally respected and gets to be part of the game in all aspects, simply because it is a choice that was made.   Like i...

Sometimes, the color of life confuses me.  Sometimes life looks black and other times red, like a deep wound. About the color of life, I wonder. It was a fine day. He thought the day would be white – easy, happy and bright. But the call from his love around noon changed the shades of white to more of black and red. She had called him up to say that she was having second thoughts about their relationship. He wasn’t sure if in that precise moment it felt like life took a black or red shade. Why now? Why did she have to tell me now that I purchased such an expensive ring to bind our future together?  He remembered the day they first met. There was not a cloud in the sky. He thought of that as a good omen. But his friend thought it would have been better if it rained when I first met her – the shower being the giver of a brand new life.  He so much wanted that life - rain or shine. He thought of begging her to reconsider?  They spoke. And the ro...

If I believed in magic that’s what I would tell you writing is. 

 Yesterday, on my way to my native, I received an image from my friend and on seeing it on my drop-down notifications, I figured it was a picture of something that she’d written. Even before opening and reading it, I got reminded of a phase where she used to write way more than me and did it well. And the more attractive factor for me, was her ease to write in her mother tongue which still remains a task in my case. As I thought, I realized that I haven’t read much of her writings ever since we left school and there I was - quite a frequent blogger! I read what she wrote. I knew what she meant. Obviously being my closest, I could relate to whatever she was trying to portray. And it got me thinking. The firing of specific synapses;  The chemical cascade that transmutes the scent of a particular perfume into a short story; The fall leaves into rhyming poetry; Your brutal breakup into a n...

Being Indian. There is vagueness, a bit of confusion. I thought I wasn’t ashamed of it – of being an Indian, but was there pride? If yes, about what? History? Of what we have achieved in the past 20 odd years that I have witnessed and remember of?  I don’t know an answer to that.   So I thought, let’s think about pride and what it means to most of us. I realized eventually that to have an answer to this confusion, one needs to decide on what is actually meant when one says “Indian” or “Being Indian”.   I came to the conclusion that we confuse 'Ethnicity Indian' with 'Citizen Indian' at most times. This eventually leads to our idea of nationalism which in turn leads to patriotism and all the like. Ethnicity adds a new dimension. With ethnicity, there is suddenly a few thousand years old history and culture. Are we all proud of that? Aren’t we all taught to be proud of that? And I came up with something that I thought made sense. (of course! I would suppor...