Desert Rose

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 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...

Bangalore mornings are on most days worth waking up to. I was out for my run at about 6am and the rays of the early morning sun pierced through a blanket of light fog. The wind was strong on my face and the green around was happy. Sleepy faces walking, jogging and running but most smiled as we crossed one another. The ground had a group of people with their mats laid out and doing yoga. I was not aware about the yoga day though. Later in the morning I was at the bus stop heading for work. The kids were there to catch their school bus and they were carrying mats too. Then the little girl told me it was yoga day. (Yeah. Ignorant me!) Usually on getting on to the bus, I spend about 10 minutes browsing on my phone – then I knew it was yoga day for sure. Thanks to the memes and trolls. Image Source: https://goo.gl/images/psgKUw It was a pleasant morning in the bus to watch all the kids and their parents waiting for their school bus with different colors of yoga mat. T...

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.

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...

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...

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...

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...

If you can see her for all that she is, every bad decision wrapped in pretty skin. If you can see her fears trembling in her palms, And long to kiss away the pain they cause. If you can relate to all the moments she roared gracefully, and the ones where she stumbled back to reality. If you can look at her scarred soul, and crave a taste of life she’s been dying in. If she looks like heartbreak wrapped up in a smile, and you’ve never wanted disaster in your life so badly. If like her, for you too, ‘happily ever after’ doesn’t mean a perfectly told story, but falling in love with delicious chaos that is life. If you are the kind who admire the gentle breeze, the baleful wind and the storm alike. Then maybe there’s a chance at a true sort of love where ruins are more beautiful than the flesh above.

“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...

It was all about order then; But she doesn’t know until when. When did that pull towards love and chaos take over? Or maybe was chaos always the constant? Her world now moved too fast. She missed the shades of each sunset;  She no longer felt her toes kissing the earth beneath. It was no more about order; But chaos. It was like being the moon afraid of the vast sky; but loving the way it held the stars. She yearned for peace from all this mayhem. But she didn’t realise that she invited it; Because she was too wild to feel alive when at peace. To be reckless; To consume. To be wild ; To be her. Chaos was its own kind of beautiful.

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

If you must act like an impertinent man ;  Just because my clear sky  now looks grey ; And thunderstorms y ou cannot bear the sound of ; Please continue. Only remember that even today, I'd say cheers with you knowing my mug has poison. I would gladly drink it   for old times’ sake .

A dying winter Sun had hushed the land below to sleep but on the bridge that spanned the backwaters Saira stood wide awake in stillness. Transfixed like a little girl caught in headlights; eyes captivated by the water currents far below. She watched the water that rushed unquestioningly on in its blind search for an ocean’s dark but welcoming shroud.               By eleven in the night, it was almost graveyard silent. But she stood there lost in thought. The slight breeze rustled through her hair and her long flared kurta moved along. This was all she needed that night or maybe any night. Her body and soul braced forlorn on the wrong side of the railing. Suddenly a voice shattered the silence and with it went any semblance of peace she might have had. Saira nearly jumped out of her skin, for she’d not seen or heard a soul for a long while now. 'Steady on mate,' said the voice, ‘didn’t mean to make you jump.' She gripped the railings...