Ginger Tea

The pounding on the kitchen slab was gentle and familiar. Every morning at 6’am is these cheerful moderate thuds made her smile while she was still in bed.Keshav liked to get up early and prepare ginger tea for her and a glass of milk for self. Beating the ginger pods with a stone was something he did without knowing how it made her feel.

He had taken her to Shimla on their tenth wedding anniversary. The recently released ‘Barfi’ had made it a popular destination. Her in-laws insisted they leave the children behind and take this much needed break.

She loved the place. It was cold and beautiful. After much coaxing, she agreed to cross small stream bare-feet. Scared and jittery she twinkle toed her dainty self away. He used to tease her that if it weren’t for her mangalsutra and over-flaunted sindoor, people would think she was still in school as her height deserted her in early childhood. She turned around to look at him from time to time to make sure he was right behind.

At one point when she looked back, he tossed something at her. She caught it but slipped in the bargain and sat with a splash in the middle of the shallow stream. What he tossed at her was this very stone. She sat in knee deep icy cold water holding it tight and watched him come near. She wanted to be angry with him but couldn’t be. He laughed with such joyous abandonment and picked her up in his arms that any heart would melt. She simply clung on. The rest of the crossing was one of the most beautiful moments of their trip.

This smooth white stone which looked like a shapeless potato had been with her since then.



She was to marry her father’s business partner’s son when she was 16. As the business fell apart so did the marriage plans. No one said anything, no one heard anything. Everyone behaved as if the marriage plans never existed. But the young bride to be was crushed. In the next two years she finished her matriculation and left her home for making good of her future.

That is the time when Keshav and his innocence took over her. And suddenly their worlds went topsy-turvy leading to an exciting yet a journey of togetherness. The marriage was simple. She turned out to be a great wife and a daughter-in-law but for one handicap.

She could never get up early in the morning. Keshav got up early. Prepared tea. Poured them into tiny ceramic cups. Placed them on saucers and called out to her. She would place them on a tray, cover her head with the saree pallu and knock on the door of her in-laws.

Every family has secrets. This was theirs. It kept changing with time from being a tell-tale gossip to a funny story to a romantic legend. Now it was a tradition. The children had planned a grand get together for next year. Their sixtieth wedding anniversary.

Keshav walked in with cup of the same ginger tea. He propped the pillows and picked her frail body up to make her sit. She didn’t want a celebration. She didn’t want the world to wish her. All she wanted was to get her ginger tea in bed as long as she lived. She knew that the day the stone stopped pounding, her heart would too….


You are my Home!

Sitting next to her better half in the balcony of their newly owned  house,she could comprehend the warmth Smriti always craved for. In the plight of that peaceful moment, she stared at him with a quest to know what would he like to have for breakfast?

There was a not-so-unusual reply from Kunal, which purported that anything will be fine but steamed Idly’s and omelette will serve the best. She followed his indifferent choice and made a move briskly to the kitchen. It was half an hour since she began and was pouring the dry-fruit shake in his tumbler when, she could smell his elegant crux beside her, seeking other utensils for breakfast to help her out at the table. She couldn’t express much but only had a blissful tenderness on her lips,admiring the decision she made.


He always was a heartious one, who relished life in a sumptuous manner and from the very point when he promised to marry her, she could visibly sense his excitement to have a small family with her .Today she was the epitome of the same love and care she always dreamt of ,while this relation was going through those worrisome days, when constant denials paved  rough roads for them. He was a very lively person in all who, made her smile even in worse situations and she could face the world with the same confidence again.

Their peculiar backgrounds had made it more thrilling for Smriti, to try out his taste in variant recipes to make him feel homely and tingle his taste-buds, which also could accord him with a tint of the flavor her mother-in-law’s cooking had. He was a great connoisseur of lovely food and being posted in southern premises of the country,he cultivated a gorging appetite for off-beating Idly’s and chutneys,which she was not very much fond of, but eventually love made that happen too!

Nibbling on the left over omelette, he turned nostalgic about the times when he convinced his family to marry her and assured them that she can understand his needs the best. He grinned on those silly moments when he teased her making her feel shy and stepping out of his memoir,he exclaimed with a loud excitement,” Did you like our new home?”, to which she looked at his overjoyed face and calmly replied, “Indeed it is a lovely house,but you are my home “.

*Misleading Memories*

There must be thousands words you have ever said to me, but now I remember only few of them. Sure they are filtered by my mind in parallel lines to my desires, drawing an unrealistic image of yours.It is then when I realize, I cannot even trust my memories, as they too are misleading… I remember only half of their side – the brighter one, the darker side being ignored intentionally by my loving heart. What I remember is just a false belief, the darker side being the truth.

It is then when I realize I cannot even trust my heart, as it is no more loyal to me but to you.It is then when I realize, that there doesn’t exist a single thing within me that I can trust upon… Everything seems vague and fake… Even me myself!

There was this heavy rain that clouds poured outside, and another heavy rain existed in me, where everything on my path seemed to be overlapped with clouds of uncertainties. However rain is essential sometimes to wash the path once in a while, to make the path clear. My rain too was essential, to make the path better for me.

Lately it’s about emotions that are unexpressed, relations that are essential, moments of heavenly happiness as well as devastating sorrows & beauty of life!

Smelling yesteryear’s dust!

It had already stopped raining and the evening looked more splendid, as it was an unusual winter shower. Poised and composed as I walked down the little lane near my house, the cluster of little wet houses with few people leisurely taking a walk and two other children running after each other was delightful. I was drifted back in time which left me surprised, how two days can be so connected. Different times different eras, and the journey of 20 years seemed like a myth which had happened to us. Me and my brother cherished these rainy moments with a super-energetic reminiscence,where paper boats and kitchen set were the most precious toys to give life for. And it struck me why living here brings me a strange peace. Childhood tugs at my heart and I was left with a glimpse of a time gone.
As a child, all I wanted to get out of my little town, live in faraway lands, eat different food, lead different life. Now I am doing exactly that and yet,life has come a full circle. I savor every bit of nostalgia in light of treasuring memories. I find comfort in simple food of yesteryear’s and the rains which swiftly drained me to some amazing times.
Life brings about myriad possibilities. It astonishes me how a day can sometime stretch on and on and we fit in an unbelievable amount of love,care,affection and feelings into it.Every hour..every minute..every second goes on as we joyfully taste every bit. Then sometimes we wake up and blink and the day vanishes, just like that, we have nothing to recall, nothing to account for.

A Reason to smile!

 I was also one of those not-so-open girls, who sheepishly cross the way so that no one notices ,and never expected that sort of ideal love stories of Love at first site. And I believed myself to be strong minded, independent and  elegant  too..(giggles) .A girl in twenties who had the sensitivity of a petal to heal life, yet the strength of a tree to face life ,a heart which could absorb all pain , yet could shed tears touched by the pain of a stranger. A soul which held an understanding the very wise have, yet cares like the most innocent child ever. In short , a complete , geometrical opposite to what the guys look out for..
Before he stepped into my life, I knew he had to be very calm, serious and quiet person. I had already imagined my life with him. My days & nights would be full of talks about work, life, aspirations and other serious issues I have talked about with others. But love doesn’t happen such a regular and ordinary way. It has to tread on the path we never imagine to walk on and with the person we never can imagine to love. Every girl has a frame in her dream of the man she would want to be with for her whole life. And when the man arrives, the frame vanishes…doesn’t matter how different the man from the frame is, because while a boy finds a girl who keeps him happy,this boy has found a girl he wants to keep happy. 

My friends used to say that only a quiet person can ever bear me for his life, a person who has plenty of words will leave me in two days. He  also shared this with me that only a bubbly & funny girl can stay happily with him. How easy it is to think and imagine along those lines…and we two also imagined the same. But fate had something else in store for us. I think fate always has something else in store for everyone, at least not what they imagine about relationships.
A funny girl would have given him a perfect environment of laughter’s and jokes. A day with a quiet girl won’t have its complete share. I remember I told  this once to him. At first, I used to feel that he is fun-loving, talking-always-nonsense nature can only survive for little time. I  laughed with him, I smiled with him..unknown with the fact that the laughter won’t last for long. But in his absence, I recalled those and laughed again alone..just like an insane. I believe this…when you do something in isolation, it reflects your true feelings. I saw him  making people around him laugh, make them feel happy in what they are doing, make them believe in their capabilities and dreams, make them feel good about life. 
At least, I felt all whatever I stated above. And then I realized, it doesn’t matter what kind of person you imagine would be the best for your life…only thing matters is your completion with the one.We may be poles apart from each other…but he made me believe in myself and love, make me feel good about life, he  makes  it worth living and not just spending days, and he made me….ME.

Divinity Incarnated…

A lady who brings us into light of the world is the embodiment of heavenly powers and credible potential to raise our identity.Certainly we are god’s gift on this planet, but the bearer was always a strong personality camouflaged in a poised drape.Now I wont perplex the situation by mingling my thoughts, as it’s an auspicious occasion of Navratri and we are in a usual fast-stricken routine to deify Goddess Durga and her Nine morphs, and it’ll be impolite of me to signify my analysis on the real Goddess of my life.Still I render shade and comfort in the whimsical lap of my mother, whose ambience I cherish in my ups and downs. 
Tujhe sab h pata haina Maa..
Indeed she is the most serene person in our lives but has the maximum hardships to come over at every instant.There’s no room for her own pursuits and choices, rather there is a constant reminder set for a lifetime to prompt her about the adapted duties and cautions.I am a staunch admirer of this divine personification, who curiously lay her eyes for my glimpse.With the falling of dawn, those lonesome eyes grow deeper in the want of more of me beside her and her heart begins to sketch the anxiety bereft of happiness. This hide and seek goes on all our life with the over increasing excitement and vigor.
 The whereabouts change a lot and yet I figure out that she’s the only one who know my literal present situation in spite of my spontaneous denial to any instance.She’s the mother, the one who go through the utmost pain when I cry a bit and again stand up to lead me out of this melancholy.Being the most beautiful soul in our lives,she carries this placid affection even after her dissolution and instills her blissful essence, sparking our existence.

I wish to hold her for a while and express my love and care for her which she always deserved and make her realize the beauty which she ingrained in everyone’s vitality.I may not be there for her when she needed me the most and just wished to spend some glorifying moments in my presence,but I yearn to visualize her, the void which I carry because I couldn’t make it to her. I wish to get young again to cherish and ponder upon my mother’s affection.

A Moment of Bliss!

It’s a weary Saturday afternoon with none of the excitements to come over, I sit leaning beside the window in my small room of the hostel, and my tired eyes glued to the chirping kids outside, who are busy in their melodious paradise of the ethnic game..”Ghar Ghar“, a game I think inherited to almost every Indian child, and even I cherished it with my dear once in the younger times.
Suddenly I began to get a bolt from my nostalgic instincts regarding a very significant part of early life on that boring afternoon, and even the hustle and bustle outside my window could not influence the flood of memories in me, where one could not help but notice the difference in appearances, languages, attire and body languages in South India, here the museum of people around were pulling me back to my yesteryear’s in Dehradun, the valley of love and serenity. 

The air was filled resemblingly with different frequencies of sound and in that indistinct chatter, I could make out the tinkling of cold bunta bottles (a soda lemon drink), gossips of various flavours, loud calls of self employed entrepreneurs of “shanivaar bazaar” and sizzling of mashed potatoes for the spicy Indian aloo chaat.
This instantly transported me back in time, when Nani and Nana(maternal grand parents) used to accompany me to these tiny moments in Dehradun. I was lucky enough to spend a phase of my childhood in their presence and was nurtured in utmost care. I,then being a small one, could only analyze the love scattered everywhere,when Nanaji made me an expertise in the knowledge of “tenses” and a sense of eloquent grammar at a very unripe age,while making me having the joyful time on rope tree swing which he made for me on the litchi tree in our verandah. The easy learning process of everyday was given an occasional push when the exhaust fan of the kitchen spewed oily and spicy smoke into the aangan and its aroma used to dilute everywhere indicating a luscious treat to my tastebuds.
The swing, the smell , my Nana Nani and me, this combination felt a part of best wonderland I could have ever imagined.

I was rocked back to time , when suddenly the power cut dispensed and the fan began to produce its flunking clatter signifying its steady motion.There was an echo of nostalgia and amidst that I spotted my Nani’s ever calm smiling face with rosary beads being spunned by her tender fingers every morning. She had an aura of exuberance & a spark in her happiness, which refused to fade away. The static presence of Nana Nani made the environment very soothing and radiated the tranquil and peace spread over the valley of Dehradun. I still used to encounter the same essence and my connection with Dehradun till date was more or less influenced by the utmost love I was showered on, by my maternal grandparents.

I employed caution to recollect myself to the present decorum and gave a cursory look to my sloppy room and motionless gadgets but I only found was the glimpse of my sweet memories, which were beautifully instilled in me due to the versatile personality of those heavenly souls.They were the true epitome of love, care, sympathy and gratitude.

My Nanaji was a very sincere person with an in-depth sea of British English which I suppose, he had already begun to counterbalance with me in his instincts. His advises were crisp and will never leave me. The mesmerizing love will always be alive in me with a fusion of his evocative thoughts and creativity.

Earthly possessions were dwarfed in front of this heavenly bliss. This has the power to propel you on the life path that is so uncertain. I seem to share not only a perfect blend of flesh and blood through lineage but also the spirit and verve of their soul due to the bond we shared.

I finally composed to gather myself to the world outside my deeply filled heart and aptitude and smiled at the instants I cherished in that lonesome Saturday afternoon.