I take away the garbage bags, all filled to the brim.Where will they go, will they float or will they swim?It’s gone. Replenish. Consume. I like the sound of empty wine bottles, they clink together as I throw them away.Oh! We have had a good time. That sweater stacked for charity.My first. Whatever.It’s gone. Replenish. Consume. My Hope and Fear. Ego, shattered and bruised.Where will they go, will they float or will they swim?
They tell me its all over.The night of horror. The enraged cosmic dance.The horizon is on fire, the earth has shaken,Blood and skeleton in every direction.Here, I am calling your name,Oh Sati! Oh My beloved Sati. They tell me its all over. The night of horror.The tides are low, the sky is still grey,The Sun is mustering courage to cast […]
It was a year of magical thinking,We all thought that ‘Eleanor Oliphant is fine’ without blinking. Ofcourse, it wasn’t only about ‘the case against sugar’,She wasn’t exactly one of ‘the women who ran with the wolves’ for the average onlooker. She took comfort in her ‘Sathavan’, ignoring her ‘Mindset’,‘Ego is the enemy’ in plain sight, you bet! Self-loathing, scared, disillulisoned […]
A Minute of SilenceFor the unfinished chapters, the dusty fridge tops, the ignored payment reminders, the binned leftovers,The chaos behind shut wadrobe doors. A Minute of SilenceFor what ifs, may bes, could bes, should haves, but onlys. A firmer resolve for some compassion,To quit this motion of inflicting violence. 9 September 2018
Ah! Sixteen this age, ripe and tender,I have my guitar and endless songs on my lips.I aspire Kate, I believe in Bourdain.Little do I know of this dance on the tightrope.I await like the cold dark green henna on a bride’s palmdesiring to set into a deep maroon. Ah! Twenty-five this age, determined and brave,I have my map and endless plans about my trips.I aspire Kate, I believe in Bourdain.I am learning this dance on the tightrope.I roll my dice like a debt-ridden gamblerwanting to welcome a windfall. Ah! Thirty-one this age, knowing and humble,With guitars and maps, songs and plans.I have learnt the secret to the tightrope is to embrace the fall.I aspire to be my own Kate. I believe in my own Bourdain. 20 June 2018
There was a time whenHarry Potter was a heroand the series was my bible.A quick apparation toHogwarts castle, a land of magicand adventurethe world was indeed my oyster. There was a time whenbooks were most precious possessionsMuch before mortgages and insurance.I chewed them at the breakfast tableI gulped them before dinner timeI read them underneath Geography textbooks, I read them with torch lights. There was a time when the only secrets I had was my book stashHidden strategically below my bed.Much before, the thousand scars neatly tucked away in my heart. There was a time whenHarry Potter was my heroand the series was my bible. Atleast I could stifle theDementors inside my books 2 June 2018
Sorry to bring in a sinister mood on this rose- tinted day like today. But whilst we are rejoicing in name of Love, Hope and Optimism, let us also take note of our most frowned upon term called Pessimism. I am not really for the good morning, motivational Monday quote.If you love the job, you would do it even on Sunday afternoon! Generally I appear to be this happy, sunshine soul but I am also somewhat a defensive pessimist or a strategic pessimist. Well, to start with I have studied accounting and law. So forward looking statements rule my life.Tighten the wording around a clause in contract. Have sufficient provisions been made?I am definitely the ant who saves for the rainy day. I usually have plan B’s up my sleeve as I check off my to do lists.What is a strategic pessimist? Ok, IT wizards and problem solving engineers, take a back seat. Here it is:1. Always assume for the worst : Health or Relationships, Exams or Career.2. Lower your expectations: He is going to forget that gift, anyways! Or, I think I may just make it to a Pass grade.3. Over prepare: Yes, three desserts as options. ALWAYS.4. Take calculated risks: Common sense over complicated maths. So Pessimism is not really all doom and gloom, but when in England, carry your umbrella. 14 February 2020
I have a geeky confession to make. I have practised writing numerous essays as a preparation for the 10th board exams. One of the most annoying topics, which I found then was one called “Shalecha Nirop Ghetana” (Saying Goodbye to School). My version was definitely one of the plagarsised ones with some heavy words of losing the safe place and entering the big bad world thrown in for the special effects.I was too under equipped emotionally to understand what it truly meant. I was simply excited to get an opportunity to dress up in Mum’s sari, click pictures and have a day off studies on the Big day.But since then, I have been a party to so many ‘Nirops’.The ones which we left unsaid,And the ones where we all cried in turns consoling each other.There were some where I had sworn not to see that person’s face again.Whereas some were only temporary, restless ones even though knowing that I would see the person the next day yet again!The Wedding Bidai is losing its place in the modern world.The workplace ones are indeed interesting. You have a gut instinct on who exactly is feeling the loss and why.The airport ones are most genuine now. There is an annual ritual of those for me.What about the ultimate farewell called the funeral? How would a 15 year old know about this constant heartbreak? 31 January 2020
Have you ever looked at a person and wondered who is this person?As in, who is the person really? That little toddler who is trying all antics to grab your attention. When he wobbles to give you his ‘pretend tea’ and gives you a toothed smile.And you pull him towards you to give him a hug? A friend whose sense of humour encompasses the room. Have you paused in the spree of laughter for a second and wondered what makes her so funny? Or simply sang along in an impromptu duet with an acquaintance in a party with a knowing smile and awkward glance at them? Have you gulped down bowls of your favourite food which your mum has painstakingly made? Then wondered, how could she do it all? Have you fallen in love those moments? Look more intently, give your attention. You will be in love, yet again! 15 December 2019
Recently, at the Museum of First Nations in Whistler, someone remarked how a civilisation was left for a museum as it had fallen mercy to another powerful one. I easily submitted to this argument as I couldn’t deny these two popular theories:– Change is Constant– Black Swan theoryBut something about the place or the experience had left me in tears. (It wasn’t PMS trust me).I wondered if 100 years later, my own mother tongue would vanish, that some age old recipes which my Aaji would have cooked be a copy in a Musuem! These very things which I hold so dear to my heart. Perhaps, I should try researching more about new Marathi Sahitya or try my hand skillfully folding boiled rice flour (That is Modaks, you Mudbloods).Now. Soon. Love fiercely and forgive easily. That the Deccan Plateau would shake and swallow us in or we would be attacked by Martians and a whole population of Marathi speaking adults would be wiped out.Humbling indeed, that I am mere speck in an unknown scheme of things. That we all are at mercy of cyclical forces and mortality was certain. Whether we made it to a Museum or not!
The Colloquial Chutney and Little Miss Elf 