The Time Turner

Some time in the heaps of clutter on your desk are things hidden to your naked eye. Somehow they get lost to your current memory until one day while organising the stack you find them. Reminiscing the past, you walk down the memory lane.

Today, while dusting my desk, I picked up this watch box. Usually, I sweep the area overlooking the lying objects. But today, I felt the urge to open and see its contents. With dusting glove in one hand and some dirt on another, I opened the black box. And there it was, the old worn out, not in a working condition, the black beauty of mine.

This simple old watch was gifted to me by my father eight years ago on my birthday, as a birthday present as well as a gift for getting my first job.
It was unlike the shows we watch, where parents take their kids to a fancy restaurant and give them gifts. For me, it was like, I walked into a store with my brother and bought it with my own money and later took the paid amount from my dad.

I wore it for a very long time, or I must say till the time it worked. I don’t know why I chose a black watch. Black is not even my favourite colour, but I wanted a strap watch instead of a chain one. I used to have a beautiful silver chain watch as a teenager; my brother gifted it to me with his pocket money. That was one of the first expensive gifts he ever bought me. But I lost it, and that story is for some another time.

Now that I think of it, the big dial strap watches were in fashion then, and I have started working, so I wanted a watch that will go with all my outfits. So there it was a big black dial watch.

I don’t know what it is about watches, I have always loved them, and as a kid, I always thought of having a great watch as that next step of making your mark in the small world of yours. I still don’t own that watch, and it’s a constant reminder that I haven’t accomplished my dreams yet.

In a day and age where people wear watches as accessories, for me, the watch has always been a reminder of time.

It reminded me of the time when I was ecstatic, and the only worries on my mind were about my career. It’s a reminder that time changes, with it, you too. It tries to tell me that I will never be able to turn back the time, but at least for a few seconds, through this gift, I can surely rejoice the memory of happy times. So I pause, the present and go back to the past, to bring back the bliss; into my future.

And as they say, “The time never turns back, but memory does”. So cherish your time with people and create great memories.

A memory for my daddy

Dear Daddy,

On this birthday of yours, I want to unleash one beautiful memory that is part of you and me. I don’t know how much of it you remember now, after all, you have a terrible memory. But somehow as I am growing up in years, my mind wants to hold on to all the precious memories of my past. Unlike other families, we don’t have too many photographs of us. But I have memories that keep me going in difficult times. These memories remind me that I was, I am, and I will always be loved.

So please hold my hand, to walk back into the time when I was so little that you used to carry me in your arms and take me out for the simple pleasures of riding a bike.

The light breeze making my short hair sway, the rustling of our clothes against the wind, and the feeling of flying like a bird. You, me and our weekly Sunday rides, on your black atlas bicycle. The little me sitting in front, on the crossbar and you on the rider’s seat, taking us away from the chaos of the world we inhabited.

The roads awaited us, and we ventured on them as if we both were on a secret mission. The lanes were different each time, but the destination was always the same. The deserted road surrounded by Aravali range with big brickyards on the side, there stood a war memorial. Unbeknownst to many, it was a hidden treasure that you found for our outings. You would sit on one seat, smiling at me, and I would circle the memorial stone reading the names aloud. Sometimes you shared stories about different wars that the soldiers were fighting. You explained to me how the people named on the stone laid their life for the country we all call home. The little mind of mine would not understand everything that you would say, but it realized one thing at that time. The place of our outing is not a regular place, it was as sacred as a holy place.

At other times the two of us would sit in silence, each lost in musings of once mind. The silence taught me that sometimes it’s much more important to feel the same thing rather than having a conversation about it. After all, always talking doesn’t mean we are conversating. In that calmness, I learned to listen to my soul at a young age.

You gave me a precious gift daddy, and here I am merely attempting to preserve the memory of the beautiful experience you gave me. Thank you for the best childhood a child could ever ask for, from a parent.

Happy 64th birthday daddy, I wish good health and blissful days for you, in the years to come.

Your only daughter

Experiences of Lifetime

The gifts people bestow on you by introducing you to new experiences are the best gifts. Sometimes even they are unaware that they have given a gift of a lifetime to someone. Now that I think of about my choices or my favorite things in retrospect, I feel that not all items are mine, somehow they were given or lent to me to be experienced by others.

I became curious about Harry Potter when I saw my crush in school reading it, I was fascinated by the cover, but more so I was curious what exactly was he reading and when my brother’s friend lent me the series, I was blown over. I moved on from that crush long ago but never from that book.

Then in college, I met H, who is a very close friend of mine, who introduced me to music. Music didn’t mean much to me until he gifted me a CD with a vast collection of great music. Those songs are still my go-to songs.

My best friend M introduced me to great food, and she is that one person with whom I have so many firsts when it comes to food. We have explored so much from high-end restaurants in Canaught Place to the narrow lanes of Old Delhi, which smells like a heaven of food.

Another guy whom I met in a college club while doing my masters introduced me to my favorite author, Orhan Pamuk. Reading Pamuk opened a whole different world for me. Reading became more than just a hobby from then on. I can never thank him enough for this gesture.

And then I met someone who gave me, my favorite movie — the Eternal Sunshine of Spotless Mind. I have professed my love for this movie so many times, but this is one movie that introduced me to the depth of my emotions. I persuaded my brother to watch it, and then we ended up discussing it for hours. I think that is the most extended discussion we ever had about art. Yes, I am in depth of this person for all the experiences.

I have come to realize that people move in and out of your life, and you get used to their presence and absence. And somehow, life goes on. But it’s the experiences they give you that become part of your soul. The soul that’s eternal even if you leave this body of yours. So thank you, everyone, for marking my soul with a great experience.

On last note sharing my favorite quote from the movie, which is taken from the beautiful poem Eloisa to Abelard by Alexander Pope.

“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world, forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.”

PS: I haven’t included everything here. Today it was just about the small things.

She never forgot

The winds once again have changed their direction, there was certain coldness in it now, signalling the oncoming winter season. She wobbled around in her swollen belly, collecting clothes from the clothesline. She was due in the next fifteen days, but the old ladies of the village said that children are always born before their due date. She doesn’t know much about it, and it’s her first pregnancy. She doesn’t even have any access to books and magazines to help her in this hilly village which is cut out of the city by miles. So everything she knew came from the mouths of other experienced women.

In his last letter, her husband informed her that he would not be able to come during the birth of the child. But he promised that he would visit around March. He asked her to take good care of herself and the child.

Her life took a huge turn, a year and a half ago. She was an educated city girl, now living in a remote village, where you walked miles to get the water. The poetry and the hidden words of wisdom that her books gave her were diminishing. But the entry of the tiny seed inside her womb revived her back to life. It gave meaning to her existence. Now at night, she was no longer alone, there was a companion who was listening to her. She recited all the poetry and the stories she has read all along. She knew the baby was in love with words just like her. They had an invincible bond, making them two burning flames of the same light.

Slowly she stepped on the staircase with the bundle of dry clothes. She lowered her body to sit on the floor and started folding the clothes in a neat pile next to her. It was then that she felt some prickling pain in her abdomen. She tried standing up from the floor, but she couldn’t. The pain was increasing with such intensity that she knew that the time has come.
She cried in pain, calling her aunt in law for help, who was busy setting up the dinner for the family. Before someone could come over for help, she collapsed on the floor. They revived her somehow, and her body was aching all over the place. She was in a different room now, and someone was holding her hands. The saree was taken off from her body, and she could feel a hand touching her genitals. An unknown soft wrinkled faced woman loomed over her. With an old white cotton saree draped on her sagging skin, covering her head which hid the streaks of white hair among the lustrous black, parted from the middle, gave her a wry smile. She knew from that smile that woman was the midwife, who will help her bring the life inside her in the outside world. She was profusely sweating, and she could feel someone’s hand wiping her face again and again. Her cries were getting louder with the passing time, and the voices around her kept asking her to push harder. She pushed hard enough one last time and everything after that was hazy in her mind, now.

It’s been years now, but the memory of that day still haunts her at times. The blue body of her first born child never entered this world, but somehow, it never left her soul. The small warm droplets have started falling from her eyes now. A warm hand wipes up her tears, and she looks up at her daughter’s face, her third born but to the world her second born child. It took her twenty-five years to open her wounded soul to someone. She held her daughter’s hand and said “that’s why I never buy any new thing on Dhanteras” because that day I lost something so precious to my existence that no worldly thing would ever compensate it.

After that day her daughter never asked her mother to celebrate the festival. Years later when her daughter started her own family, she would follow in her mother’s footsteps. Never buying any new thing but never forgetting lighting up a diya in her brother’s name. For the world, she had only one brother, but in her heart, she never forgot that she had another one in another realm.

PS: Today I have completed four years of my Blogging journey on WordPress. So I thought of sharing this true story. Some pieces are hard to write and this one is one such write up. So with lot of shilly-shallying, I bring this story out here for you to read. I hope you guys like it

Happy Blogiversary to me ❤

A Morning Inside a Lift

Has it ever happened to you that you are in a very shitty mood and you witness something very amusing on your way, and all of a sudden there is a three sixty degrees change in your spirit? It did happen to me, this morning.
I am early office goer so by the time I leave home, my lift companions are mostly school going kids with their nagging and in a hurry, parents.
Why was I irate is a story for another blog post, meanwhile I will continue with the one, which changed the course of my day.

As soon as I opened my door, I saw an opened lift and my neighbor with her kid. She waited for me, I ran, and we smiled at each other, a customary way to say hello, when you don’t want to say it, aloud. I was zipping up my jacket when the lift stopped at the third floor, the three of us looked at each other, like who else. The door opened, there was a six or seven, year old girl standing, in her school uniform, calling her dad. She has her one feet inside the lift, the usual way, all Indians stop lift while waiting for someone. She gave us a sorry look, and we nodded at her. After a minute or so her father came running, and they both entered the lift. Her father first apologized to us, and then to his daughter. And the next minute the little girl started reprimanding her father for the delay.

With a very annoyed expression, she questioned him “What took you so long? “.
Her Dad( a bit ashamed) replied: I was wearing my shoes.”
Her quick reply “I take only a minute wearing mine, and you took ten minutes doing the same.”

The minute she said this everyone started smiling except her, it amused me to see a little woman controlling an adult. It took me back to my childhood, where I was that little girl with my dad. I had the habit of holding his hand while walking beside him till I turned seventeen and had to leave home for further studies. It was always my dad who used to drop me at my school bus stop. It brought the flashbacks of all those tantrums that I have thrown at him for all the unnecessary things which were once necessary to a little girl. I have dragged him to stationery shops the minute he entered the house because I had to be the kid who does all the things that a teacher demands. I had cried and blamed him for not letting me go on a school trip until he gave in, even when the cost of that trip was equivalent to my school fees for a month. He is still the only man in my life with whom I can fight irrationally over anything because I know his love for me is much more than his male ego.

Memories has that effect on me, especially the memories of my childhood, they make me laugh and chuckle at my naivety. A bond between a father and a daughter is a very unusual bond. A different kind of love that words can’t describe. So I share two of my favourite quotes on father daughter relationship.


I hope you guys too have a happy morning 🙂 and a great day ahead 😀

Let them flow

“As often, she laughed,
As rare, were her tears,
She let her laughter be with the people,
And took her tears alone, to her room.”

When I was a kid, I used to cry a lot, that’s what my relatives say, but my parents disagree with this statement. According to them, I was afraid of huge crowds, and strangers, hence I created havocs for my parents at my first family wedding when I was a year old, and that got stuck in everyone’s mind. Who says that the first impression is not a thing. But early on I learned the lesson that public crying isn’t a good thing. Maybe because I was teased a lot for it, I stopped crying publicly. Moreover, my parents weren’t into taming our young ego’s, so I learned that people try to cry silently if they feel wrong about something.

I am a bathroom crier, and I can stand in front of the mirror for an hour and can look at my tears stained face. I started doing it when I turned a teenager, where I was often fighting with my parents, or fighting with myself and these tears were my only savior. They set me free, free from all that was burning in my heart. And this habit of solitary crying has since been with me.

I still remember vividly when I first went to a hostel, and on the second day my dad called me up, to know about my wellbeing, I choked when he asked how was I doing. I had just come back from my first ragging session, and for an eighteen-year-old whose ego has never been crushed by an outsider this session was a slap on the face. My choking frightened my dad. Now my dad is someone who is not very good at handling the sudden burst of emotions. He angrily asked me why I was crying, and I had no answer because no one else was crying after the session. He was on a business trip in Mumbai, and he had called me during a dinner break in the middle of the meeting. He frantically called my mother and asked her to talk to me. My mom immediately called me back, patiently listened, and explained to me that I had to go through this process for my growth. Since that day I decided that I will never cry in front of anyone be it, my parents. But of course, I did, but seldom, mostly in the presence of my mom. If I remember my colossal outburst correctly even in front of my mother has only happened twice, where I have cried the whole night hugging her. And she caressed my hair whole night, letting me out all the hidden pain inside my heart. I am glad I was lucky to have her with me in both those moments because they were two losses that changed the course of my life.

But from last three days I am not feeling my usual self, its as if my heart has shrunk and slowly everything stored inside it has flown out, and the only thing I am left with is this unwanted sadness. This sadness has no reason, I was perfectly fine a few days ago, and suddenly this sadness has engulfed me. People who see me from outside won’t even notice a change. No one has noticed it till now, but its the lonely time where the birds of sadness come fluttering out in the open breaking the cage. I still try to rationalize this feeling by stating that I have been lately reading sad stuff. But then I read emotional books all the time, yet it doesn’t hamper my mood in this way. Another reason I gave myself is that I am PMSing, which could have led to this feeling, but my PMSing never includes mood swings, no I don’t get it. So finally I stopped rationalizing it, and let it be. I accepted the fact that I am sad without any reason, and I will get over with it.

So I came home, had a cup of hot chocolate, thinking it will improve my mood. Alas, it didn’t, So I listen this song which is very close to my heart in my sombre mood.

And let my tears roll down my eyes. Nothing works for me like tears, and when finally the rain of it shower down my eyes, I feel the birds flying away. Of course, not all of them have left the cage yet, and I am expecting a few more outbursts this weekend, to carry away the pain and sadness from my heart.
As Charles Dickens said in Great Expectation,

“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before–more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.”

PS: Don’t feel sad or worried about me, I am ok, its just a phase and I will be over with it. So guys take care and have a nice weekend.

Gaming Parlors

I spent this New Year’s Day by going out shopping with my family, by family I mean all the ladies in the house, there are four of us 😀 with four kids tucked with us and one guy(my brother in law) to drive us around and take care of kids when we are engrossed in our tasks 😉

As we were browsing through the shops, my three little nephews started whining about shopping and how they were getting bored with us. So we decided to drop them all in the Gaming Zone while we’re shopping. After doing all the shopping when we reached to collect them, they weren’t ready to come out. Then my seven-year-old nephew very smartly tucked the card inside my pocket and asked me to have a dual with him in the basketball throwing game. After one game, my sister in law also joined me, so now it was me and my sis in law who were competing in the game. It was so much fun, and we were so engrossed in it, that it was us now, who has to be dragged out, of it.

While returning home, I was back down the memory lane of my first visit to a gaming zone. I was twenty-one and in my first year of my master’s degree, when I visited my aunt in Delhi for a few weeks during my first winter break. My nine-year-old cousin was invited to a friends party which was taking place in a gaming parlor. My aunt was invited too, so if she attended the party than I would have been left alone at home. My aunt persuaded me to accompany her to the party by luring me to wear the new clothes we two have bought together. Parading myself in a newly purchased black jacket and red sweatshirt, I joined the kid’s party in Fun Zone(name of the gaming parlor). As we entered there, my cousin ran, leaving my hand and joined his friends who were already playing. The cacophony of the place took me by surprise, and all I can see was a plethora of kids running everywhere with their ticket collection. To say that the energy was infectious would be an understatement.

See I am a real 90’s Indian kid, wherein in the name of gaming parlor I have seen a big arcade machine with two huge joysticks for controlling the movement of the characters in the game. We use to pay two rupees for half an hour of play time. I still remember I was six years old when I sneaked out with my brother on one of his such adventure. I lent him two rupee coin from my piggy bank so that he would take me with him. The parlor was in the next lane to our house. Winter has just begun, my grandfather was back in town for his winter hiatus with us. It was around 4 pm; mom was busy preparing evening tea for grandpa when stealthily we left the house. The video game parlor was full of young boys and teenage kids, where they were yelling and freely cussing each other. My brother who was holding my hand till then felt a bit embarrassed by the act and let it go. He then asked me to stand beside him and watch him play, Street Fighter. He dropped the two rupee coin in the slot, then the came ear splitting noise from the machine, starting the game. I loved watching the game and asked my brother to give me the keys for a few minutes to which he happily obliged, which was quite surprising knowing his selfish nature. Holding those giant sticks, I felt the powerful controlling fate of those fighters. The shooting up of dopamines can be addictive at times, and it was my first time feeling so much excitement just out of a game.

As the excitement went up, we forgot about time, until the parlor guy poked us to leave. Dreading my mom’s fury, my brother left me at the door and ran away to play with his friends in the park. I hesitantly went inside, and my mom was sitting on the porch waiting for us, as soon as she saw me her first reaction was of relief, which swiftly changed from grave to glowering. To save myself from her ire, I told her the whole story causing big trouble for my big brother. So by the time he came back, his concerns were already raised to his Royal Highness aka daddy, which in turn led him being getting grounded for a month. And because of the fiasco, he never retook me with him for any of his adventures.

So after ages, I landed up in a Video parlor by courtesy of my little cousin who left me stranded with so many colorful funny sounding machines. I was still figuring out those machines when the mother of the birthday boy approached me and handed me the card. It took me a while to understand how everything worked, but the moment I figured it out, I felt my eureka moment. Since then I never miss an opportunity when it comes to gaming zones.

In fact, on my 25th Birthday, my brother and my sister in law took me to a gaming parlor for celebration. I was engaged by then, soon to be married and my brother decided that its good that we spent some time being kids again. The funny thing is my husband is just like me when it comes to gaming parlors, not missing a chance to be there and enjoy being a child again.

PS: Tell me your gaming parlor story, how old were you when you first visited it and how was your experience. Do you love going to gaming zones, how often do you go? Let’s talk about gaming parlors in the comment section.

A Christmas to remember

“In this season of warmth,
Comes the memory of our year twentieth.
Filled with joy and laughter,
Making us believe this shall remain after.
Where every moment was brighter than the last,
That’s how I remember our glorious past.”

All the Christmas that I have witnessed so far in my life, the one I celebrated in 2008, stands out clearly in my memory. I was in my Graduation final year living in Gurgaon with a most fantastic set of friends one can ever have. We all knew that this would be our last holiday season with each other, we decided to have fun instead of lazing around in our college campus.
My friend L, who is a movie buff, decided that we should watch the upcoming movie Gajini, first-day first show. Now the thing was that this movie was Aamir Khan movie and everyone wanted to see it. Hence there were pre-booking of the tickets. L who was ever confident in his skills of getting tickets kept telling us to have faith in him. The funny thing about L is his overtly optimistic attitude, and we knew every group has its ticket except us. So I decided that the task should be given to H who is a go-getter and get things done. I called up H whining about the inefficiency of L in getting us the tickets and asking him to do the task. It was so last minute that though we ended up with seven tickets for our group, the theatre which we got was outside the city.

As per our itinerary, we decided first to visit the church in the city and then watch the movie. Anyone who has ever lived in Northern India knows what winter mornings look like in there. Dragging our bodies out of bed and layering ourselves with the woollen clothing we ventured together on this trip.
L and G were day scholars while the rest of us were living in the hostel campus, we decided to meet both of them at the nearest bus station. G being G was way before time, by the time we reached there she has turned into fire throwing dragon and L like always was putting water on her anger.
After throwing a few cuss words at all of us, she decided to calm down. Its then we took an auto and went to the church. G’s schooling was from convent school, so she knew her way around church and masses while the rest of us were clueless. We followed her around like little puppies. She bought candles for us; we lighted our candles outside as the inside was already overflowing with candles. Looked around the church, said a quick prayer and headed out. I wanted to see what a church mass looks like on a Christmas Day, but as we were short on time, we ditched the idea.

We took a bus from outside the church to reach the movie theatre. It was in a newly built mall where the only thing that was open was this theatre. As soon as we entered the theater, we saw a bunch of guys in the gajini haircut and wearing a shirt and vest. For more clarity, I will add the picture of both here.

The gajini haircut
The handsome sanjay singhania look

I must say the Sanjay Singhania look is the only Aamir look that worked for me, the only time I found him handsome.
We were shocked to see that people could be this crazy about an actor to get such a weird haircut.

We finally entered the theater, fought for seats, this was always an issue who will sit with whom, L who was movie crier like me always sat far away from me. So one side I had M, and on another hand, I had H to entertain me between the scenes. I must tell you I have a problem of talking between the scenes if I like something I will nudge the person next to me to see their reaction. Of course, this has stopped after I got married because my husband watches a movie with a pin drop of silence, in fact, he doesn’t even let me eat popcorn while watching a movie.

I will not write about the movie, as most of the people especially all Indians must have seen it, if not then you should watch it. The thing that makes this day a memorable one is the fact that all of us watched this movie in utter silence and when the film finished we were still in total silence. No one spoke anything, with a heavy heart we pulled ourselves out of the theater, hired an autorickshaw and sat silently for the next 15 minutes. Its then H said, “Itna sarnata kyu hai Bhai” (Bro, why everyone is so lulled). We all laughed together and then one by one we all shared that the scene where the actress gets hit by a rod, a tear rolled down our eye.

The thing that made me sad was that she died without knowing the true identity of the actor. This movie holds a special place in my heart due to several reasons. First this was the first tragic movie we ever saw as a group; otherwise, we always went for comedies or action thriller. Secondly this was the first time I ever cried seeing a romantic movie; otherwise, romance doesn’t make me sad, until its tragic. Third, this was the first time I celebrated Christmas Day.

We all felt uneasy for so many days while discussing this movie and its scenes. The film has beautiful songs in it, but the one that stands out for me is this one.

The lyrics are so meaningful that it melts your heart. I always wished that someone will dedicate this song for me someday, I think all of us did in our group 😛 But then no one did, in fact, I recently I asked my husband that would he mind dedicating this song to me 😀 After all he should feel lucky to have me in his life 😉

I want to write much more about us, but then words wouldn’t be enough to justify my feelings for this gang of mine. It was my first ever group, a group which made me value friendship and the love you share with your friends. It is the only WhatsApp group where I am an active member. It’s here where I go when I feel low, it’s here that we still find the past so funny and hilarious. It’s here we talk about the silly stupid crushes and all in between our college life.

We all are in different stages of life, most of our married except H and I think he doesn’t even plan to 😛 Some of us have kids others are still enjoying being happy :D, but we always find a way back to each other. We haven’t seen each other as a group from the last five years except me, M and G always end up meeting somehow once a year, but yet all of us are connected by what we shared once. After all, it’s not easy to keep the 12 years of friendship going without any fight amongst in the group.

So L, H, M, G,B, and P you guys are one of the best things that ever happened to me. I cherish every minute of our friendship and love, and I still read our last letters to each other 😀

PS for my friends: I might have mixed up a few things, so guys if you are reading this blog and you feel I have messed up the sequence of events then I can’t help it. After all the writer has the last say 😉

PPS: L we don’t have any picture where its just 7 of us, all thanks to you 😛 . The magnanimous one 😀 So whenever we meet next time its your duty to click a G-7 picture 😉

Ending this post with our group song 😀


“The irrational fear of not being found, when trapped in a situation, is one of the most paralyzing fears of all time.”


Have you ever thought about getting stranded at a place? From where you can see the world, but the world can’t see you. You want to move but you can’t, the situation has engulfed you, and the only solution is to wait, wait for the help to arrive, wait for someone to notice you, wait until someone feels your absence.

I have experienced it. Not a very long time ago, I got stuck in my own house. You must be wondering how can someone get stuck in their own home. My answer is yes, you can. Wait till you read my full story.

One day after dropping my in-laws and my husband for a meditation session after office, I came back home. I unlocked my house and started cleaning up the mess we create in the morning while leaving for office. I realized that I have not picked up the dustbin’s from outside while coming inside the house. I unlocked the gate and started picking up the two dustbins. Before I could even realize, the strong wind current closed the door on my face.

So here I was standing outside my house with no mobile phone, no keys, nothing. And most importantly no friendly neighbors for any help. I kept standing there for almost 5-10 minutes analyzing my situation and understanding what a fool I am, not to put a door stopper before venturing outside the door.

Then a not so brilliant idea struck my mind. I moved towards the staircase that leads to the rooftop of my building. My apartment is on the topmost floor, so I thought maybe I could jump into my balcony and from there I can try opening my balcony door. On reaching the rooftop, I realized that the height differences between two floors in more than 9ft, which is quite high to jump from, for a nonathletic person like me. I started looking for an option to decrease this height; then I saw the awning. Leaping from canopy would reduce the height difference to almost 2.5 to 3.5 ft. So I footed myself on it and jumped into my balcony, nearly spraining my ankle.

Height Differnce between rooftop and awning

Now standing on my porch, I realized that a few days ago my dear husband decided to add a security gate to the sliding doors of my balcony, to enhance the house security for me. Opening this gate without any device, for an amateur thief like me was next to impossible. But I still tried, inserting my hands in the columns gaps between the gate to open the bolted door. I kept banging the door in the hope that maybe the bolt would loosen up due to force, but nothing happened. I kept trying for almost an hour, taking breaks in between. After that, I accepted my situation and decided to wait for my husband to come back from his meditation center.

I sat on the balcony floor amongst dozens of mosquitoes, waiting. Waiting for the situation to change. Waiting for someone, to click the door open. Waiting to hear my husband’s voice. Waiting for life to occur to me. Waiting for the frame to change the color and bring the brightness back. Until then I always considered myself as a loner, I always enjoy my time being alone with myself. But that day I realized the meaning of these line by Wayne Cordeiro “Solitude is a chosen separation for refining your soul. Isolation is what you crave when you neglect the first.”

I understood how being alone with myself at my chosen time is a like a delicacy, to cherish. While on the other hand the imposed isolation due to the situation, is a total disaster. That day lying on that roof floor I found a new aspect of my personality, that, I am not someone who can live in total loneliness. I need people around me not many but at least one. That person may not talk to me, but the presence itself is so reassuring for me. Also, I realized how even after living my life out of parent’s home for almost ten years, I never decided to take a single seater room or never ventured into the idea of living alone.

I don’t know how many thoughts went through my mind in that span of three and half hours of isolation. But there came a time in my mind when all ideas stopped coming, and my mind went into a blank state of thoughtlessness.

And then the door clicked and there entered my husband. I stood up, dusted up myself, and called out his name. He looked through the balcony door, perplexed and opened the doors for me. I didn’t know what I said to him when he asked me what happened, the only thing I remember is hugging him and crying profusely like a baby. All the despair, anger, frustration and pain got washed away in those tears. And I snuggled close to him, for a very long time.

PS: Have you ever had any such experience in your life. If yes, then do share. Or have you seen or heard someone sharing any such experience, then you can share that too.

Falling things ……continued – Part 2

There is something about rain, maybe the petrichor, which throws you down, deep down in the memory lane and makes you nostalgic.


I have lived most of my life in Northwestern India, where it doesn’t rain much. Monsoon is not a season, as it lasts only for few days or sometimes even not that. So, when I shifted to Pune, three and half years back, the continuous drizzling for four months took me by surprise.

Sitting on my window sill, with a steaming cup of my favorite masala tea, I often think about my rain memories. Today I am going to share one such vivid remembrance.

It was pouring heavily, and I was sitting by the window side of a small bus. It was an early morning ride; the dark grey clouds had decreased the visibility, maybe they too knew about the hollow darkness that was engulfing the sobbing women beside me. It was mid-August, time for heavy rains in hilly regions. I was roughly a seven-year-old kid, who couldn’t understand the gamut of emotions that her mother was going through at that time. I then couldn’t comprehend what has happened and the change this would bring to our lives.

It all started a month back when one day our old tenant came to tell my mother that there was a phone call for her. These were days of early 90’s when only a few people had landlines phones at their home. I accompanied my mother to their place, and we were surprised that it was a call from my uncle (my mother’s brother), it’s just been a month that we have returned from our summer vacations at their place, so a call meant that there is some urgent news. And it turned out to be true, as soon as my mother grabbed the receiver, my uncle informed her that my granny was ill and is in the hospital.

She kept the phone down and held my hand to go back home. I think that was the slowest walk my mother has ever taken. She was lost in her thoughts, she didn’t know what to do. My father was on an official tour for twenty days to southern India; people were not that professional in those days. Hence there wasn’t an itinerary that he would follow on his trip, which meant that we didn’t have any number to contact him, nor any address to send a telegraph. When my mother was still thinking of a way to communicate with my father by some means, other problem came to surface. The Uttrakhand movement was at its peak, which was to have a separate state Uttrakhand for the people of the Himalayan belt from Uttar Pradesh State. People were burning buses, and police curfew were on, no vehicle from Delhi was allowed to enter the state.

In this chaos, another call came, informing us that granny has gone into a coma, nobody knew for how long she will survive. I think that phone call broke the single thread of hope my mother was having for her mother. My grandmother was just fifty-seven, people don’t die that early, that too from gastritis, but you never know, when and how death can come lurking at you. And it had come for her also, taking away the darkness of the life and giving away the light towards death.

From then on every single night I heard my sobbing mother, not understanding her pain, but understanding enough to let her cry her heart out. Those were lonely nights, me holding her hand as always, asking God for a miracle to seize her falling tears. And then the news came that grandma has left us for a better world. With that my uncle’s waited for my mother for next two days. But the movement hasn’t slowed down and my father who hasn’t returned yet, somehow got in touch with us, he asked my mother to wait for him and don’t take the risk of traveling with two kids in such turbulent times. He promised he would be home in next two days. Without seeing her mother for one last time, my mother said her last goodbyes in her heart.

You can never understand the pain and regret of not saying the last goodbyes to your loving parent’s.”

She was her calm self, doing every single thing for us by daytime, it was the night that she curved herself into a cocoon and would go back to her mother for her last touch.

After two days, as promised, my father returned, I think that is one of the few promises that he has given to my mother, was kept. The movement has slowed down a bit, and we traveled same day leaving my brother behind, as he had his examinations, asking our neighbors to look after him.

The bus halted, we got down, the journey was of more than ten hours. There were puddles everywhere, no street lights even, we were making our way through the mud. My mother whose small sobs became louder, as she approached the house where she has spent her days with her loving mother. Each step made her recall the mother she would never see again. It was not my emotion at that time; it is now when I remember that day, I feel it in this way. Back then, I was so embarrassed my mother’s howling that I hid behind my father. I didn’t leave his side for very long. At that time I couldn’t unravel all the wailing around me. It was difficult to grasp why everyone was so gloomy, even my cousins, they were bit older than me, but they all were crying, but I was not. I couldn’t, maybe some of them knew what death meant at that time, or perhaps they were much more in love with grandma. And somehow they have the understanding of the pain, of a lost one, or they were just doing what they felt like because every emotion is infectious.

I never disturbed my mother in that stay of ours, I cling to my father, because as I child you start getting your parents and you have a choice to stay with the one who is most likely to be pleasant at that time.

That was my first experience of seeing the death of someone, I couldn’t grasp many things then, but few made an impact on me as a person. I somehow got that death means invisibility from others, it intends to leave hollowness inside a person, forever. And you become a memory to everyone else, a past that no longer exists.

I would sum up, with great lines from Bhagavad Gita, who speaks beautifully and solacing of the immortality of the soul:


Never the spirit was born; the spirit shall cease to be never;
Never was time it was not; End and Beginning are dreams!
Birthless and deathless and changeless remaineth the spirit forever;
Death hath not touched it at all, dead though the house of it seems.

PS : For part I, check this out  Fallen Things