Tag Archives: love

147: Thank God For…

27 May

Fridays, of course.

And then,

the simple things in life,
family,
friends,
having choices,
liberties,
and a voice.

Thank God for

love,
food,
having someone to share them with,
and then some laughter and sparkle.

I’d like to even thank God for

everything I’ve been given and not given,
for reason, good judgement, for having a spine,
and for being able to be exactly who I want to be.

Thank you. :)

145: We’re All About A Story

25 May

Yesterday‘s post still hasn’t gone past me completely. Today I found myself sharing Cory Richard’s story in class because it had some connection and relevance to what I’ve been teaching them the past fortnight. And needless to say, everyone sat in rapt attention, heat waves billowing through the windows and all. It reinforced my belief which took root in me the moment I held a camera for the first time – that we’re all about a story; each and every one of us. Of course I’d sound cheap if I said that I’ve always dreamed of doing what today is popularly called HONY. You’d most likely turn around and say, well why didn’t you do it, stupid? or you’d perhaps just laugh in my face and look at me funny, if you were more the blunt types. Perhaps one day when we need a break, I will have something substantial to offer. Someday. 

We’re all a bunch of experiences that make a marvellous story irrespective of how ornately we present it. For once words, fancy gadgets, apertures, camera angles, and privileges don’t matter – just who we are, what we do, and what we’re made up of that counts. It boils down to our innate need to feed our curiosities, our voyeuristic tendencies sometimes, and even just our plain love for stories. Some of us lap it up in the form of books, poems, movies, tv shows, novellas, even photographs and songs, and more. I guess it’s one thing that will always sell because we always want to know, even when we don’t want to know.

This was from one of my favourite visits, somewhere in a town steeped in history, mythology, and a stopped clock.

On our visit to commemorate my grandmother-in-law last year, we stopped by to feed a small settlement that had made its home around my mother-in-law’s generational family temple. And this, by far, was my most prized privilege – having this child speak to me with nothing more than a mouth stuffed with puris and halwa, his eyes, and his smile.

With every street in this mythical town lined with sweetmeat shops, because this is the land of Lord Krishna, the lover of all things milk and sweet, I chanced upon this vendor during a cool summer evening walk as I explored the gullies less travelled. He didn’t have much, and neither did his shop have the sheen of the religious wealth this town boasts of. But he smiled, allowed me to click him, and wished me as I went along. Again, a lot said, with not many words.

My favourite, after meeting the child, was stopping midway and running across wheat fields to this. The irony is that we come from the same land, the same lingual roots, but couldn’t communicate with language as I was so confident we would. But then, on she went, in her own striped shirt with her bundle on her head, off with a smile that just the two of us shared with each other.

I’ve come to believe that we really are a bundle of stories, each with a different fingerprint, and a legacy that is ours and ours alone. And we all do fall asleep to these stories, unaware that grandma’s tales are yours and mine and each other’s equally.

For more pictures from this trip, please visit my post here.

141: Midnight Peace

21 May

I spent a considerable reserve of my midnight oil over a Buddha painting last night. I’d had a strong cuppa filter coffee to shake the jumble of sleeplessness and drowsiness off of me, which resulted in this unusual nocturnal engagement that kept me going till the painting was finished. I hopped back into bed thoroughly satisfied – both with myself and the influence of this muse that kept me going till the wee hours of today morning. Painting, like any other form of expression, is selflessly cathartic. There’s something about the combination of colours, free-flowing movement, and calmness that makes it an irresistible fix to turn to, especially when all I need is a huge slice of peace to keep my volatile thoughts in check. Of course I wish A and I could engage in some painting together, like one of those couples who make music together, but perhaps that’s for another time and day.

I was awakened by a faint tickle on my feet to a cup of tea and breakfast ready, but kept in the kitchen for me. It is more than I could’ve asked for. Perhaps some Sundays are best begun like this?

140: For Ma

20 May

This cake was a long time coming; one that I’d been dreaming of making but just never got around to investing time over, until today when it just happened. Needless to say, it was the most effort I’ve ever needed to put in for a simple tea-cake, but the results, as you can see, were fabulous, and just thrilling, to be honest.

Today is ma’s birthday, and it was absolutely fitting to have this bubble up in my oven and fill my house with the fragrance of love, and all things that ma is to me, and each of us. Besides, she loves her teacakes, and I cannot wait to make this for her, because we all have an Alex in us that needs to bite the Marty in us too. :)

This reminded me of two years back when I made ma her birthday cake at home; it was also the year I was moving away from home and her nest. It had to be doubly special for reasons still too emotional to describe.

Time flies, and here I am, sitting with another cake over yet another year that has arrived at our doorsteps.

While I can’t be with her on this day, and couldn’t be with her on this day last year either, this sense of serendipity makes up for it somehow.

Love is ma. Love is a freshly baked homemade cake, too. :)

134: Sunday Specials

14 May

While I stewed a brilliantly fragrant batch of dal, I hopped in for a leisurely shower (just before the water began to heat up thanks to the mad heatwave we’re undergoing), waltzed out, fried us some papads to go with our rice, dal, and salad meal, and had lunch ready for the two of us. A cooled down our hangout room, drew the blinds, poured us some beer, and had Bahubali 2 ready to watch. Little did I think I’d be watching the movie, forget watching it so soon. But watch it we did. I’ll tell you that I enjoyed both my lunch and the movie, but felt more satisfied by the former, and the experience, than the movie itself. At the risk of the many brickbats that have already flown my way, I am glad to have seen it at home, because it went on for longer than I could sit. As fantastical and intriguing as it was, I switched off periodically, especially when the sfx took over more blatantly than my unimaginative mind could stomach.

We had chilled mangoes to complete the experience, and as if that wasn’t enough, I cut myself whatever leftover banana cake I could, and had that with some ice cream as we closed the movie as well. It’s insanely hot outside, and everything has come to a standstill, including the forest that is growing on my arms and face, because we just can’t. It’s making me eat more, and eat sweeter colder things more. I cannot understand this shift in eating habits, but it has me scared because of just how much junk I’m consuming in the name of “light food”.

We watched planes last evening, once it’d become dark and was okay to step out for a drive. Of course a lot of me was tempted to hang on to a plane and get the hell out of this hell hole to a place where the breeze blows cool air and where the signs of rain really do usher in some rain and respite. I am not complaining, as much as I am lamenting the ghastliness that is this furnace we’re living in. And to think it hasn’t rained yet.

But I’m not letting this take away the specialness of my Sunday. Not now at least.

133: Friday Feels and Saturday Spiels

13 May

I didn’t, or couldn’t write much at all yesterday because I had a dinner party to huff about even though it was clear that there was no cooking on my part to do. Barring throwing some fries into the fryer, ensuring we had enough ice to soothe six summer parched party souls on a Friday night, keeping the beers in our fridge chilled the way my family likes it (though that was A’s job to take care of), and figuring out where we wanted to order from, there wasn’t anything else I had to do really. Except, I still was flitting around in those feels (also why I posted the picture I did, yesterday).

And that’s because the host in me, and more importantly, the dessert-maker in me couldn’t digest the fact that I hadn’t got anything to offer my family who was spending dinner with us yesterday. It’s a blasphemous thought, especially when I’m everywhere on social media when I bake, and nowhere when I have guests over. So in went a stack of mousses that I’d infused with coffee and layered with toffee cake crumble, ready to set for when it’d be time for dessert.

Except they hadn’t set or weren’t even close to setting. To be fair, it wasn’t a dessert to be made on short notice, and expect to set especially quickly under the summer circumstances that we currently are in. 45 degrees is no joke. Anyhoo, a prompt banana sponge was baked which not just added some literal cushioning to my semi-solid but beautiful mousse, but also made my house smell like it was the place to be on a Friday evening. I promise there isn’t a more inviting smell than that of freshly made food.

I’ve no idea where the evening went – before I knew it, it was past midnight and we’d packed my tipsy happy family in their car back home. We have leftovers to party with today, so there will be no cooking whatsoever; just shameless after-party binging of butter chicken, butter naan, chilled sirke waale pyaaz (pickled onions in vinegar), and of course some beer and tv to go along with it.

I reckon this is how some weekends ought to be. With exercise, which A and I seem to be avoiding like the plague. What a killjoy that was.

98: Sisters And Saturdays

8 Apr

I can’t remember when last we sisters got dressed up to randomly walk around a mall and indulge in some unplanned retail therapy. It’s unusual for us to do something like this because we live in different cities and then again, we’re not mall people at all, especially on the weekends. But here we were, all packed into a car which deserved an All Ladies parking spot just because it felt apt, hopping from one showroom to the other. Needless to say, unplanned shopping did happen. That harmless set of accessories or dresses on sale, that steal you find at the bottom of a pile or those shoes that look too pretty to resist – they all were dunked right into our bags.

Malls and shopping were born to make us all broke. But (temporarily) happy and broke. Sometimes I wish to have enough and more to buy things that don’t make me think twice, but imagine how that’d pan out? Perhaps we’re best where we are, sometimes. Except when it comes to buying things you really need – because of course what you really need is never really there when you need it. After waltzing through the entire colour palate that was a cosmetic brand’s lipstick range, and after feeling partially colour blind (man those myriad multiple colours that pleasantly assault your senses!), I didn’t get what I zeroed in on. Fate. Shopper’s luck. Murphy. Call it whatever you want. It was there, and it struck when I wasn’t watching.

But this made up for it when we got back home. Back into our shorts we hopped, on the floor we sprawled out, and into this magic we caved in, sharing bites between us four. Whatever our respective lucks might be, there’s nothing more healing than sister time with the added bonus of a ginormous box of these sweet air fluffs! :)

 

94: Resonance

4 Apr

Today’s all about perfect indulgences…of which some of them are:

 

 

 

 

 

(drifts away)

75: Small Things

16 Mar

I’m a collector of small things in the guise of (what most normal people would consider) trash or scraps (to be kinder), and memories, of course. I’ll leave the former out for now, because you really don’t want to know about the tissues and leaves and sand and other random stuff I collect for “memory’s” sake. However, here are some of the smaller things I’ve completely fallen head over heels in love with, only because they’re more precious to me than anything else.

Going all the way to the railway station with A even if that means studying enroute to prepare for my class the next day only because I love going on drives with him the most.

Falling asleep on his lap by chance (I passed out at an odd 8pm last evening, which I hope is the last and final after effect of the stuff we had on Holi).

Sitting with each other every morning; him poring over the newspaper, and me asking him to share news updates with me as he reads, while we sip our tea.

Couch-potato-ing as we watch tv series together.

Chatting with each other till we fall asleep. Wait, I’m the one who chatters away, and he, I think, secretly sleeps in between. :|

My favourite has to be waking up to a cup of tea made by him. Of course it’s another thing that it isn’t delivered with love in bed, but that I’ve to drag my ass to the table to get it. :P

74: Gratitude

15 Mar

My MIL’s here on a flyby kinda visit and there’s nothing more nerve-wrecking than not having your shit together. We’re still under the possible after effects of the bhaang we excitedly had, what with us being trailed by a pain in the ass headache, among other symptoms such as a general state of blahness, fatigue and what have you. So not having my faculties up and running to keep my house in order for her visit is the last thing I ever want, for anyone for that matter. And so it was with quite some trepidation that I left home for work having made just tea and breakfast soon after I woke up (there was only so much that my mind and hands could do at that hour!). I instructed her to relax because before she’d know it, I’d be back to handle lunch even though that was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

Telling a mother to sit still, telling a mother to relax, and most importantly, telling a mother not to work is a massive HAHA YOU’RE KIDDING ME AS IF I’M EVEN GONNA LISTEN TO YOUR BULLSHIT situation. I think they have it in their eyes, their expressions, their being, if you ask me. So when I got home, she’d already done everything I’d asked her specifically not to do. There was hot lunch of the perfect motherly kind waiting for us. Hot dal, sabzi, rotis, and raita – what more does a hungry child from school need? Every single effort spoke of a mother’s love. Every single scolding to go change my clothes and come for lunch made me feel like I was back home. The proper home home.

There’s nothing I’ve ever been more grateful for, today. Nothing.