Slice of Life

Sunday, 11 August 2019




A feast at my grandmother’s house was quite a seldom sight for me. In my younger years, I imagined how the guests were treated with utmost respect. The mornings rang in with pacing feet, the clinks of spoons in the precious crockery and the ivory coloured tablecloth was pristinely draped. The tables were filled with her finest recipes that were all delectably tempting and there I sat in the distant corner of the dining table, admiring how the women of the household graciously served the guests, but I could only think, why weren’t there flowers on the table? 

Note to Note

Tuesday, 4 June 2019





March 20, 2019

The scene opens into an airy terrace that lend a view to tumble-down shingled roofs. A few crows precariously swished through the quiet street, that was slowly being lulled by the evening winds. Lit by the flicker of a warm lamp, the hushed terrace welcomed two humans. They sat by a wooden table that harboured some neatly rolled bheedis* ,leather bound books and some flimsy chewed pens. Both of them  gingerly held on to their notebooks, it’s been ages, five years one would say, since they had crossed paths.. You could sense from the corner of their eyes, there was so much of curiosity. They’ve both thrown themselves out of their homeland and bathed themselves in the many mysterious folkways. With questions that had an unsavoury desire of being bottled, both of them ventured  into  art, inspiration and expression, answering the questions that became trinkets from their travels.


Blue Valentine

Tuesday, 26 February 2019



February, oh February she’s a month of fatality. She’s the one who climbs mountains and plays with the most powerful ally, love. To the many, who have grown sceptical to the public exaggeration of love, perhaps it’s time for some very ‘Amelie’ like gestures of kindness. It was funny when I looked it up the definition of valentine in the dictionary, it said, “a card sent to a loved ones on St. Valentine’s day”. The last time I made and send a card, it became one of my most emotional designs, and the one that finally revealed my valentine.

Nevertheless Rewind

Tuesday, 22 January 2019






I’m in a  pickle this time, quite tense about the tense of my story. I apologize, this story has been delayed, but a resolution of mine has decided to stay true to its word, resolute. Thus I would ask you to read the story with such a thought.The past 12 months of  2018,  I remembered it all.  It started with a January where I stood on my frozen toes and tossed a graduation hat, then came a sweltering March where my brain was ensconced in a cubicle of frustrated voyagers in a Mumbai train, to a July where I said a ‘yes’ that changed my life, a September I vowed to love patiently and finally a December that taught me what twelve years a wait was like.  In 2018, time never flew fast. Something was utterly different, I solemnly slowed down.

Frida's Gone High

Monday, 19 November 2018



During the shy awakening of the monsoons, by the sea, on my birthday, a secret was finally revealed. It all happened when he got down on one knee. Many knew both of us as wanderers and it came as a surprise that we have been sailing on the same boat for quite some time. Thus, through the mighty waves the word travelled fast, and the best kept secret was no longer hidden in a shipwrecked chest.  That meant one thing, there was an ominous storm to face, being a bride.

Avec Monsieur Henry

Wednesday, 29 August 2018




It was brutally hot, the one that scorched eyes. Monsieur Henry thought a handful of tourists would take refuge at his place, but so many people swiftly passed by his cloudy glass windows. He must have thought to himself, Marie Antoinette still had an aura of drawing attention. Or perhaps his store seemed mousy, just a humble one partitioned by books that reeked of age. He slowly moved out of his cubicle and walked to the center of the store. It was the one special spot where light was sieved through the summer clouds and gloriously diffused through the glass- paneled ceilings. And there was this glimmer on the gold-foiled albums that were showcased among some beautiful crystals and potted ferns. Most of the days it was quiet, but there were a few exasperated tourists who walked in after their tour at the Chateau de Versailles. And one of them was she.

Perhaps at Pondicherry

Saturday, 12 May 2018



I once sat in a very cramped stall, and watched a young girl selling textiles. Quite naturally and embarrassingly, the shy eleven year old me looked at her intently. For she could have been in school, perhaps meddling with her last minute assignments, racing the pressing iron through her school pinafore or even tightening her braid. But today I watched her jaunty arms quickly fold textiles that soon became a mountain of riotous colors.  Her sinewy arms attuned to a brave composure, it painted a certain maturity. She was blessed with her mothers instincts, I suppose. Here I was sulking with how much my mom made me walk through the aisles of Dugbe* market. The aftermath of that was cornering myself in the matchbox shop with this young talent. I think moms sole intention was to teach me a lesson of hard work. But, I picked on something entirely different.