Friday, 14 July 2017


The thud of rain hitting the red terracotta roof, trickling down the crevices of each red tile and the soft thulp as the rain disrupts the surface of a growing mud and moss puddle, interrupts my holiday reading. I run to my bedroom window and watch as a trickle of rain seems to form a bridge between my roof and the green mossy ground.  A cool breeze grazes the skin on my face and I really  want to drop my "To Kill A Mockingbird ", run out into the rain and dance to its music. An old wooden window in the corridor,  creaks and slams shut. Like a signal, I hear my grandmother yell from upstairs, telling me to close all the windows downstairs. I quickly walk out to the corridor, to the window and put its old metal latch in place. 
The door is just beside the window. I stand on the doorstep and watch the rain form puddles in the soil. I watch as it rolls off the leaves of my grandmothers precious rose shrubs.' She won't need to water them today',  I think to myself and smile. Another gush of wind and a spray of cool water hits my face and arms and I finally decide to go play in the rain. Ironically,  I hear my grandmother telling me not to go out in the rain because I will fall sick. The rebel in me ignores everything she said and I kicked off my old slippers and ran. 
It only took a few seconds for my clothes to get soaked. The cotton clung to my torso and every hair on my arms stood up. With every step, my feet sunk into the wet mud and the smell of wet grass hit me harder. Before I knew it, I was dancing in the rain, to a tune that I made up. 
Almost like a distant dream, I hear my grandmother yell for me. I ignore it. Her screaming gets louder and I hear the wooden door creak as she stands on its step, the water still trickling down my face in tiny rivulets. 

Monday, 3 July 2017

cnn - Tales that keep on telling

Ammiyaar's Saree 

The summer evening in Pune called for some fresh fruit juice and two oranges were called to order. The small plastic juicer was uncovered, knives unsheathed and chop - the oranges were squeezed to its utmost ability. Conversation moved to old fashioned efficiency. My grand uncle, who has a story for every occasion and every situation pulled a story out of his bag and the story of Ammiyaar's Saree got woven into the conversation

As told by CKUS:
A few decades ago when all was good with the world but money was scarce, Ammaiyar was looking for ways to recycle. She brought out all her old 9-yard sarees. They had been worn down from years of use. She cut them into 3 parts and the Pattar began to use them as his 'mundu' (dhoti). After it had fulfilled its duty as a mundu for the next few years, it was then cut up into smaller pieces to be used as nappies for the baby. The baby grew up and the need for nappies were outgrown and the bits of saree were then further cut up to be used to line the idli thattu. When the Ammiyaar decided that the saree had done its time as a lining, she cut it up for the last time and used the fabric scraps to coat the dosa tawa with oil...a homegrown gridle brush. Have you ever heard of anyone more efficient with recycling.

What do you think... was the Ammiyaar a little crazy or just crazy efficient? 


This series is a bunch of stories from different people in my family. May these stories serve as testimony for the past and as memory for their teller.

Tuesday, 28 March 2017


Some of us have had friends that our parents weren't too happy about. They were "bad influences" or "unhealthy friendships". She was that friend. But obviously I didn't read the signs or maybe I was just too adamant to not see it.
I didn't think of it too much when she walked behind me as I entered my first classroom. I believed her when she said the other girls in class disliked me and didn't​ want to be friends with me. She warned me about how mean my teachers were and how I should try my best and not grab any attention (which meant, don't ask questions or don't tell answers). She was a "friend" through all of my childhood.
But as we both got older, we grew a lot more closer. Her mantra (Anything that could lead to rejection, is not worth the effort) became my mantra. I changed my wardrobe after she reminded me about what happens to girls who wore short dresses or deep necked tops. I despised public transport because she made me very uncomfortable about crowds. If I wasnt home by dusk, she was there beside me, talking...telling me about things she had read in the paper or saw sprawled across her Facebook wall. Over time, the line between healthy and unhealthy relationships blurred and I didn't even realise it. She was becoming a bigger part of my everyday life than I had ever imagined.
The unfortunate part is that everybody else was trying really hard to tell me but I just refused to listen.
It took me 20 years to realise that it was time to let her go and understand how much I've lost because of her. It's taking me a lot of courage but I think now is as good a time as any to do so. So Fear...If you're reading this....This is me saying good bye and that you need to leave. You were a good friend sometimes but you're starting to be a bit overbearing. But this isn't good bye forever. I wouldn't be human if it was. So until next time...Good Bye!


The thud of rain hitting the red terracotta roof, trickling down the crevices of each red tile and the soft thulp as the rain disrupts the...