Wandering Writing

"Brindavanamum Nandakumaranum" was one of my paati's favorite songs. She'd love to sing the song every year on Janmashtami. She would also request 'Aleccha' (Alexa) to play the song any chance she got. We would keep calling out to Nandakumara everytime she played or sang the song. This year was the first Janmashtami we didn't call out to Nandakumara. The festivities continued everywhere like every year, snacks and songs aplenty as usual. But this year, the crispy and sweet treats weren't savored by eyes and a tongue that relished them more than teeth and stomach could. This Ashtami, Nandakumara didn't visit our home through his tiny little footprints marked in white flour as he snuck in to eat butter. He visited us through memories of the one who loved his song and fondly called him so many times throughout several decades, even the night before she passed. Maybe he visited her as she reunited with Bhooma paati, the two sitting side by side and s...

  Some days, your stomach never really feels full Some days, your heart never really feels full No matter how much you try to feed it Those wounds don't heal completely Some days, you can't stop feeling tired for seemingly no reason Some days, you can't stop finding reasons that drain you It feels like everything's over, you just want to go to sleep Then you wake up, hoping the new dawn drains less  Some days, your heart aches, dull but persisting all day long Some days, you can't really feel it, but you know it's there The memory of the ache remains, draining you even more You wonder how many tears you have shed and will soon You also wonder if tomorrow will be any different than today Maybe it will, maybe the day after, maybe next week, let's see So you wipe away those tears and drift off to dream world Maybe one day, you won't have to wipe away any more tears So keep going, even on those days  When you never feel full enough,  And especially on those ...

  Can't really describe the excitement of getting that new toy It's perfect in every way, nothing else could even begin to come close It came in a beautiful and colourful box, carefully wrapped with care You could barely contain your joy when you got to finally see it in person It's been a while, and you're still trying to figure out the new toy It has a confusing manual in a language you can barely understand It doesn't really seem to listen to you or what you want It's a toy that plays with you, not one that you play with But how can you stop trying when that toy seems to be so perfect?  It's beautiful, and it's exactly what you want people to see you with It's THE doll. It gets to sit prim and pretty on top of your favourite desk While the rest of your toys gather dust in the back of an old cupboard  A teddy bear tries to peek outside the cramped cupboard sometimes  Every time the door opens, it sees the shiny new toy basking in all its glory It c...

She was all about the simple delights of life. A dollop of butter on a steaming hot masala dosa. A brook of melting ghee cascading down a hill of piping hot bisibelebath. Streaks of mango pickle adorning cool curds on a bed of hot rice. A half-submerged crouton floating in a pond of tomato soup. The crispy edges of a patiently cooked rava dosa. The embroidery of coconut flakes on an akki rotti fresh off the stove. A little child tugging at the hem of mother's dress as she cooks, eyeing each dough-coated vegetable as it dives into the sizzling oil. It was all about the simple things for her. Well, except for the fact that the little child was not her child. In fact, she had no idea who the child was. The little one had just appeared out of nowhere. One moment they were ringing her doorbell and the next, they were in the kitchen. She hadn't had the heart to say no when the child eyed the veritable feast she was cooking up for her lunch party. She gave them bits of all the food an...

It seemed such an unremarkable place. The atmosphere was not tensed or marred in any way. A light breeze floated by casually. The sky was not particularly blue and not grey either, rather an undecided pale colour. One couldn't hear more than a few traffic sounds even with strained ears.  And yet, something was off. There were no birds chirping. The breeze was not cold and, instead, just tepid. There was an uneasy dullness in the few sunrays that illuminated the street and the man who stood on it.  The man wore a pretty unremarkable grey hoodie and blue jeans and there was nothing that particularly stood out about him. Well, apart from the wide eyes and raised eyebrows as he stared at the cracked screen of his smartphone.  There seemed nothing particularly out of place in the white screen and its text bubbles, perhaps not much that seemed to deserve the gasp he let out. Yet one could not shake off a growing unease at the sight of his still body. He seemed to not be breathi...

  I am not just what you think my body looks like  I am all of the things my body is capable of doing Sure, slouching on the couch and binge watching TV But also of dancing my little heart out, limitless on joy I am not your critical and ruthless judgment of my looks I am the joy I feel when I can smile at myself in the mirror I am the days when I can't help smiling because I'm so happy Why must you insist on making me the tears that just won't stop?  I am not your 'well-intended' words that echo my worst insecurities I am not the things you tell me that you think are for my own good I am the affirmations of who I am that tell me I am worth being here I am the tiny spark of joy that I can find in the littlest things  I am not the version of me that you persist on perceiving in your mind I am not any less than who I am just because I'm not your perfect person The things you think I 'lack' or have 'too much of' do not make me any less  I am not you...