Random Musings

A year ends and a year begins.  And that is how 'Time cooks all beings in its cauldron' (Mahabharata).  2020 is not a year that any one of us is likely to forget in a hurry...or even, forget at all for that matter.  For most of us, time and age blur and blend many years into vague memories.  We sometimes remember years gone-by only because of special events, milestone celebrations or heartbreaking losses. For the most part, the days just seamlessly flow into weeks, months and years and that is how it was till now.  But the year 2020 made us all pause in our tracks, re-evaluate, re-centre, re-learn and re-focus. In all that was happening, the year also held a mirror and revealed a bit about ourselves. What we saw was not always what we wanted to but we did learn a thing or two about ourselves which otherwise would have gone unobserved and unexamined in the flurry of activities that dominates our lives.  We began 2020 with a lot of plans and as the year unfol...

Christmas time has that magical ring to it, which even the most cynical or practical of us, have to succumb to.  Especially with kids around, Christmas has that added zest and fervor.  A season of Santa letters and Santa gifts, the spell seems to be cast everywhere. I remember how a few years back, my daughter, just a toddler those days would whisper into my ear, what she would like from Santa that year.  We would sit down with colored pencils, paper and assorted stationery and try and get the letter to Santa right.  The letter always had to start with a “Hi, how are you?... and what did you do the last one year?”  It also included the highlights of what she did the whole of last year (which usually didn’t get past the one week or so…), how good she has been, and how she wanted a doll, just like that one she saw in a shop nearby or a pencil-box like the one her friend had… The innocence of those words, the mischievous note in her tone when she would pester me to...

 I hear his voice again today, after what seems like an eternity. He has an unmistakable, distinct voice. The kind that is hard to miss and impossible to forget. I find myself smiling and I feel lighter in the heart and head. His voice seems to herald a new beginning,  a fresh start.   I remember hearing his voice more than a year back when  we moved to this community,  calling out from the street and announcing his arrival.  It was a typically, hot and humid Indian summer day with an almost cruel Sun bearing down on the black tar roads. In the midst of such a blistering day, his call cut across in a lilting tone reaching an almost musical crescendo. When I first heard it,  I thought it was a child's voice. There was something very childlike and enthusiastic in the voice that carried across the community. When I waved my hand from the third floor to indicate for him to come up, I realized he was a much older gentleman. When he rang the doorbell an...

Sometimes for days and weeks and even months on end, creativity just doesn't flow as it should. So, I re-visit old articles I've written in the past to get inspired and motivate myself to write.  Somehow, that whole process usually backfires and I mull over how terribly I've written an article or how I should have used a different word or phrase.  But I thrive on this self-flogging because in the end, it does nudge me to write...hoping to do a somewhat better job!  And then there's today, like yesterday and the day before, where my mind just draws a blank and I tell myself that maybe I should no longer attempt to write at all.  In the midst of such internal trauma and drama, I get a message from a friend out of the blue, asking if I've written anything lately and that just pushes me into more despondency, as if that were even possible!  So, I hit upon a brilliant idea, why not publish articles that were already published elsewhere.  I wrote those myself and...

It's a very windy morning in the Capital, as I scroll through the news on my mobile. The numerous news apps I have on my phone, all try to grab my attention with curated news matching my likes and areas of interest, interspersed with the most updated news from all over the world. Yet, there's something impersonal and unappealing about this solitary scrolling. It doesn't give me the same experience that the newspapers did. The Lockdown started it all, when I was forced to download all these news apps and replace the good old newspaper with an icon on my phone. Though, with a semblance of new normal making way, I'm still a bit wary of going back to the old ways. The whole process of sanitization acting detrimental to my craving, I am one of the many who have turned to the news apps in place of the physical newspapers, atleast for now. Though the newspapers themselves have been coming with digitalized versions for many years now, the lure of the physical form always appeal...

When my daughter was a young school going kid, we lived a pretty nomadic life, moving places almost every year and consequently changing neighbourhoods and schools. My biggest concern during all these moves was how she was adjusting with the new classmates, how the new teachers were and how she would build bonds with the new neighbourhood children. Most times she would allay my fears holding my face in her tiny hands and say that, "They are kind". That was her way of reassuring me that all's right with the moves and all's right with the world. Over the years, this became the benchmark to gauge any new scenario, whether it was a new hostel, new college, new internship, new job et al. Every new situation she found herself in, I always asked her teasingly, "Are they kind?!" This was mostly always in jest from the time she entered her teens and she would roll her eyes sometimes or laugh self-consciously! They say children know instinctively how the people aroun...

Yet another day in Lockdown and I receive a call from a long lost friend. The voice sounds exactly as it did more than a couple of decades back. Does Time not touch our voices as it does everything else, I wonder. We talk about old times, when the kids were just babies, when times were simpler, happier and friends were the only family we had in the far flung areas that we all lived in as a community. Like a quick replay button, all the memories come flooding back. I tell her how I still gulp a spoon of Jam as an instant energy booster, a quick-fix solution she had suggested (or so my memory claims!). She promises to get me a bottle next time we meet, but a gourmet homemade one this time! We laugh. We tear up. We reminisce. We become wistful and we exchange pictures and hope that we can continue to stay in touch. Life has taken us on a roller coaster ride, barely giving us time to pause and think and build and work on our friendships. Yet, here we are today, thousands of miles apa...

Today, my mother called up Padma, the house help, to find out how she was doing. She has been with my mother for many years and this Lockdown period is probably the longest ever that she hasn't come home. They had a long heart to heart chat. Following my mother's side of the conversation, I could make out that she was missing my mother as much as my mother was missing her, if not more. My mother is her confidante, her mentor, her counselor, her mother-figure all rolled into one. For my mother, who lives alone, she's like a family member. She knows more about what is kept where in the house than either I or my brother, who are but just visitors. She claims an ownership with my mother and the routine of the house more than any of us can ever do. She asks to speak to me as well, and when I enquire about her well being and how her family is managing, she says all is well and that her husband is at home too. There's a catch in her throat. I know the subtext to that. Her ...

One of the most daunting chores I have at home during this period of Lockdown is making the "Muggu" daily in front of the house. Staying with my mother in Hyderabad during Lockdown entailed this new learning experience! 'Muggu' is an essential part of almost all Telugu households. For the uninitiated, it's a pattern made of either rice flour paste or special Muggu powder in front of the main door or main gate. It's called "Kolam" in Tamil and "Rangoli" is the colourful North Indian version. Any South Indian worth their salt has to know Muggu/Kolam. Mornings in most South Indian households start with the mandatory Suprabhatam/Vishnu Sahasranamam by M.S.Subbalakshmi. As her divine voice pervades the house and wakes you up from a deep slumber, the heavenly aroma of filter coffee percolates all corners of the house. And usually, at this point the lady of the house or the house-help sweeps and mops the area in front of the main door and adorn...

Home. Today, we hear this word more than ever before. StayHome StaySafe, is the mantra that is echoing in all corners of the world. In the current situation of Lockdowns across many countries, Home has different connotations for different people. For some, it is a safe cocoon, for others it is made up of anxiety-inducing, claustrophobic four walls, for some it is a living hell of domestic abuse, for yet others it is an uncertain mirage, a wistful hope. A young girl sitting alone in her studio apartment dealing with loneliness, or the old couple yearning for their children in the convalescent centre or the young mother who finds herself suddenly in the company of extended family in a strange city away from her four year old daughter, the migrant worker pining to go back...all dream and long for their Homes. To some, Home is the presence of our loved ones around us, to some it is the small mud house lovingly built by the family in a barren piece of land, for some it is the Neem tr...

He and She stood at crossroads. Dark clouds enveloped the skies Belligerent Lightning thundered in the horizon He shuddered and shook She steadfastly stood. Wish it didn't have to come to this, she sighed Never knew you were so hurt, He spluttered Why didn't you say anything before this, He catechized I cried many times, hoped you would notice my pain, She answered You didn't care, you didn't listen, She continued. I thought we were just going through a rough patch, He rued Frankly, I never ever imagined it would come to this, He mumbled. You never cared beyond your own self, She stated. How is it wrong to think about oneself, He retorted. It's not.. it's just that you never cared about me alongside, She elucidated. He paused and pondered. She held back and hoped. Can't we put this behind us, He implored. Only Time will tell, She whispered. He held Her closer Can't we go back to how we were, He pleaded. Don't you remember ...

Today, I miss him more than other days. As I was going through the morning chores in an almost meditative or maybe just a mechanical way, I was pondering how easy life was when he was around. Didn't have to think about certain things at all...anyway, what's the point now. I shrug off the thought, as I contemplate another day in Lockdown mode. When I visited my mother a few months back, I came to know about the development. To put it very mildly, I was shocked beyond words. How could this be happening, I thought. At first, there was denial then i thought it was a cruel joke, but then, when i saw the reality unfolding right in front of me, i felt a vacuum in my stomach. How can I break the news to my brother, who's across the seven seas? Okay, maybe not seven. But definitely, a few thousand miles away in the US. And how will I break the news to my daughter? This would really shatter the two of them. Should I deal with my own sinking feeling first or should I take both ...

I was in my mid 20s when this happened. One day, I came to know that a young pilot who lived in the neighbourhood had died in a chopper crash that day. Bad news tends to travel like wildfire and the palpable gloom that enveloped the community was evident. I remained confined to the house with my toddler when a friend came up and rang the bell. Aren't you coming to visit Mrs. S to offer condolences? she asked. I don't know her, I mumbled. It would be odd to visit her for the first time given the circumstances. She will be surrounded by friends and family, it would be very awkward and what would I say, I muttered feebly with diffidence. It is to express solidarity, she said. It doesn't matter that you don't know her, it doesn't matter that you don't know what to say, just come and be there. In times of grief and crisis all that matters is that people, even strangers stand together to offer comfort to the person, my friend insisted. When I went to meet the l...

Now and then, I look out of the window. It's the same quiet, silent street, hour after hour, day after day...Day 7 of the Lockdown and this seems to be the new normal. A few days back, the bustling streets I used to see having my first cup of coffee, used to chide me sometimes, as it were, for lingering over the coffee while everyone on the street seemed to be bustling about quite hurriedly. The tea vendor used to be the focal point, where many regulars and passersby stopped to have a cup of tea and discuss the morning newspapers. Leaning against the bikes, the day's paper would be quickly distributed between the group of the regulars. The agitated conversations of the sanitation workers sweeping the roads noisily, the barking dogs frolicking and hoping for a bite of the biscuits that the tea drinkers would throw their way...all painted the picture of a noisy neighbourhood. Behind the tea vendor, a little to the left was a hair salon, he was usually the next guy to open th...

Memories are funny, they sneak up on you when you least expect them. When i opened my Instagram the other day, it was an almost mindless force of habit and routine. As i scrolled through my feed, I came across a video shared by Ratan Tata about a young boy who talks about his father who is a sanitation worker. The video soon went viral and it was shared by many people across WhatsApp groups, chats, Facebook posts... The video personally meant a lot more to me as it brought back a flood of memories. Some memories unwittingly get etched very strongly in our minds and hearts and get triggered when we least expect them to surface. My earliest interaction, if i can call it that, with a sanitation worker was way back when i was a child. I remember being in the car with my father and we were driving out somewhere. Suddenly, he stopped the car to the side when he saw a few people working near a manhole. As a child i had no idea what those gaping holes were or what those men were doin...