Random Musings

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 ...