[ before ] Rania wished, not for the last time though, that food could materialise out of thin air. The three times a day, seven days a week of racking brains on what to cook and finally accomplishing it was fraying her nerves. But everyone, including herself needed to eat. So cook and eat she … Continue reading Some soup?
Poovar, Kerala We had gone to a few places before we succumbed to the 'too much travelling with too little kids' syndrome in the vacation. The first and a surprising spot was Poovar which was literally in our backyard. A short ride beside some dense greenery, a massive road works by some conglomerate, and typical … Continue reading A new-to-me backwater
Ah no. I don't have more than a few strands of grey, so this is not about how becoming older is the new beautiful. I don't write about beauty and fashion much, it would be laughable actually if I wrote such things, you would know if you saw my tresses today afternoon or at any … Continue reading Grey is lovely
[ before ] Their grandparents' home was a sprawling bungalow. A bit fraying at the edges, but a beautiful sight to behold. It was probably built just before the Independence. It was slightly different from the local havelis, in that there was no courtyard in the middle, but rather lawns spread around the building in … Continue reading Wind chimes
[ before ] It was market day. Her bag filled with farm vegetables and fruits. Fresh duck eggs. She stopped to buy some milk. There is a Palestinian man who sells manaeesh and fattoush at the next stall. She heard him say, My name is Tahir. Thank you very much, while he returned some change. … Continue reading Man at the market
Rania walked today, the same path on the trial she had gone on everyday for the past one year. The baby was asleep in the buggy, but Rania was not so peaceful. There had been a letter from home. She could not make sense of what they had written, and neither could she concentrate on … Continue reading A walk and a letter
Book: The Strange Library, Haruki Murakami The brainwave to find this book came about when I saw a slim book titled, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, a memoir by the author. It was in the bookshelf of a friend, and she mentioned that she likes the writing. I was inclined to get the … Continue reading Strange, but still, a library
I was drinking black tea with a friend in the small kebab shop in town. The place is run by Turkish people and there is an elderly man with a splendid turban seated behind me. The man is there every time I go. It was the friend who told me of the group going to … Continue reading Tea in exile