Secret Solace

August brings heavier rains, stronger winds and cold mornings. And there are days of stormy days, raging winds and continuous rainfall. But we do start getting a few days of sunlight which had been missing in the last two months. It never stays for long, but those small pockets of golden light feel precious after nearly two months of living under clouds. Here you can't say which part of the day is going to be cold. Today it's a cold morning, tomorrow might bring a cold afternoon, and the day after a cold evening. This happens in any month. But August has many cold days with rains. August has a personality of its own. August is the time when the city starts to feel like itself again. When I had shifted here it took me almost two years to understand the weather patterns. And the surprising thing is that the weather doesn't stick to a predictable pattern. It keeps changing.  I love the August rains. Can't get enough of this windy cold weather. Had missed it over the summer...

It was raining heavily. I could see the bird cage across the courtyard, perched upon some flower pots. The door of the cage was open and was banging against the wall of the cage. The cage was empty. I was 6 years old. I remember my Nani talking affectionately to me, feeding me, playing with me. On  evenings when there was no electricity, I remember her face lit up in the light cast by the oil lantern. My Nani loved lighting up oil lanterns. She would give the bed to me and my brother and lay herself on the floor watching us. She would tell us stories and sometimes sing to us. She loved reciting Ramayana to me especially and talk a lot about Lord Rama. She taught me how to light a diya and pray. She took me to Ram mandir with my mother and brother. We used to love running around the big temple. She used to love applying kajal to my eyes. She would make the kajal herself on warm sunny winter afternoons and she would tell me how she was making it. Once it was prepared she would put a ...

It was a day of warm showers and barefoot walks. I had been craving a day like this. A walk in the cold breezy weather in the company of chirping birds had relaxed me already. I spent the afternoon in good company, dipping my feet into small pools of water. The night had fallen slowly. I lay on the grass staring at the starry night. And I gave some thought to myself. To the girl I am. The one whose soul dances in poetry, whose heart beats in rhythm with music, who finds beauty in flowers and paintings, who cries over songs and books, who needs no other reason than love to smile and laugh, who is enchanted by starry nights, who never settles for shallow waters, whose spirit believes only in flying, who wants to look at the future and see light, who is untouched by noise and distractions, who can see others' aching truths and silent dreams without judgement, whose eyes see storms and stardust and whose soul chooses to embrace both. I had been away from this girl. Away from myself. Af...

I was in 8th standard in school. I used to like my biology teacher. She used to teach with so much clarity and enthusiasm. One day she told us all to read the book "The Diary of Anne Frank". I thought if Gurjit mam is telling then I have to read it. In the next library period I borrowed the book from the library and spent the next 2 weeks reading it thoroughly. The book took me on an emotional journey of hope and courage during difficult times, the impact of war, adolescence and human resilience. I wept. The ending was cruel. I went to school the next day. I stood there watching everyone. Everyone looked happy. How can they be so happy? Because they didn't read the book. I chose to pick up the book and read it. I didn't speak about the book or that I wept to anyone. Not my friends, not my parents, not my brother. No one. That's how I behave. A silent sufferer. I endure my difficult times privately. I am not able to speak about what truly hurts me. Why am I like th...

I am walking on a bridge The river is gushing beneath The air is cold on my skin The bridge is swaying in the strong wind My hair bun is no longer able to hold all of my hair strands The fragility of the moment is making me shiver I pull on my coat tighter Tears well up in my eyes For my fragile feelings are placed inside Straining to come out The emotional turmoil strains me It makes me think Should I even express? Will my fragility be understood? Or are they safely sheltered in my heart's cocoon?