Secret Solace

Everyone's story is worth telling. That's what is portrayed in the movie "Freedom Writers". A movie that taught me the concept of "Cathartic writing". It's based on a true story. I like Ms Erin Gruwell for her unwavering commitment to the students of her class. I saw this movie many years back and it stayed with me. My connection with this movie is like one of those many of my connections that doesn't fade away with time. She believes that she can bring a change. She is deeply invested in her students' well being. Every small thing she did took her students' forward on their journey to accepting each other and hope for the good in dark times. She fought the system to give them true education, not the bookish education. She encouraged them to write their stories in their own diaries. Because she felt their story is worth writing. She also told them their stories won't be graded. How can she grade them for writing the truth. As the students...

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?

My habit of exploring songs led me to Lagan Laagi Re, and it has become my current favorite music video. I have always liked Amit Trivedi's songs, and this one captivated me too. It isn't a newly released one, though. One of my friends was suggesting disco songs with catchy tunes—the kind filled with DJs, bars, wine and crazy dancing. I suggested Lagan Laagi Re to her. She agreed to listen to it after being sceptical for a while. Lagan laagi re speaks of a quiet devotion. It made my heart fly the very first time I saw and listened to it. Every expression and every note carries a depth that words alone cannot explain. The ending makes one realise true love doesn't go unrecognised.  I always prefer songs that nourish my heart to those that briefly entertain. The ones that offer depth and meaning are the songs I am drawn to. My friend later admitted that she liked my suggestion better. Something that filled her heart rather than distracting and leaving her mind in a frenzy.  ...

In my 10th pre boards I scored 99/100 in maths. My maths teacher praised my paper a lot infront of other students. I used to think "Is he actually talking about me?" I used to be a very quiet girl. Not the kind of girl people talk about. But when everybody started talking about me I was suddenly pulled out of the shadows and put into the limelight. And that made me uncomfortable. I was not used to that kind of attention. Sir praised the way I wrote the paper with so much clarity. It was neatly written, all problems solved with proper steps without a single scratch on the entire paper. He kept telling the other students. "She hasn't made a single scratch. That's the power of attention and practice." Sir came to me and respectfully asked me if he can keep my paper. He showed it all the students from different sections. He never gave my paper back. Then everyone started talking that I would definitely score a 100 in board exams. Now I have never been too much i...

In this world of cafe lattes, cappuccinos and espressos I am still a chai girl. I have my own little ritual of making tea everyday. I love the aroma as the tea slowly comes to a boil. Especially during the rainy season, there is something deeply comforting about making my own cup of tea. Why is the modern culture so much into coffee and coffeeshops? In my city the coffeeshops are bustling with people on almost every street. The coffee lifestyle here has been heavily influenced by the West.  I do go to coffeeshops and I really like the coffee, the music and the lively atmosphere. But at home I always prefer to have tea. Maybe it's because I'm not much of a culinary adventurer. I don't find myself exploring different varieties of even tea - Darjeeling, Assam or exotic blends. I like my tea just the way I have always known it.  I learnt and started making tea regularly during my study break for 10th board exams. I remember the warm, sunny afternoons when I would simmer my own ...

I opened my closet and was greeted by the lovely fragrance of lavender. The lavender fragrance bar hanging on the wall of my closet was responsible for the fragrance. I looked around my closet, at the short piles of my dresses sitting on the shelves, the long ones hanging on the hangers and few of them stored in the boxes. And then I took a minute to admire my elegant collection of dresses that I had slowly bought over the years. Since when did I become so fashionable? I wondered. Browsing through my wardrobe I found so many of my favorite pieces were lavender in colour. My suits, tops, my bindis and my earrings and my nail paint. Even my lip balm is lavender in colour!  I am so drawn to lavender. Lavender enhances my softness, balances my mood, puts a beautiful smile on my lips and peace in my heart. I feel pretty wrapped in lavender. I don't know if I look pretty in lavender. Maybe I don't care if I look pretty. But I know I feel pretty in lavender. And that's what matter...

The hill stood Proud, bathing in the sunshine Surrounded by the vast meadows Came along a cloud dancing in the sunshine and the wind The hill was having a good day It waved Hi to the cloud happily The cloud waved back happily It was in a good mood too "Where are you off to?" asked the hill "I am on my way to chase my dreams. I have been dreaming all along. And the time has come to live my dreams", said the cloud. "That's great to hear. Do tell me more about yourself", said the hill. And they chatted happily like old friends sharing their happiness and dreams. The hill was elated in the company of the boisterous, mischievous cloud and laughed at its funny stories. The cloud was touched by the hill's stillness, genuine listening and encouraging nature. The hill confessed that although it can never travel, it has always dreamed of seeing the world. "Don't worry. I'll come visit you and tell you all the stories of what I saw in the world...

Everything you dreamt of Seemed like fading away when you woke up today The feel of it Left you in despair But, Can you keep quiet for a while and listen to what this moment is trying to tell you Can you try to listen what this moment is singing about Will you listen to me If I tell you that  This could still be the time of your dreams Will you try to look at it Through my eyes As the days changed the seasons changed You can't find what you thought you would find  You are wondering where is it which you were searching  I know it disappoints you It frazzles your nerves  But, Will you listen to me  If I tell you that What you are trying to find  Might be just beyond the horizon  That you might finally find it If you wait a little longer Will you try to look at it  Through my eyes You think you worked hard Your feet ached with the long walking in the scorching sun Your throat burned with thirst Will you listen to me  If I tell you that  Eve...

When I sing when there is silence I know I am happy When I catch myself smiling in solitude I know I am happy When I don't rush to light a candle when it's dark When I wait for good things to come I know I am happy When I let the winds whisper to me When I let my dreams disturb me I know I am happy For, When my words stop sitting on my lips And flow fearlessly  When the shadows dance with my heart When my eyes rest on the blooming flowers I know happiness has found me

There is water all around, and mud too But there is light at a distance Let me try to go towards it Said so, A lotus As it kept growing and blossoming Fighting the mud and the water It bloomed with radiance Unstained by the muddy pond Only the morning dew touched it Adorning the delicate petals With tiny fresh water droplets Which shone like tiny pearls The birds flew by Looking at the petals blush with tender grace Admiring the lotus's purity and inner strength Its ability to trust in the light And grow through the mud

The rain arrived. Unannounced. It started pouring as if the skies had given away suddenly.  The steady rhythm of raindrops danced on my window sill. The pitter patter tugged at my spirit and drew my attention to the window. It was grey and dim outside. The trees and plants were bathing in the rain. The grass on the meadow was drenched in the rainfall. The water drops had found their way and come together in the tiny streams of water flowing down the roads.  The occasional thunder growled and the lightning sparked, painting the grey skies with white streaks of light. The flowers and leaves were swaying in the wind, free and elated.  The rain called for a pause. Slowly I was drawn in the rhythm of the rain. I sat down and lit a candle by the window for light and warmth.  I looked upon the soft glow of the candle wrapped up by the light and shine, the aroma of it hugging me like a warm blanket.  I felt like writing something. So I thought putting on some music like...

I don't like mehendi all that much. I mean it's ok to have it done sometimes. But I don't love it the way all my friends do. But I am a woman. I am supposed to like it right? Lets go over the steps. First I need to sit for an hour while the intricate designs are drawn on my hand. The art is good to look at and the fragrance of mehendi too. But c'mon I need to sit with my hands still for 1 hour and then another 2 hours for it to dry. What am I supposed to do with both my hands tied. I start feeling so restless that I almost wash it off everytime before time. I remember my elder cousin's wedding for which the elders in my family had made me sit for mehendi. Everyone was so happy. I felt so restless I kept moving my feet around. But the thing is I couldn't speak about my discomfort. What if they label me as an outcast in the family? An outlier would be more stylish. Anyways. The thing is I have never quite enjoyed mehendi since then. It's nice to have it done o...

27 dresses is a good movie. My best friend in college suggested it to me. I liked it a lot and have watched it many times since then. I like the storyline which goes on with a light-hearted humor. Jane is a kind woman who likes helping people celebrate their weddings. She has been a bridesmaid 27 times and feels happy helping brides on their most important day. Jane meets Kevin, a newspaper writer whose outlook on love is very different from hers.  Kevin soon finds out that Jane is a hopeless romantic who believes deeply in weddings and sacrifices her own needs for others. Kevin on the other hand is cynical about weddings and sees many of them as performances rather than genuine expressions of love. At one point Kevin goes to Jane's home and sees her closet filled with the 27 bridesmaid dresses she has worn over the years. He questions it. He asks her why had she filled the big closet with the bridesmaid dresses.  That day Jane confessed to Kevin that maybe a day will come whe...

This is about the time when my son joined Nursery, the first year of kindergarten. We were supposed to attend the Orientation session after which we went to meet the class teacher. Ms Sandhya welcomed us. She briefed us about the academic and co curricular activities of the year. After finishing up she happened to mention "Please don't expect the tiffin boxes to be finished in this first month of school. I can't force kids to eat especially in the initial few days." This thing stayed with me. It wasn't just about what she said. It was about how she said it. The tenderness in her voice while she said it hit different.  On the first 3 days of school we were supposed to sit in the nearby classroom till the kids finished school. That time was used to brief parents about school activities. There were various talks by the nursery coordinator, school counselor and special educators. When kids' dispersal started, mam was calling out names of the kids so that parents c...

I saw your painting, and it spoke only of your love for me. You painted the most beautiful scenery with all my favorite colours. The paint dripped slowly, settling into shades that felt like they had always belonged to me. The mountains stood tall, Speaking of my ambition. The river flowed gently, like the softness I hide within myself. Flowers swayed in the quiet breeze, fragile and tender, like the delicate parts of me you somehow have learned to hold with care. My destiny is entwined with yours, like two rivers meeting without resistance. You could see and listen to the things I could never speak about. You became my mirror who saw my pain and reflected happiness instead.

In one of my travels there was a mitti ki surahi at the place we stayed. It had been a long time since I had tasted water from one. I had it and felt so refreshed with the adequately cooled water. Not like the sharp cold water of a refrigerator. It was softer and more comforting. My thoughts instantly drifted to my nani's stories. She always used to talk about village life. My thoughts started drifting to her stories and to what she used to talk about. How often do we think about the life people led with fewer modern resources. Why is the modern lifestyle so glorified? I mean people in older generations living in villages didn't have access to electricity or conveniences like refrigerators and gas stoves. But food was still cooked. In a hearth of course. With fresh ingredients brought straight from the farm. In summers you could still have cool water from the clay pots. In lack of electricity lanterns lit the evening hours. They used to have an early dinner, sleep as soon as da...

Iktara is a beautiful song. I have been listening to this song for years now and it's one of my favorites. I particularly like the opening lines "O re manwa tu toh banwara hai Tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai Tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai banware Kyun dikhaye sapne tu sote jaagte" This aptly describes the true nature of soul which believes in wandering, dreaming, searching for new possibilities. It's not bonded. It's free. By nature, by definition the soul is free. No one can confine it. It can flow, dream endlessly.  The soul may feel trapped by fear, expectations, memories but freedom is not something the soul has to earn — it already exists within it. The next lines go like - "Jo barse sapne boond boond Naino ko moond moond" Now that can mean the person has closed the eyes and dreams are flowing in ecstasy. The lines create a dreamy feeling — as if someone is drifting into imagination and deep thoughts while dreams gently pour over them like rain. It bea...

I called sadness to sit with me We hugged each other and watched the fading sunlight on the walls, breathing in the smell of rain lingering in the evening air. I loved the comfort sadness gave me, and I slept in her arms, allowing her to hold me for a little while longer. I felt like a tired bird finally finding a place to rest. When I felt better, she waved goodbye to me, happy to see me smile. “See you next time,” she said. “Enjoy life when I am not around. But sometimes, I have to come visit you. That is the law of nature. But we are good with each other, so do not worry, my dear.” And thus, she left, leaving me with hopes of better days and sunshine leaving me in the company of songs of the wind, and comfort of the meadows.

One of my favorite activities is taking my son to the playground. It's joyful to watch him play, explore, try different equipments, mingle with other kids. It's amazing to see him play in the mud, splash in the little pool of rainwater, smell the flowers, touch the leaves, talk to the birds and lie on the grass. It's a wonder to see him ask me so many curious questions whenever he is outdoors. It's funny to see how he tries to copy older kids, how he tries to do more challenging play. And then there is another side of him which is so amazing to witness. If any kid gets hurt especially the younger ones, he soothes them, runs to me to ask for water and band aids. Oh yes! mom is his first aid kit. I am grateful he shows empathy for other kids.  Some of the younger kids come to the playground with caretakers who would be busy chatting amongst themselves. I started helping those kids actively on the playground, on the slides and other equipments. They squealed with happiness...

I felt like celebrating my birthday more intentionally this year. I woke up hoping today gives me a few moments that feel truly mine. I promised myself I would shower myself with a little more love and a little more kindness than I usually do. I am going to give permission to myself to give more time to me. Today I will take space, not shrink myself.   Today I would do all the little things for myself that I usually keep putting off. I don’t remember the last time I truly allowed myself to do that.  So I did. And I felt so happy.  Today reminded me that amidst the questions, the storms and the wild dreams I am blooming in my own way. I am still growing, still creating, still becoming - and I am deeply grateful for that.  Today made me feel the nicest birthdays are often not the loudest ones, but the ones where you feel light inside for a while… understood, peaceful, and quietly happy. I rested dreaming about sunlit rivers, my spirit warm and flowing.

There was a time when their laughter knew the same roads, when silence between them felt warm like sunlight resting on old wooden floors. They were only friends, or so they believed, hiding little storms inside ordinary conversations. Years passed softly. Life scattered them through crowded days and distant nights, yet somewhere beneath it all, their hearts kept returning to the same unfinished place. And then one evening, truth arrived trembling— not loud, not grand, just two souls finally admitting what love had whispered for years. For a moment the world bloomed. Every memory wore gold. Every word carried wings. But love is delicate when wrapped in confusion. A misunderstanding, a fear neither could explain, grew like fog between them. The boy, unable to hold the weight of lies told closed every door quietly. And the girl remained with echoes of him— with songs that still sounded like home, with conversations replaying at midnight, with the ache of a love that arrived too late and v...

The wild in me does not believe in fences. It does not pause before walls, nor bow before locked gates. It breaks through barriers like rivers that cut through stone. The wild in me is like the restless wind, like untamed fire that wants to explore,  explore and explore, without the weight of fear tied to the ankles. The wild in me loves the freedom of the wilderness that ignites the desires lying latent - to demystify the mystic, to unconceal the concealed, within myself and beyond.

Take that first step, for in it begins an adventure. Leave the maps behind. Let your restless heart wander, tracing paths unknown, drifting gently toward the unseen. Follow where it leads. Through winding bends, along gurgling streams, over steep inclines.  Across rugged trails and stony climbs, where the earth feels raw and alive. Brave the hush of falling snow, stand steady against the biting winds. For in that wild surrender, you will be beautifully lost. You need to remember that you are safe. The ropes and harness are holding your fears at bay. You are moving, and always moving forward. Pause if your soul asks for some stillness. Build a small camp beneath the dark skies, spark a fire and let the cold mountain air seep into your soul in silence. But do not linger too long, for the climb is calling. You still have work to do, learn the language of stone and wind. You need to keep moving, rise higher until the summits greet you. And on the way you are going to be awed by valleys...

And then she smiled A glow in the dark Look at her smile Radiant as a thousand diyas  It's no ordinary smile It's a glow earned Forged through strength Softened by humility Anchored in quiet power That smile carried stories untold Of battles endured and grace preserved In this radiant smile lived The true essence of womanhood

I am standing on a beach I am waiting for a light But I can't see it yet Nothing is going right Everything is a mess It's too dark to see ahead I am ashore  Waiting for a ship To sail me somewhere afresh Where?..I know nothing of.. My life is clouded Too slippery to catch hold of It still is a mystery to me Why life denied me something I had yearned for Etched in my memories are the happy times of yesterday  Of today, I have nothing to hold on to I have sacrificed my dreams on the altar of reality Feeling like a statue, carved but not painted I spend my days alone Shuffling the pages of this play Hoping to give it a brand new end Since the start can't be made the other way So here I am, tapping my feet Sad enough, I am losing my grip Saving myself of tears,I reflect Am I losing myself to fate I wish I could scream and shout  For, against the setting sun, All I am, is a dark silhouette