Category Archives: Writing

Reminiscing The Winter Sun

Winter sun in the forest

I saw a beautiful photo today. A view of setting sun through bare winter trees and snowy patches scattered around. A circular driveway, fresh car tire marks, few footsteps, fallen leaves and loose stones edging the circular patch of lawn.

I was so drawn into the photo that I could breathe the crisp winter air. I could feel its cool chill on my cheeks. Hear the slight rustle of breeze through a few dead leaves hanging on to branches. Still and welcoming.Waiting for someone to take a walk and add some life to the typical suburban scene.

I remembered winters in our house, back in Redmond. We used to peer out of the windows in our family room and see if there was ice on the patio. I used to crack open the window for some fresh air. I used to gingerly step onto the deck, bare feet but wrapped in a coat and see if icicles have formed. The feel of the wooden deck under my bare feet shocking me with the cold before I adjusted to the bleak temperatures. I would lean over the railing to see if snow’s weight  had drooped tender Choisya branches. I would make a careful dash to relieve the drooping branches from its snowy burden. Occasionally an unknown bird would flit through even in the freezing cold.

I recalled the smoke clouds formed from heaters as it drifted over neighbouring houses.Always with a background drip-drop of an icicle melting from the roof gutters overhead. Sometimes a childs laugh as  families took their kids out on the trail behind our house would break the silence only to fade as they walked away.

Almost always, the numbing toes would make me hop on my feet and make me dart back inside. In the golden warmth of the home.Wrap myself in a blanket and wait till the toes wiggle back in life.

In India, I miss winter. The long woolen coats, infinity scarfs and oh, the tall leather boots. Gloves and hats.Snug, warm and cosy.

I wouldn’t mind a visit to Redmond to make a snow angel, sit by a roaring fire side and sip on a latte.

Never thought I would miss winter. But here I am longing for the slow pace, peace and solitude that only winter offers. Seems unlikely this year but hopeful for 2014; if only for a week.

NaNoWriMo Rebel

November is the National Novel Writers Month – abbreviated as NaNoWriMo- where interested folks from all around the world spend a mnth writing a novel. No procrastination. No ifs or buts. Pure joy of writing 50,000 words into a novel.

It’s perfect for people who want to write a novel but find excuses all the time. There is online encouragement and at the end a hope to get published!I heard about this a couple of years ago from a friend of a friend, but never took it seriously. Till today. I hope this will be my Sweet November. Cheesy- and guilty as charged.

Now that you understand the first part of the post’s title. Lets move on to the ‘rebel’ part.

Me, I am not in for the novel. Dear God no!

A novel is defined as a long prose narrative that usually describes fictional characters and events in the form of a sequential story

There are folks, like me, who are not interested in fiction, in long stories or even prose. That is where the rebel comes in. Instead of labelling folks who don’t want to write a novel as say, losers (that would be too harsh and maybe even snooty), we are the rebels. Folks who want to write poems, short stories, autobiographies and in my case , blog posts.

For 30 straight days, you will get 30 blog posts on past travels, favorite recipes, Diwali , photography and even couple weekend trips around Hyderabad (if Vipul’s schedule permits).Unless I get inspired by something else – who knows.

Do encourage me to write with your comments. Do nag me if I forget to post one day lest I slip (you know how one day missed at the gym snowballs into a month and even a whole year – true story – won’t say whose ;)).

I dont think I will quite reach the 50K word limit, but nevertheless, let the blogging fun begin!

Image source:

Image source :

I had a dream…

I had a dream ….

A recurring dream since we decided to move back to India. It left me restless and unable to sleep but it kept on revisiting me every night. It was not the usual dream like other NRI’s returning back home – to do something for the country or do something for people or start something on my own etc. It was thoda hatke, out of the box.

I dreamt that we are back and I have to take a train everywhere. I am on the train sitting on the last row of that particular coach and the Ticket Checker (TC) is walking towards me.
I panic, as I realize that I didn’t buy a ticket. I didn’t stand in line at the ticket counter, guard my purse and somehow make way to head of the line without being jostled by others. Yet, here I was on the train.

Thankfully, I remember that I no longer need a ticket, as I have a monthly pass. The thought lingers momentarily as I break into cold sweat. I have changed my purse, the pass was in the inside pocket of the purse, zipped tight – to keep it safe. I open my purse and in my attempt to find the pass I drop a hair brush and a compact. Ignoring those, I dig deeper to find the coveted pass before the TC questions me. I am about to give up and think of an excuse when I notice it peeking behind a wad of facial tissues which are a necessity in this hot city.

I pull out one tissue in relief and mop my sweaty brow as I take a deep breathe. But, my heart skips a beat, as fresh horrors are realized. I have not renewed the pass in a long time. Nowadays, passes can be renewed online but I had forgotten my password and the customer service representative was less than helpful when it came to renewing passwords. There was the TC, three rows down from me and I was thinking that I will have to pay the fine. I wonder if the fine could be paid online or I would have to get down at the station and pay cash. I seriously doubted they would take a credit card payment.

I pull out the pass and peer at its expiry date which is hidden behind Varun’s photo that I have inserted in the laminate. A stern voice asks for ‘ticket please’ and as I turn I hope the TC can’t read the date as well.

He looks at the card and begins sobbing. Before I can react,the sobs turn into wails and then into a chant – du du du du du …With a huge relief I turn and wake up. Its still 2:00 am, I am in bed, its Varun who is crying for milk. There are no trains, TC’s and passes – but milk to be warmed and given so we can all go back to bed.

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