The​ cost of adulthood.

It rained today. It was sunny in the morning. It was sunny when I boarded the metro bound home. It was sunny when I claimed it was not raining despite my mum’s messages on how heavy the downpour was. But, it soon started raining, a little out of nowhere but, almost everywhere.

Rain makes me both happy and sad for conflicting reasons. What are they? Oh, you shall soon get introduced to them.I stood in the city bus armed with my waterproof bag and an umbrella. The sweet simple joyful drizzles had now converted into mini streams all around the bus and tiny ones threatened to form as I found water entering through the gaps in the window and within no time, there were puddles of rainwater inside the bus. It was a little irritating but, I was glad that the roof of the bus was not leaking and I did not have to open my umbrella just yet.

The bus stopped at my stop and I was automatically pushed out along with the other people who were all too eager to get home. I opened my umbrella awkwardly jammed amidst the crowd and may or may not have poked someone in the process and be cursed for it. The walk back home was tricky. I had to make sure I do NOT accidentally step into one of the many generous puddles enriched with rainwater and mud because then, the water would seep into my shoes and socks and I would definitely be asked and forced to wash my shoes. No, I am not spoilt rotten, I just don’t like doing something when I know I can avoid it. This all led back to the “game” I played as a kid while my parents bought vegetables at the city market. It’s the one where I would pretend to be in a video game or Mario cart, except anywhere outside the cobblestone of the street was hot, piping lava. Back in the real world, I began stretching my legs and walking on the parts of the road without any puddles. I would have looked an idiot to everyone that might have seen me that day. But, it was a fair price to pay in order to relive my childhood and escape the chore of washing my white shoes that had the potential to be burned off from lava splashes get dirty and muddy.

I had almost, ALMOST reached home when my neighbour’s car splashed a good chunk of muddy water right into my shoes with such velocity that I regretted the next day ( A Sunday or my holy-sleep-day) that I spent scrubbing off the mud and hoping it magically turns back to its original state.

Was it the price of reliving the glory days of my childhood or the price of the so-called adulthood and self-dependency that I had entered?


The Final Decision

The clock struck one-o-clock and it was now decided. the four-year-old was scared and afraid at her own house. She did not feel safe anymore. She had to make a decision and, if she did not, she would never have her version of the safety blanket.  She sat up on her bed clutching her blanket as the breeze of cold air from the window sent shivers down her spine. She whispered into nothingness,” Boogeyman, please don’t hurt me. You and I are very similar. Let’s look out for each other.” She then proceeded to tiptoe and collect all her prized possessions in her brightly coloured school backpack. Her ears were ringing with anticipation and heart beating as she did the unthinkable. She stuffed it with her superhero action figures for, they could protect her in times of need. Soon her bunny and her water bottle followed. Now, the time had come for the most prized possession and the main reason she was taking such risks. She changed her clothes and went downstairs still afraid to make a noise and alert the enemies. She opened the refrigerator and stuffed as many candies and chocolates as her bag could hold. Yes, the bag might end up being heavy but, she would soon be five and that was older. she would be stronger soon, she didn’t have to worry then. She was tired of everyone stealing her share of chocolates or asking her not to eat many when the chocolates were in danger or in clutches of her evil older brother and sister. It was very scary and she felt unsafe at her own house. No adult cared for her safety here. She despised it when her brother would run fast and snatch or steal all her saved stack of treats. She also felt scared when her sister would snoop around her room like a dog and take them out from the safe place. Now, her bag was packed and she would soon be free from the clutches of the demons that would watch over her. But, right when she was about to open the door of her personal hell and step into the great free world, she was jolted awake. ” Wake up Nina! Wake up Sunshine! It’s time for school” Her mom woke her up and took her to the bathroom to freshen up. What a strange dream she wondered. She was safe here. This was her safe haven, her safe house of El. And, she never had any sibling that even liked chocolates. Her brother hated them. She said aloud, “Ha! He is mad. Who doesn’t like chocolates.”. ” A mad person.” said her mother as she poured some of the evil-eye burning shampoo on Nina’s hair.

The joy of waking up late.

Once in a blue moon I get to enjoy the joy of waking up late. By late I mean post 9 or 10 am. I’m usually up by 5:30 to 6 AM or woken up before 7 AM. You would wonder what the joy of waking up late and being in a sleep haze or distorted surroundings are.

Well for starters, nothing wakes you up. Not the alarm, not a single person and surely not the sunlight if you sleep in a dark room or just have thick curtains like me. (NOPE. I just had once converted my window into a bookshelf because my cupboards were full.)

Having a lazy beginning is not usually idea but, this lazy day lets me read novel for hours together without leaving the comfortable space that I made since several hours. The bed is warm, and the fan blows cool air to stop me from sweating. Add on my reading glasses and I’m good to go for a few hours until brunch/lunch.

Third reason being a late breakfast or a brunch. There is piping hot and yummy food ready if some one preps it up.

Post lunch the huge titanium wall of realisation hits me. Damn! Half of the day is over and I have a quite a few things to do. The pressure of the hour stops me from procrastinating on the internet and get to work. Whats good about this you ask? I get my job done and make sure that it does not pile up in my do-it-ASAP pile. What’s not to love about work that is completed?

The splurge of energy paired without a coffee can let me work through out the day for a few hours post midnight or even more without feeling drowsy. But here comes the cons after the oh so exhaustive list of the pros. What is this only con?


Because right at 11 I realise tomorrow is a working day and the fact that I have to show up to classes in order to get the attendance and learn information. I could convert this to a pro stating and concluding that this will even make sure I sleep om time to wake up before 6 AM the next day. Just because this last one is a pseudo-pro. This solely depends on the ability of my realisation to make sure it flashes in my brain and makes sure I realise it.

Signing off,


A walk to remember.

No, this is not a review of the book by the same name that Nicholas Sparks wrote. What would be a walk to remember is my question. Like in the book ( If you’ve read it because, I haven’t watched the movies ), would it be one where Jamie Sullivan walks with her father down the aisle while suffering from cancer? Though that isn’t everyone’s story, what would be a walk to remember for all the mundane people around? 

For a high schooler it could be the walk after the last exam in senior year. It could be the walk home from work for a person just over 60 and retiring.  It could be the walk into somewhere peaceful after deployment for soldier. It might be the last class for a teacher or surgery for a doctor. It could be the last stroll with you dog. Or a walk to the walk with your loving grandparents who buy you candies or icecreams by the end of the walk. For a mother, it could be her child’s first few wobbling steps. For she, puts her child’s needs in front of her own.

It might be the first walk after amputation or a walk towards better lives. It could be the walk towards the grave of a loved one. Or a walk under rain where your tears could be masked. One might happen to remember all the walks in their lifetime and yet not have a favourite or memorable one.

But the one way walk towards infinity would be a walk to remember but, unfortunately it’s one walk we don’t get to remember.  Which gets me thinking how a walk to remember holds the possiblity of being the one you might not remember. Or that one walk you long to remember but has escaped your memory. The one you wish to hold on to forever but it fades away.

P.S. The picture is that of  cenotaphs at Bada Bagh in Jaisalmer, Rajasthan IN. They belong to the royal family.  Captured by yours truly back in 2012 or 13.

The barter at the devil’s hour

221B Grimmauld Palace,

Baker’s Stree,Borough of Isolation

Republic of Solitude – 007

Dear Now-a-fragment-of-my-imagination,

I’m sorry for all the mistakes and sins I’ve ever committed. I’m truly sorry and I promise that I shall learn from them and never commit such a sin. We all deserve second chances don’t we? And NO! Second chances do not mean that you scan me from top to toe with those scrutinising eyes of yours and search my nooks of my soul and my room. Yes, I am well aware that what I did wasn’t right. But that does not mean you punish my soul for it. My soul tried to make sure that I don’t lie to you. I convinced my teeth to bite my tongue and my hands to pinch my ears and I thought of lying to you. No this was not a spur of the momentire lie and yes, I was going to confess. Not immediately but soon. All I wished for is some more time. For,  I am not one of those several people who try to take a short cut just to escape the peril for a short time and then just commit to take several short cuts and get stuck in a world full of rat traps. I am one of those who needs a little time in the Republic of Solitude to come up with a way to overcome the peril. Oh! You wouldn’t understand it. My soul would cease to exist if at all I decided not to confess that I did lie.

I sometimes wonder if you ever lied! But, I’m well aware of them. Yet, I choose to keep quite because,  I believe you have you reasons. No one was ever made perfect.  Not even God’s favourite Faust. Like good ol’ Faust, I also seek and wish for things. But, unlike him I shalt not sell my soul to the devil and end up serving in the lava filled he’ll as he did. For, I would burn from the boiling lava my soul throws my way if I ever sold it.But, I shall barter it with the devi at the devil’s hour as I write the play by play for you to see I’m a better version of a person than I seem to be at the moment in front of your scrutinising eyes. I’m bartering my abilities to commit sins, procrastinate and give into certain unhealthy guilty pleasures in order to obtain my goals and dreams. And unlike Faust, both my gods and my devils stand by me. He wishes me well and locls hia newly aquired possessions deep down in his dungeons for those, are his rightful pleasures or so he says. Also, I’m postivery that he doesn’t wish to have a  borderline OCD slave working in his lava pool and complaining how molten and solidified lava shul not mix.

I know that my minutes here in the Republic of Solitude are numbered. As I’m about to leave the devil calls my name. He makes anot her promise that, If at all I don’t look towards my older habits, he shall talk to his friend called death and provide me with the cloak of invisibility. I step back into out world where your eyes shall surely scan me again hearing the wishes of both my gods and my devils. I thank them for one last time. I shall hide the key but, never use it. It’s one of the promises that I wouldn’t dare to break.

Yours sincerely, 

Hope and determination.

The art of cutting queues.

​Old or young, small or gigantic, detailed or abstract, melodious or monotonous, art in art in all forms can be appreciated and admired. But,  there’s one specific kind that I couldn’t even fathom admiring. Not no wand surely not in my wildest dreams. Instead I’d rather take pride in appreciate the sound of nails or chalk screeching. I’m sure my over enthusiastic and out of tune singing skills or a child’s scribes are far more marvellous.

What is this art that I’ve acquired so much hate for ? Oh for goodness sake, it’s the art of cutting queues or lines. This happens almost everywhere. In line at the banks, grocery stores, clothing stores and railway stations. They claim to have come before you even if you’re the first one. They don’t budge and are ready for a verbal fight. The try to potray a woman wrong if at she’s the one pointing out an idiot who skipped the queue.
I wonder if it’s stupidity , ignorance or just plain disrespect for the rules. Is there some felecitation for these deligated and highly qualified rule breakers ? Or is it self satisfaction obtained after breaking rules.  Yes, I’ll always wonder how it feels to skip one but, I don’t think I could ever muster up the courage to do so. Call me scared or whatever else you can come up with. The only way I can defy those words would be with my respect for rules and regulations.
Until next time!

Never around .

Each night, she’d dream everyone repeatedly asking her ” Why do you repeat the lines be there or be square?” 

Every day she’d wake up replying “Because , you’re never a-round”.

Hello dearest lovely reader of mine! I’m sorry. Yes sorry.

Sorry that you had to endure this pun.

Beacuse, someone like me can have a rather pathetic and pun-tastic pun.

Crazy! Not me, but them.

Me and my mother usually go by train to Mysore. Mainly because it’s more airy and that it doesn’t make my mom feel nauseous. Going back to the city we lived 6 years ago makes me a little sad because I don’t get to visit as much as I’d like to.
Traveling by train sure does result in several new experiences. Food vendors, daily wage workers, the occasional travelers, tourists, students to people going home after work, you’ll see them all.
People pushing and walking in and out with no place to stand or sit. It’s quite common to find the walking area between bogies and seats filled with people sitting.
Once every few minutes, food vendors selling tea, coffee, charmuri and maddur vade ( a type of vada/fried delicacy ) fill the confined space of the bogie with respective smells.
The evening trains, may it be a slow passenger or a super fast express they are jam-packed with people, especially on Fridays and the weekends. Today was one such friday. Amidst the packed train bogie there are a few good people. Here I was standing with my backpack hoping escaping  from the pushing and hoping fewer shoes stamp mine and a kind soul sports me. This person gets up and offers me his seat. People come and go as the stations change ( Similar to the concept of life) and the bogie becomes much more easy as everyone now has a seat to sit on. The train keeps moving on tracks above the ground and bridges over a river as the destination nears. Few snacks later with a little of Billy Joel, Simple plan, Abba and Green day blaring from my earphones, I’m forced to drop them as the man sitting in front of my seat questions me about what I want to take up in college upon learning that I completed 12th standard. Just about every other person! The train nears further closer to my destination as the man gets down the train.
The scene outside my window consists of silhouette of various types of trees paired with occasional specks of street lights and  passing trains which block my view and get me to block my ears.
The city of Mysore appears through my window frame and this gets me to pack my earphones and phone inside. Soon I find a man and a woman staring at me as if I were a lunatic. I wonder which one of my actions were peculiar. My mother smiles and me and I smile back when I realise that they stared at me because I was retrieving the empty packets of lays and toffee from the back of my jean pocket and stuffing it in the bag compartment.

Crazy indeed ! Oh not me, but them.

The Bed Time Story

Yes, I was the kind of kid who prefered to sleep only after listening to an intersesting short story followed by a heated discussion about the after math. My father must have had a hard time coming up with new “interesting” stories. He often narrated stories about beasts and men living in harmony, and of course there was a cunning fox or a monkey who tricked the host animal and accumilated all the produce from the farm or kitchen garden. Those were not the stories which amused me the most, the ones which depicted far of lands and myriad adventures were what amused me.

There’s this one story about a place which was below the sea level. It was one story i never got bored of, and listening to it was always interesting. He told me repeatedly to not confuse with Venice in Italy.At that time, the only thing I knew about Neatherland, apart from it’s name and capital’s name was the image of their flag. This is how the story went.

P.S. The seccond part is very illogical.

It was a place far far away from where we were, with people who loved to cycle. Beautiful and dreamy landscapes, endless resources But, a huge problem. The land was below the sea.  Apparently the crisis of this place seemed to be repeated floodings and water clogged cities. Townsfolk had to abandon their motors and cycles and get used to boating around town. Finally, a few poeple with great inteliggence joined to gether and built sea walls to prevent the water from coming into the city. Life moved on a litttle better for a few years when all of a sudden one of the sea walls had a little breach. It was a tiny hole. The town council decided to make a little boy poke his finger and stop it until daylight during the cold december night .                                                                                                  ( Me : That’s inhuman. How could they do that?? It must be very cold!

Dad: Just wait, Let me complete. I promise you it was worth it. )              

The boy loves his country and decided to immerse himself in this service. He stays through the night withough falling asleep and unfrazed by the cold. He notices that the hold had gotten larger with time. Then comes a time where his tiny hands no longer covers the hole and with ever wave there came extra water into the town. He decided to make little water paths to avoid the water being stagnant at a place. The night changes to day and brings the towns folk to find the little system of canals leading the water away. The scholar who observes it appreciates the thoughtfulness of the little boy and awards him generously after anouncing that the construction of the tunnels shall begin in an hour.

That’s exactly where the story ended since it was high time and my dad would be flodded with a wave of questions.

The Choices We Have

Plenty of sunshine, ample of space, people you know or who know you is the next person you meet. The people greet you with a smile on their faces and gleam in their eyes, even if the last time you visited was years ago or they haven’t seen you much but, sure have heard of you and knows who you are. It does reduce the amount of dreadful small talks and baseless introductions one has to make.
Stories of people with many perspectives both equally humorous. One connecting bus to the nearest little town 30 minutes away, which waits for 5 minutes , if you need it to. Don’t know where to get down? That’s not even a problem, after all the driver or conductor will show you the way home when you drop a name.
Bright and dull scenery around, picturesque as the ones you see on the walls of palaces and galleries. Black and white, sepia or colourful they shall be equally beautiful.
A little post office and a few small shops may seems as a drawback but, there are little joys that overpower them. Sure you can’t expect a McDonald’s drive through or the mall you like to go to a few kilometers away. But there are other perks like tender coconut or wild berries that one may take liking to, which are sour and tasteful as those licorice you like to devour.
Oh those candies you see in that little shop, colourful variants in different sizes and tastes. They made your mouth water back when you were a kid, and so will they now if you glance at a few.
Know not the local tongue? So not a problem, for a tongue with little changes in your mother tongue, just works fine.
Sure, you aren’t as “connected” as you were before, but that makes you wonder if you ever really were. Varying signals on your portable devices don’t matter as much as thinking about it ever did. You get to explore rivers and brooks and that part of the hill and farm you want to wander.

After all, You always have an option, a chance to go back if you ever want. For that my friend, shall always be there, you can go back because if shall never make you feel guilty for considering it as a last resort. It shall make you guilty of not being there, of not experiencing what it has to offer.