Unbounded Randomness

I dream of walking in a forest, lonely, cold in search of something. I love the trees, love the rustle of the leaves but their ghastly shapes haunt me. They remind of me something. Something deep that dwells inside me. That is yearning to come out. Its hidden in the dark corners of my heart just the way the old bushes of the forest are. Mystical, undiscovered, unimaginable, deep and scary. Why do I then like these places? Why do they attract me? Why is my heart leading me to the caves than the open grasslands? Why do I prefer the dark thorny bushes than the beautiful trees full of green and fruity colours? The beauty of the caves remains undiscovered until you step inside that hollow. The thorns don’t hurt you neither do they amaze you until you scratch yourself against them. If they were not meant to cause any pain, they would not be existing. Am I hoping to discover the entry to a new world through these bushes? Like a black hole. Like a tunnel, it would somehow reveal th

“Mumma, can you tell me a story?” my 4 year old son asked. It was one of those days when I had used up all my stocked up stories and now would have to create a new one from my tired brain. I grumbled for a while and reluctantly started off with ‘Once upon a time’. He then interrupted me by asking, “Is there a bad guy in this story?” I scratched my head and thought, I shouldn’t be telling him about bad people. So I said, “No dear, it is a story of a little girl”. “Mumma, there has to be a bad guy or else it won’t be a story” he said flatly. I was so bowled over by his comment that I forgot the story I was weaving for him. A bad guy was as important as the good guy for him? He seemed to love both the hero and the anti-hero equally.   And why should I blame him? Do we all not rejoice the deadly Villan in the movies and the heroic fights between the good and the bad? If there is no struggle, no sad moment, no evil or absolutely no negativity in one’s life, the story of

As I sat on the white satin chair amongst many in a grand marriage ceremony, I suddenly realised I felt extremely lonely in the crowd of thousands of people. I wore the elegant red green Lehenga with a detailed golden work spreading through its length. It looked beautiful and so did all the people surrounding me. The sparkling glasses, glittering sarees, jingling bangles, overpowering suits, overwhelming perfumes and high-pitched laughter – it all sunk into me like a powerful   potion that was too strong to swallow. The sea of thousands of people, in front of me, was shouting on top of their voice ‘Look at me, I look the best’.   It wasn’t just obvious in their appearances and attitudes but was also part of the discussion for majority of women. I wondered, if they had forgotten who the bride was. The clothes and the bodies they carried were temporary, bound to change. And yet no one bothered to give a thought about what they really looked like. The beautiful fragrances of p

“I am sooooo stressed, I can’t even eat”, said a young friend of mine, who looked perfectly healthy to me. “But what’s the problem, Shruti?” I asked her. “My results are going to be out tomorrow” she blurted as she trembled by the thought. “So? What’s the problem?” I asked her again, still perplexed. “What’s the problem?? Don’t you get it? That IS the problem. I have no idea what is going to happen.” “That’s good then. If you have no idea about what is going to happen, it is just like any other day of your life. What are you worrying about?” “C’mon girl. The results could be totally bad and then everyone is going to think that I am dumb. Mom Dad will be upset with me, especially dad as he has very high expectation of me.   And don’t even get me started on, Pinky aunty” “Who is Pinky aunty?” I was now confused about what the real problem was. Pinky aunty or the results? “My neighbour yaar. She is a bitch. She will announce the results to the whole society. He

The date had already passed. All the predictions had been proved wrong. And it had still not arrived. It was the month of June in Mumbai. I carried a summer cap, water bottle and my heat baked body craving air condition every time I went out of the house. The heat had got burned in my every cell and sweat was the second nature to me now. It is ok to be wet all the time, I convinced myself. As the days went by I actually started laughing on the intensity in which the heat was able to attack my body. This was completely new to me, especially for a person who had stayed in the northern cold temperatures for almost a decade. But it still rang a bell somewhere deep inside in my childhood. It reminded me of the unending play of summer vacations, the street treat called ‘Gola’ (ice mixed with flavoured syrups), pleasure of taking a cold shower any time of the day and the most promising treat of the season- Mangoes! I was loving every moment despite the heat and humidity tiring my body.

When my 4 year old son asked me “Mamma, is magic real?” I instantly started replying “No, it isn’t….” and then I looked at his wide eyed innocence filled face. His eyes were dazzling with pure wonder, excitement and everything that he thought he didn’t know. But is it really true? Does the magic not exist?   Well I surely can’t give any evidence of witches flying on broomsticks or wands with special powers or even fairies. But does that mean Magic does not exist? Then I looked at his face again. He had beautiful chubby cheeks just like me but had a dimple on one of the cheeks just like his daddy. The shape of his eyes was like me but their colour was same as his Daddy’s. The little munchkin loved all the food that I liked but played all the games that his daddy liked. What was all that? Was it the perfect combination of genes and chromosomes mixed with a predefined formula or was it unfolding of the beautiful magic that surrounds us? He then went on to play wit

Its Sunday morning 6 AM in January. I am wide awake to the dark cold morning. Yes, the sun has still not risen and the coldness, well let’s say it is not restricted just to my body. The Jet lag has played its part. Despite of putting my head under the pillow number of times, I have finally woken up as my body clock made me think it’s time to be up. Well, you can’t blame it. It must already be noon time in India, when the world has still not woken up back here in the UK. We arrived yesterday from India, with our over excess baggage full of homemade food, shopping and numerous little things forced on us on the name of love by our parents which could hardly be termed as necessities for living. This happens every year. We swear not to exceed the baggage weight and end up debating either with parents back home or in the airport with the check-in assistant. I can’t fathom what I am missing at the moment? Is it the bright warm sun shining down on my face or the buzz of the radio,