Bread Samosa

I was on a vacation in Hong Kong. We had spent the day walking. It was a very good and satisfying day. It was so good, that I had found my old appetite rumbling in my stomach. And that appetite brought this strong craving on my tongue: a strong want to eat India Chat. I had traveled down from India to explore this place, and yet this thing in me wanted to eat desi street food. But, I kept mum. Thinking this isn’t what he would like to eat. And yet, this man, to my great surprise and happiness asked, “Would you like to eat dahi puri?” I was wondering if he could read my brain waves.

There in Hong Kong, when we were eating the dahi puris with some addition of samosa chat, I got hit by this strong wave of nostalgia:

I would wait eagerly for my parents to come back home from work. I would be in the garden with my pupper. Waiting for them to walk inside the green gate, just to run close to whoever comes home first and ask, “Can we have bread samosa for dinner?” The day we would have it was like a picnic at home, but at night. Would be noisy, cosy and fun. Like some kind of celebration. The walk with my father to the shop to buy fresh out of wok samosas. Holding his fingers. Walk back home to eagerly eat the hot samosas, flattened and pressed firmly between two breads. And the satisfaction once the first bite was savoured…

I missed it.

Then today happened. We were out, my father, sister and my niece. While each ran their errand, I entered a small shop. One place which came close to making samosas like the samosa shop in the place I grew up. And I had the question in my head again. I turned around to find that my father had followed me in the shop with his cup of coffee. I asked the same question, “Can we have bread samosa for dinner?”

He smiled. Maybe the nostalgia had hit him too. And he answered saying he was just going to ask if he should get some bread for the night.

It was a celebration again. This time it was for my new job. I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate.

Somehow, the mood was better. Like we had grip on something and that it wasn’t lost. I saw the old me. The old, easy bond I had with my father came back. He was happy. Genuinely happy. Happy to do this. Let his grown up be a child.

We were excited.

My mother was excited when I told her. It made me happy. Somehow the atmosphere felt familiar. It was warm, cosy and celebratory again. Though it was disastrous: the samosas were too spicy for our taste, yet it was the emotions that mattered.

It was about the simple pleasures. Most of the time works like a charm.

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Tough Decisions

One fine Sunday morning, when I was making French Toast for my father, I wondered – What am I doing with my life? Is my decision the right one? Did I make the correct move to accept a job that would shake my life?

And then, I heard my 2 year old niece talk to her mother. She had trouble making her own decisions. She wondered out loud with her mom – Should I wear the blue underwear with Lola on it or the red underwear with a yellow teddy on it?

Tough decisions.

Simpler times. I wish I can go back to making such decisions.

Yet, I love our lives.

Mindnight Lullaby

The room was dark. She had just closed her eyes in an attempt to fall asleep. But suddenly there​ was a gush of strong breeze. The curtain rose in the air, sending the wind chimes in a tizzy. And then she heard someone jump. Startled, her eyes opened with a start.

She consoled herself that it was her mind playing dirty tricks again to steal her sleep. Stopped the anxiety before it burst out of control.

The breeze blew again bringing a relief on this night of hot summer. The wind chimes tinkling in a rhythm. Lulling her back to sleep. 

Her eyes drooped shut.

All was silent again.

Birth of Hope

The setting was perfect. The sun had just set. There was a hint of rainy clouds coupled with a light breeze. The sky was the shade of dark navy blue slowly darkening to black.

I was nearing my block, that’s when I saw them. A couple. They must have been in their late 70s. The first thing that I noticed was the way they held each others hands. She had a firm grip, maybe helping him balance. Maybe holding herself steady. Or maybe, just holding because she wanted to. He had his walking stick in his other hand. They walked slowly, one small step at a time. In perfect sync. 

I couldn’t help but smile. 

Even for a cynic, with all the distrust in the world, looking at them couldn’t help but for that moment believe that things could be as real as that couple who had grown old together and still seemed to be very much in love.

My Little Moments

I am pretty
Oh so pretty
And witty and smart
You said I’m pretty
Oh so pretty
You found me pretty
I got your attention
Should I feel nice?

(Read:  See my face in your book.)
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That beautiful moment when I’m pushed to live my dreams, chase what I want, because that world is where they feel I perfectly belong. And with that they probably feel the mistake they did is rectified. With that, they feel they are living their dreams through my eyes.

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Teenage love. Probably nothing will be as pure as that. It now comes with baggage and conditions and a list to avoid the mistake that was made when I was a teenager. Irony.
Then again, there is a good chance that I am wrong. 🙂
I miss how simpler I was back then.
I have changed beyond recognition too.
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Talking about love, there are so many beautiful, intriguing humans. I am finding it difficult to imagine being bonded to one and one alone.

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It’s sad how we replace one from other so frequently though.
It’s sad how we think we are replaced.
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When home, I will raise a toast for Poda Land with a shot of gin. And some more.
For she gave me my beloved independence. For she taught me to be responsible.
For she is making me feel grown up, now that I pay my own bills.
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 I once used to speak in pig language to irritate some.
Oink oink.
Now I call my BIL a green angry bird pig.
I own two green angry bird ke pigs too.
Oink oink 😀
—..

When I stood still

What is real, seemed unreal. Probably, I couldn’t grasp the moment that was then. Everything simply passed by my eyes and I questioned the moment, “Is this really it? Am I here now, breathing in this moment?”

And the mind wandered…

There is always a void within. I thought, I found one of the missing pieces. I tried putting it in a place and I was disappointed. Then I heard: disappointment is better than having nothing. At least I won’t be left standing wondering “what could have been?” before deserting a feeling. At times, keeping the image of a person as a memory is lot better than discovering what the person is and immortalizing the harsh reality.

And now, I know, there’s a long long way to go.
—..
He was a beautiful human being, who didn’t know what’s going around him.

The Unnamed Strings

Being a beginner sucks. Especially managing the fret board, yea. Plucking the strings without looking at them, yea. Sucks being a beginner there. It looked so easy, but when it comes to actually doing it, gives my left hand three fingers a pain.

Shifting fingers, and listening to the string go out of tune is a big disappointment. But then, its only been two classes and 3 days. And then again, I can’t help push myself to go way beyond the defined level. It is fun too. I keep remembering this, “All things are difficult before they are easy.” There will be nothing as letting go, or giving up, because after all I did dream that I played Smells Like Teen Spirit on my guitar (Kurt Cobain was there too). Pretty fast and in tune too. 🙂

And best part out of all this is, I had held on  to my plan and actually got my guitar. There were many, “Will I really?”, “Should I really?” But yea, totally worth it. Thanks to the Guitarist and my Dove for actually not letting me back off. 🙂

I love changes. Spontaneous, drastic and beautiful changes. Even though makes me feel stupid from time to time, but then what the..
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