PurplePitara

35-year-old Reena was tossing and turning in her bed, staring at the fan, counting hours left for the alarm to start buzzing and she would have to be up and, in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. She was in the final trimester of her second pregnancy and the irritating Restless Leg Syndrome was keeping her awake. There was this nagging feeling as if something was creeping up and down her legs and as if her legs had a mind of their own and very adamantly refused to settle down. She tried everything, the leg gel, oil massage, evening walks, low salt diet, dipping her legs in the saltwater bucket but in vain. And there were other discomforts of pregnancy. All she wanted was a long, undisturbed sleep that seemed to have eluded her. Sometimes she even used to weep in frustration, but daytime always brought cheer to her in the form of her daughter, Arya. She was an amazing bundle of energy, a chatterbox with the sweetest voice and most delightful expressions. Days passed and...

And I fell in love, Today again I fell in love, with the sweet scent of cardamom when I crushed it for my tea. And again I will fall in love with the aroma of spices when I temper my lentils. And dear vegetable, I am not even talking about you, is that the whiff of garam masala that is tempting me so. That divine smell of freshly chopped coriander makes my senses go insane! Oh, my inner foodie, will you just give it a rest! Is that the bubbling brown cheese atop the the creamiest baked dish, accompanied by a glass of wine, Or is it the subtly flavoured hummus with the perfect crisp pita, It must be that tangy, spicy, bursting with flavours  Chinese dish loaded with oodles of noodles, that is whispering my name come hither, come hither! Dear precious chaats, you play a perfect conspiracy along with rains and fritters, why don't you let me be with my greens, though they are bitter. How can I leave you out, The perfect charcoaled tandoor, be it paneer or c...

I do not remember when I first saw you, Or felt you, Neither do I have a memory of your first look, But all that I knew was The love was true and it continues to be so. Maybe you were like a colorful rainbow with pots of gold at the end, Or like a majestic mighty animal, With tails and claws or even horned. You taught me the first words and rhymes, told tales with witches and fairies And some fables with beauties and beasts. Some forgotten and some I pass to my children. You grew and matured, as did I You told me stories from around the world, Even facts and gigs. The colorful panels, the short red-turbaned people, People from another planet still remain in my heart. You showed me how a gang of kids solved a mystery keen And how a naughty doll always landed in trouble. You gave me a group of cool teenagers hanging in a choklit shop, And made me fall in love with their friendship. You told me stories of love and happy endings ...

It was the year of 1970. Amar and Rehaan were playing outside in the snow-clad valleys of Kashmir surrounded by the mesmerizing reddish maple, the walnut, and the apple trees. Amar’s mummy just called him in for supper and Rehaan also joined him. He loved the vegetarian delicacies prepared by Amar’s mom. The two boys were simply inseparable. From dawn to dusk neither could be seen without the other. Just as much Rehaan was adored by Amar’s parents, Amar too was loved by Rehaan’s parents. Amar was an academically outstanding student and often used to help Rehaan with his studies. Rehaan, on the other hand, used to enjoy watching movies and often used to indulge in mischievous activities with other kids. But that was innocent childhood, and Rehaan’s behavior was overlooked because, he was the only male child of his parents, a brother to three sisters, and was pampered a lot. Whereas Amar was taught to differentiate right from wrong at a very tender age and despite being the onl...

It was the year of 1970. Amar and Rehaan were playing outside in the snow-clad valleys of Kashmir surrounded by the mesmerizing reddish maple, the walnut, and the apple trees. Amar’s mummy just called him in for supper and Rehaan also joined him. He loved the vegetarian delicacies prepared by Amar’s mom. The two boys were simply inseparable. From dawn to dusk neither could be seen without the other. Just as much Rehaan was adored by Amar’s parents, Amar too was loved by Rehaan’s parents. Amar was an academically outstanding student and often used to help Rehaan with his studies. Rehaan, on the other hand, used to enjoy watching movies and often used to indulge in mischievous activities with other kids. But that was innocent childhood, and Rehaan’s behavior was overlooked because, he, being the only male child of his parents, a brother to three sisters, was pampered a lot. Whereas Amar was taught to differentiate right from wrong at a very tender age and despite being the only child, ...

THE NIGHT This was an impromptu which happened on a chilly night while tending to my little tot. When the babble of the day subsides, She speaks,                                                                                               Have you heard her? For a thousand volumes in a million language does she speak. The silent night speaks. She speaks through the eyes conversing silently through the windows, The two lovers silent, yet a lot said. She speaks through the silent...

Remenscing those days, When we all used to be in two coloured dress, Cares and worries were simple, Will the question paper be lengthy or ickle,  Rulers of the corridor, mischievous mongers and what not they used to call us all, Physics, chemistry, math, bio never bothered us et al. Hoggers of the tiffin were we, All the dabbas empty by period three. Sitting in the bunkers paradise, Having fun and imagining the future bright, All of a sudden running to the class nearby, Principal on the rounds, oh my my! I wonder now,  Will that place be still as it was, Will ‘Bunkers Paradise’ be written in blue chalk like it was ages ago. The tubelight which we broke by playing cricket with bio journal in the room, Does the loft still hold its broken pieces and the broom Which clinked when pigeons walked And all the while we smirked. Or do the benches still have scribbled names, formulas and  secret games. Do the students still bribe the wat...