Chiffonesque

Each of these is accompanied with a short story or vignette. You can head over to my Insta  page to read those. (Notamistake...) I find these images on Pinterest that I sketch out and tweak them according to my constraints.

My grandfather, mom's father, was a judge. He was also an ace chess player. When I studied law, I would sometimes call him up in Cuttack and ask him a few questions about what I was studying. If I prepared for a moot Court competition, I would go over my case details with him. He was very strict code though. One night at dinner, he did not let me have dinner until I completed understand a particular part of the Civil Procedure Code. When we played chess, he would flare up sometimes because I was not strategizing enough. Often he would tell me that to win a case, to arrive at truth or justice, and to trump at chess, you had to question, not guess. It's in the subject matter of the questions that a lot of success lies. Much later I came across this quote. I think it's by Voltaire or some French philosopher. "Judge a man by his questions, not his answers " I think of this because today is Friday the 13th and my day didn't begin well. I had a conversation w

It was a slow day at work. Around that time, a lot of people had been resigning from their jobs so the office floor was emptyish. I had started getting along with a colleague of mine. She was a stylish, witty, and an all-round interesting person to hang out with. She had great taste in music and she was from the fancy part of Pune. When I had just come to know her, I used to make fun of her. I'd tell her that Baner (where we worked) was a good area too. We too had indoor plumbing. She'd nod and say, "Okay but does it work?" Anyway, I introduced her to Peter Donuts in Aundh. Really great donuts and very good coffee, run by a Korean guy. She approved of the place and we'd drive there often, park somewhere under the trees, have our coffees, listen to some intelligent podcast on her phone, and get back. One day I asked her what her tombstone would read. For some reason, I was really worried that I couldn't think of anything for mine. I don't know if m

Came across this person's question somewhere, "What's the difference between appreciation and gratitude?" I found that really innocent. Something a sparrow may ask a pond. 

I had gone to Mystic Mama again. Had been feeling a little anxious around the house so I went there to eat their pahaadi noodles. It was raining outside. I love this city so much. I love Bombay. I love Mumbai. I love whatever name this city gets conjugated into. I love it for the lushness of stories and films and broken down dreams and illusions that hang in its thick, putrid air. I love it because even in its most indolent self, some scrap of trash becomes my North Star. I sat inside. I was thinking of my last few days in Bangalore. I was thinking about BJP. I do not support its ideology or its goal of bringing about a Hindu Rashtra, etc. But for once, I was not thinking of it with anger or fear. I mean, as a person who does content marketing herself, one can only marvel at the singularity and cohesiveness of it's messaging, the outreach and stickiness, and the gusto with which everybody in the party believes in the overdue triumph of Hinduism. One strong message spoken strong

This morning I woke up to a very cheery message. A friend of mine had delivered a baby girl. A tiny baby with curled fists and squished up toes and teeny nails. I haven't seen pictures but I imagine her to be pink and bald with chubby chipmunk cheeks. A little baby. A little baby girl. Around six years ago, I had visited this friend, Sara - I will call her, in Gurgaon. She was pregnant with her first baby then. (Who is also a beautiful little girl I have had the privilege of traveling with. She had once told me to stop singing her a lullaby.) Anyway, at that time Sara was pregnant and was wearing a loose t-shirt on which she had painted the phrase, "Unfold your own myth." (She is an artist and a beautiful person. I mean, she has the features of a goddess but there's a quiet, sing-song benevolence in her eyes and smile...like the first sunrise you wake up to after spending a night on a snowy mountaintop.) We had hugged. I had spent a great time with her, celebra

I have been feeling very very nauseous since yesterday and my stomach is really bloated. I met a friend today and that was nice. But today not having mom around really hit. I don't understand how something is getting steadily worse by and by. It feels like all is lost but nothing is over yet. It's very very horrible.

Last night, I visited the home of one of the first friends I had made in Bangalore. Had stayed at his house a couple of times. This time, it felt like I was visiting him for the last time before I left for Bombay. Today, another friend who's stayed with me for a couple of days also left for home. In the days that he stayed here, I bought mattresses and also got a sweet little Ganpati, and tried (feebly) to get the geyser fixed. Tomorrow I leave for Bombay where I will, for the very first time, returning home where I won't find my mother. You miss people in so many different ways. But missing people in homes is pretty special. You say hello to a void. In some cases, the void may get filled with a returning. With others, you lay down on a familiar bed thinking about a loss that just has it's own continuum. There is great courage in saying goodbye. And we must say it so many, many times. 

Today is Ganesh Chaturthi. Happy festival to those who celebrate it. Actually, not so much 'happy' festival but 'meaningful' festival. I am at work. I was going through some notes in my book. I came across a slip of paper on which mom had written out a to-do list. My mother's handwriting was really cute - all the alphabets looked big and round, spread across the paper like playful babies. Anyway, feeling very very tired.