Rashmi's Space

मिस्टर सानेंनी हळू डोळे उघडले. खिडकीतून उन्हं येत होती. खाडकन जागे झाले. दुपार झाली कि काय! घड्याळ बघितल, हुश्श, आठच वाजतायेत! पण पुढच्याच क्षणी लक्षात आलं, आठ वाजले तरी किचन मधून काही आवाज येत नाहीयेत. आज तर गुरुवार, वर्किंग डे, एव्हाना किचन मधून आवाजच नव्हे तर तर-तर्हेचे वासही यायला हवेत. डबा तयार झाला असला पाहिजे, चहा तयार झाला आला पाहिजे. पण आज कसलीच हालचाल दिसत नाही! शेजारी पहिल तर मिसेस सानेही शेजारी नाहीत. काय भानगड आहे बुआ आज?   चष्मा चढवून मिस्टर साने बेडरूम मधून बाहेर आले. मिसेस सानेंचा घरात कुठेच पत्ता नव्हता! गेली कुठे  ही? मिस्टर सानेंनी सुनबाईंना विचारायच ठरवलं. पण श्वेता त्यांना कुठे दिसेना. इतक्यात, "गुडमॉर्निंग  बाबा!" म्हणत श्वेता जांभई देत बाहेर आली आणि त्यांच्या उत्तराची वाट न पाहता, तडक  "गुडमॉर्निंग आई" म्हणत किचन मध्ये गेली. मिस्टर साने तिला काही सांगणार इतक्यात,  "अहो बाबा, आई कुठेयत?" म्हणत पुन्हा बाहेर आली. एव्हाना तिची झोप पूर्णपणे उडाली होती. "माहित नाही बुआ, मला वाटलं तुला काही बोलली असेल..."   त्यांन...

This is a sponsored post for Hewlett Packard (HP) as part of their #ReinventMemories campaign and has first appeared on MyCity4Kids.com  “Why aren’t you talking to your mom?” I heard a whisper. “Because she is working, dodo!” this was my little one’s voice. It was a weekday afternoon and he had a friend over. While the boys watched TV and generally hung in the playroom, I was at my desk finishing up an article that was due soon. That is when I heard this conversation. I went and stood close to the playroom door and tried to hear further. “What do you mean she is working? She is at home isn’t she?  My  mom works! She leaves in the morning and gets back only in the night.” “My mom works all day too!” my little one chirped. “What does she do?” his friend wanted to know. “My mom is a writer. She writes articles and stories. I also write stories. I even illustrate them, like Quentin Blake did for Roald Dahl. Only, in my case, I am the one...

Aanya closed the nursery door as softly as possible and tiptoed to the kitchen. She drank a glass of tap water in one single gulp, filled another glassful and walked out to the living room sipping from it. She looked at the sprawling mess of toys that littered the living room floor and sighed. I need to clean up, she thought. But she also needed to sit down. Her legs, her back, practically her entire body was aching, after spending the whole day on her feet attending to her babies. Okay, I will sit down for just a couple of minutes, she decided, just a couple. The sofa had never felt so comfortable and she could feel her aching back groan with satisfaction when she placed the small cushions behind her as she sat. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed and tears welled up in her eyes. She brushed them off hastily. But this was a regular thing with her these days. She would find herself crying, without explanation, for the smallest, the most inconsequential things! And that wasn’t e...

“Mum, I want rasam to drink.” the little one declared. “Sure, give me ten minutes, will give you. But why rasam? Are you feeling a cold coming on?” I asked worried. “No, no, I just felt like it. Just for the taste.” he said nonchalantly. I stood in the kitchen, trying to come to terms with the fact that my little one, who has till now never asked for rasam specifically, in fact, who has even refused to have rasam whenever I have offered it to him as a cold or cough remedy, was suddenly asking me for this concoction, no demanding it just for the taste! And even as I was still taking this in, I heard him go out and speak to his Dad. “I am having rasam before dinner Dad, would you like some too? I can tell Mum to make for you as well…” he asked his father. “Sure! Go ahead,” the father happily replied. So in walked my little one again to deliver the order for one more bowl of rasam and as he went out, his father asked him “You like rasam, is it?” “Yes.” ...

It all began when the little one turned five. We owned a home in a wonderful locality town side, from where the little one’s school and the husband’s office were only a few kilometers away. We had been living there since the little one was barely a toddler and it was just the place a young couple like us needed. But being lucky enough to have found a place to live that was within a half hour’s distance to anywhere that mattered was such a huge blessing (especially considering Bangalore traffic) that we did not think that the place was entirely wrong for a child! And so it was, that when the little one turned five and the time came to let him go out to play, we realised it was time to build our nest in a different tree. So the husband and I spent hours scouring the many possibilities, but as is always the case, the wallet wasn’t always happy with the choices the heart made and the heart did the same when the wallet decided to steal the show. So after a lot of (vir...