Rashmi's Space

In the next three days, we will step into the New Year. Make a clean new beginning – bidding farewell to something old and familiar. I hate goodbyes. But then, I also love new beginnings! And what better than the fag end of the year to remind us of that? And so I sit, lost in thought, at the dining room table, watching the sunlight stream through the bay window, the light catching shimmering threads in the sheer curtain that adorns the window, and has rarely ever been used in the past year. I need to use those curtains, I think. Draw them close at least once in the New Year. For that matter, I need to have a place of my own to work from too, not just end up at the dining table with my laptop – another thing to get done in the New Year. But even as I think it, I know I will never use that curtain. It will just stay there, adorning the two ends of the window. Nor will I ever get organised in a single place that will be my ‘place of work’ in the house… because that is how I roll.

Every house has a routine. Every family has a routine. The husband does a few things, the wife does a few; and the daily grind goes on, like clockwork. So long as everyone sticks to their jobs, and does them perfectly, things go right. Kids reach school on time, adults get to work on time, and all is right with the world. Of course, as simple as it sounds, it also sometimes gets monotonous with everyone just doing ‘the same old.’ And every once in a while, the thought does occur – what if, say, one day the husband did the cooking and the wife drove the kids to school? Wouldn’t it be great to just drive, with songs on, drop the kids, and on the way back, listen to one’s favourite songs? Ah, what a blissful hour that would be! What’s more, there would be hot breakfast ready, thanks to the husband who would have been busy in the kitchen while the wife was out driving and listening to songs – I mean, dropping the kids to school… And then, some days, the smooth clockwork

Humility. We have all heard of it. We have all learnt about it. We have all heard our idols speak volumes about it (well, most of our idols). So, we all know humility is a virtue. And that it is important to practice it. Make it a part of our life. An inseparable part. And yet, we hardly ever practice it in real life. We rarely find ourselves in a position where we do something more than ‘graciously’ accepting a compliment received by us. Very rarely do we see ourselves giving compliments back to people who (may or may not) deserve them. When someone says something good about us, we are more than happy to take credit for whatever it is that we have done good. Without giving a single thought, to questions like – are we the only ones responsible for it? OR... are we the only ones who deserve credit for it? What we do instead, is feel extremely happy about it (nothing wrong in that); and believe that what has come to us has come to us because we deserve it. We are ‘worth it’ (

Kindness is the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate. It shows warmth, affection, and a sensitive heart. It is a virtue; and is recognised as a value in many cultures and religions. It is also an inherent quality, and not something that can be learnt in a classroom. In the words of prominent social thinker and art critic of the Victorian Era, John Ruskin, “A little thought, and a little kindness are often worth more than a great deal of money.” Don’t you agree? Kindness costs nothing. But it definitely leaves the recipient richer and better-off. What’s more, kindness is also pretty easy to practice. All it takes, is a genuine thought in your mind, and then it’s only a matter of smiling at a child waiting for the bus, or giving a hand to someone getting on a bus, or leaving your seat for someone more deserving, or even offering to share an umbrella with someone during a sudden downpour. It is as simple as that. All it takes, is some sensitivity and warmth on y

“Don’t run on the lawn!” Meera looked up from her laptop. It was Sunday morning and while Meera caught up on her mails and other news, Pari, her niece, and Ayah, Pari’s caretaker-cum-nanny-cum-companion-cum-governess were in the garden. Ayah was pruning the roses, while Pari was jumping around the garden and playing in the shade of the orange trees lining the compound wall. All the time, trampling over the lawn that Ayah had freshly watered – hence, the reprimand. Meera smiled. Ayah was good for Pari. She ensured that the girl kept her head on her shoulders despite being a ‘gifted’ child of above average intelligence, who was ‘pampered’ and ‘spoilt silly’ (according to Ayah) by Meera. It felt just like yesterday – although it was almost close to nine years now – that Pari and Ayah had walked into Meera’s home, and her life. Meera’s sister had died giving birth to Pari. Pari’s father had never been around. And thus, Meera had become the sole legal guardian to her

There is something superbly exciting about an ice-cream shop! Vanilla, Strawberry, Black Currant, Chocolate Chip, Butterscotch, Caramel Crunch, Crispy Chocolate Malt, Rocky Road, Café Mocha, Rum N' Raisin... Ummm... Rum n’ Raisin he thinks, a Café Mocha for her. And a Rocky Road for the little one. A few minutes into enjoying their respective ice creams, the little one asks if they can swap the cones, for a taste. “Of course!” she says. “Huh?” He stares. She gives him a look that says, ‘Trust me on this.’ The little one tastes the Café Mocha and makes a face. Coffee is bitter. Well, you need to grow up to appreciate it. She smiles. Now it’s his turn. He isn’t really happy about this. A nine year-old isn’t a baby, exactly; but not all that grown up either. Reluctantly, he gives the child a taste. This time the face the child makes is even worse. “Weird!” They laugh. The child goes back to his Rocky Road. But curiosity persists. “Why does it taste weird?” “It’s the rum,” s

What is wrong with people these days? I don’t get it! I mean, this Mrs. Dixit! Uff! What is it to her if a certain desi girl marries a foreigner younger than her? To hear Mrs. Dixit speak, you would think it is not this daddy’s li’l girl , but her own daughter who has decided to get hitched to a singer…. Oh, pardon me, I haven’t introduced myself… How daft of me! Myself, Mrs. Bhagirathi…. Mrs. B, you remember? We have met before ! In fact, we have met not once, but twice , I believe…. So, let me tell you from the beginning what happened. Today, after the school bus left, I was taking my usual rounds around the building, when my neighbour Mrs. Dixit joined me. I was listening to songs on my phone, and really was not very happy with the interruption. But then, living in the same building, sharing space on the same floor, even sharing the same maid – there is nothing I could do, but endure. And endure I did. So as we walked, we struck up a conversation. After listenin

I was told as little child that I should wake up with a smile on my face. Everyday. Because my parents believe, that how you wake up in the morning, determines how your day is going to be. And so, most days, I wake up with a positive attitude. Trying to trick the day into being good to me. But today was different. I have been on a sort of ‘think-mode’ for the past few days now, and sometime last night, I must have been contemplating the current state of my work. Because today morning, as I opened my eyes to a brand new day and a brand new month; the one thought in my head was – that I wasn’t doing enough. That I wasn’t utilising my time properly. Now, I am a firm believer that one should always dream big. And if one has built castles in the air as part of that dream, then one should also do all it takes, to put the foundation beneath them. And it was this thought, that I wasn’t working towards the foundation enough that had me distressed.    I mentioned this to the

Note: This is Part 2 of a love story, the first part of which, you can read here ! The rain was coming down hard. Most shops had closed and people had disappeared indoors. The library, just a few blocks away, would’ve been a haven, if only she hadn’t left it! The few auto rickshaws standing near the pavement had already refused to take her home. And Simi stood shivering under a tree, clutching her backpack tightly.  There has to be a way out of this! “Hi!” Simi turned as a young man came rushing in from the rain to stand next to her under the tree. “Are you alone?” he asked, taking off the hood of his jacket. “Vivaan!” Simi was surprised, and pleased. “Yes!” he said, with that lopsided smile; “What are you doing here all alone? Come on over?” he asked, pointing to the direction of his home, Varsha’s home; that was just around the corner. Simi looked up nervously. That would be the best thing to do. Wait out the rain at Varsha’s home. She could cal

"ओळख पाहू ही  कोण?" मी आईच्या हातातल्या फोन मध्ये डोकावलो. फोटोत एक तरुणी, सायकल वर स्वार, ट्रॅक पॅन्ट आणि टी-शर्ट  घातलेली, कॅमेऱ्याकडे पाहून स्मितहास्य करीत होती. "अरे पाहतोयस काय नुसता, ओळख ना कोण आहे ही." पुन्हा आईने विचारले. मी मक्खपणे मान हलवली. "मला नाही माहीत."  "अरे, हि नमिता! छत्र्यांची!" "बरं..." "अरे बरं काय? तुझ्या शाळेत होती ही! नर्सरीत तुझा डबा खायची बघ? आणि तू उपाशी, रडत रडत घरी यायचास..." नर्सरीत ही मुलगी माझ्या वर्गात होती, इथपर्यंत ठीक आहे. पण ती मला रडवीत असे, हे कशाला महत्त्वाचा होतं, कुणास ठाऊक. "आता हिला ओळख..." "अगं  आई काय तू..."  "हे बघ, प्रिया, अनघा, अगदी तुझ्या पक्या चे सुद्धा फोटो आहेत माझ्या फोन वर!" आई अभिमानाने म्हणाली. "पक्या?" "पंकज पाध्ये रे, नववीत तुझ्या वर्गात होता तो? तो थायलंड ला असतो, बरीच वर्ष झाली आता. एक दोन वर्षात कॅनडा ला शिफ्ट व्हायच म्हणतोय." मी आ वाचून आई कडे पहातच राहिलो! माझा हा नववीतला मित्र, माझ्य