Rashmi's Space

Small pleasures matter in life. Really small, everyday pleasures. Like, being able to smell the garden in full bloom on a hot summer day, or being able to have a hot water bath in cold weather. Or even being able to drink a hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning. Or, for that matter, being able to eat junk food to one’s heart’s content! Ah, bliss! Oh, I almost forgot, for those of you who haven’t met me before , myself, Mrs. Bhagirathi. The kids in my building call me Mrs. B. I am a housewife. Or better still – a homemaker. I work from home and generally spend time reading and surfing the internet when the kids and my husband are away for the day. I also cook and clean, and wash and iron clothes – but I guess all that is included in the title of “homemaker.” So no special mention needed. So, like I was saying, life is a sum total of small pleasures. And what I said about junk food, is absolutely true. Especially when you think of the cheeseburger. Or the veggie bur...

The train stops. She looks around. It is a big station, large and open, nothing like the big city railway stations that she has seen. This station is surrounded by lush greenery as far as the eye can see. There is a chill in the air. And a sense of belonging. She breathes it in, deeply.  She walks towards the end of the platform to the foot-overbridge that will take her out of the station. A few taxis and auto rickshaws are lined up near the exit, and she hires one at random. The driver helps her stow her one bag near her feet, while she sits to one side of the wide seat, as if she is sharing space with someone. Because she is used to taking up only so much space – always in a corner, trying not to make her presence felt. Now as she thinks this, she moves a little towards the centre of the seat, as if to affirm to herself that she is now travelling all by herself, for the first time in her life. You wouldn’t really know it now, to look at her, but she is scared out of h...

"... na kahin chanda, na kahin taare... jyot ke pyaase mere, nain bechaare... tarapat, tasasat, umar gawayi... poocho na kaise maine rain bitayi..." An old melody. The twilight hour. Strong, bold notes. An older voice. On his evening walk, he passes the gazebo in the park marked Senior Citizens Area, he cannot help but stop a moment and listen as the elderly man finishes his rendition of the timeless Mohd. Rafi melody. As soon as he is finished, there is a smattering of applause and smiles and nostalgia all around. He finds a smile spreading across his face automatically. He knows this song. He has heard it on Vividh Bharati several times as a child, when his own father, who now would be close to the singer's age, would put on the radio in the mornings and late in the nights. The old man doesn't sound like a trained singer, more like an enthusiast; but his wonderfully clear voice rings out in the failing light making the evening mesmerising, ma...

It was raining heavily. What had begun as a little drizzle yesterday had turned into a steady rainfall by night. Today had dawned bleak and grey, and there were reports of flooding in most low lying areas of the city. This was precisely why Nysa was forced to stay at home today. Might as well , she thought; as the water droplets rolled down her bay window. I better make the most of this forced shut-down she thought. I’ll check out the box today, she decided. She was supposed to clean out a box of memorabilia sent to her by her cousin last week. Her grandmother had passed away last month and this box contained the items she had left Nysa. She went into the spare bedroom to retrieve the box her cousin had sent her. The first thing that caught her eye, was the name “Auwa” written in bright red marker by her cousin. The word meant ‘mother’ in Kannada, and Nysa remembered her grandmother had always been called Auwa – by her children and by her grandchildren too. Looking at...

We’ve all heard the expression ‘the wrong side of thirty” right? Actually, it could be the wrong side of anything – thirty, forty or fifty; but the idea is to denote that the so-called right side is passé. And more often than not, this phrase is used in relation to mentioning someone’s age. I know I have been hearing this phase for some time now; and I always thought that anyone on the wrong side of thirty was someone over thirty years old. Then when I turned thirty and I had a lot going on in my life,  I told myself that, cliché or not; for me, 30 was the new 20! And I decided that someone on the wrong side of thirty had to be someone who was more than thirty-five years old. And I had a long way to go! But now it is here. It is finally here. That phrase “ on the wrong side of thirty” is here to haunt me, forever! And so here I am, on the eve of my birthday, wallowing in self-pity that I am finally going to be that woman who is on the wrong side of thirty...

“Whoa! Did you see that?” the little one screamed, astonished! “Hmmm,” “Dad! Check this out! Quick, its going to disappear, Dad!” “Oh wow! Yeah, hmmm,” (without looking) And then there is silence. Wondering what’s going on? Ok, let me give you the complete picture: This story is about a father and his son. The father is a promising young go getter climbing the corporate ladder; and because he hardly gets any time to spend with his little one through the week, he has brought his son to the park on a weekend. The child, delighted as he is to spend time with Dad, has spotted a squirrel scurrying to a tree to stash the nuts that it is holding in its tiny hands. The squirrel is running away fast and the boy urges his father to look at this amazing sight! His father though, is busy texting on his smartphone. He answers in monosyllables, and actually fakes it when he says “wow!” without even looking up from his phone. He thinks he has gotten away with it and ...

Love comes to those,  who still hope, although they have been disappointed;  To those, who still believe, although they've been betrayed; To those, who still need to love, although they've been hurt before; And to those,  who have the courage and faith to build trust again! Image courtesy: Pixabay

I read a simple little sentence recently : Live the life, not the lifestyle. Outwardly, this is a very simple sentence that sounds very intelligent and all, but really, it seems to have so much of meaning hidden that I just couldn't stop myself from jotting down my thoughts on its manifold deep ramifications. How many times have we heard our elders say "such was not the case in our times..." Why, even we tell our kids so many times, "you are lucky, you know; things were much different when we were young..." What does this tell us? Times change....so do circumstances. What is there today may not be tomorrow, and what was yesterday, might have disappeared somewhere down the line...without us even noticing what happened...

Thats all we get. Yes, thats all we ever get....moments with people we love.........what is the guarantee that what is there today will stay tomorrow? Who says what you have will stay with you? Where is the assurance that what you dont have today will or will not come to you ever? No guarantees....no assurances......nothing like that......life just doesn't work that way..... Everybody tells you what to do....how to do things.....where to go.....but do they know any better? No! Nobody has any idea what life has in store for you...well they dont even know awaits them on the next corner, let alone knowing about you.....they are just trying to help....be nice.....with no idea what you are going through.....the only person who will ever know with any clarity how you are feeling is you....because its only you who experienced.....nobody is even remotely aware....they may have been in the same place once...but then every person reacts to situations in a totally different way. Every ...