Rashmi's Space

 I taught myself to crochet recently. It was my ‘something new to learn to keep my brain active,’ which social media tells me everyone past their thirties should do, because that is when the rot starts. I had also read in Michelle Obama’s book The Light We Carry that she bought knitting needles at the beginning of the pandemic, and taught herself to knit while she dealt with the anxiety and the uncertainty caused by the pandemic outside her doors. Inspired — and even though it had been a few years since the pandemic — I bought myself a pair of needles to deal with the dread and unease caused by the world, in general, outside my door. And I taught myself to knit, using YouTube videos very helpfully put up there by people teaching beginners how to knit. Then a few months in, I discovered crochet, found it even more interesting to use a single hook instead of the two required for knitting, and ordered myself some crochet needles and yarn on Amazon; and I haven’t looked back since! ...

  School begins today! That is to say, that I turned in early last night. And that meant, that I missed the 2 nd qualifier match of the IPL 2025 between PBKS and MI! And then, with the morning rush being what it is, I got no time to find out who the winner was! So, from 5am to 7am (which was the time I was engaged in the frantic activity necessary to get a high schooler to school on time), I was blissfully unaware that – A.      a.   PBKS has won the 2 nd Qualifier and entered the final; and, that   B.       b.  Tomorrow, after the Final match of the IPL 2025, no matter which team wins, a brand-new IPL Champion will have lifted the trophy!   Talk about the underdog making it to the big leagues! And to think that I missed the one thing I did not want to miss! (Facepalm) But this got me thinking – and is the reason you are reading this. As I sat there later in the morning, sipping my tea, checking the newspaper for...

The schools would’ve given the timetable for the term-end examination and studies would’ve started in earnest. Monsoon would be well into its second full month, and there would be frequent showers, accompanied with strong winds. Afternoons would pass doing homework in the muggy weather, with tube lights on in the living room to battle the darkness and gloom brought on by the rainy days. I can still smell the petrichor mingled with the fresh Camel Ink I would fill in my pen to write with… And in the middle of all this, would come one festival, that made all this bearable and more – the Gauri Ganapati festival! Celebrated with aplomb in Maharashtra, especially Mumbai. Weeks before the actual arrival of Ganapati Bappa, preparations would begin at home. It would all start with visiting a shop (the same shop for ages!) to pick out the Ganesha idol we would eventually bring home. And then would start the cleaning of the house from top to bottom. Sweets would be prepared, fruit...

One day the men of the world bristled, At the women and their gall – The women who always made them feel That they were good for nothing at all! Coffees in the morning, Breakfasts, dinners and lunch, Cakes followed, and cookies, and snacks, And the cocktails even covered the brunch! The men never cooked any meals you see, They never helped around the house – And even when it came to minding the kids, They squirreled away like a mouse! The women never said anything, of course, But it was there for all to see; So the men thought and thought; and thought and thought and thought, How they would ever equal, the Queen Bee?!   Then they came up, with a brilliant plan, Which they thought would never fail; Their women were sure to fall for their trick, The maidens, so fair, and frail – So they bought them clothes and trinkets, And diamonds and emeralds, so swell; And then they got them beautiful houses, And thought t...

It was 9:30am. The family was having breakfast. Priti poured out coffee for herself and the husband; and milk for sonny boy.  The husband sat at the head of the table, reading news on his smartphone, absently sipping his coffee. Sonny talked animatedly about the game he had played with his friends this morning. He’d taken two wickets, he informed them; and then all the boys had chatted, he said, sitting around on the lawn, sipping from their water bottles, cooling off.    “What did you guys chat about” Priti asked. “Oh, this and that,” sonny said. “Sharav saw that latest Avengers movie this weekend, and he was telling us all about that. Sandy went to watch the IPL match at the stadium yesterday, only to have the game abandoned due to rain! But then he got to see what the groundskeepers did to clear the rainwater and shit…” “Language,” “Sorry…” Priti smiled. “What else?” “Oh, you know Pranav? He went to this tea estate with his famil...

Dear Rashmi… That is how they begin. Each of them. With that endearment. No, not because they know me personally. They don't. They just have my name in their database. Like millions of others. And an email id, or phone number, that is stored with them. So that they can send me messages exactly three times every year – once on my birthday, once on my anniversary, and once on Women’s Day. And since neither my birthday, nor my anniversary falls on Women’s Day, I get to enjoy the discounts and special offers they entice me with, on three different occasions! Awesome, right? And they are of all sorts! But the best are the ones who wish to sell me jewellery at a huge discount. And I cannot believe they are being so generous. I mean, really. If it weren’t Women’s Day, would I think of buying jewellery? Of course not! I would be busy doing what I would do on any other day – cook, clean, do the laundry … you know, the normal chores. But not for a moment would I think of jew...

It was on a cold December morning that I read an email asking me if I would like to review a book on Cricket. Coming from an editor who takes her work very seriously, this gave me a pause.   I couldn’t help but wonder why she would ask me, of all people, to review a book on sports! I am not much of a sports fan. I have never written on sports before. Fiction , yes, parenting , oh, yes; general book reviews , definitely yes! But sports? And that too, Cricket? Growing up, I’d always seen my dad scold my brother for ‘wasting his time’ watching ball-by-ball play of one-day matches when he would watch cricket instead of studying for his exams. I remember hiding the remote from my brother just so I could watch HBO and not let him watch cricket. But of course, marriage, as we all know, is a game changer. After I was married , I was introduced to the world of cricket. No, my husband isn’t a big cricket fan or anything, he doesn’t watch ball-by-ball matches either, but he does ...

Clay figurines. Colourful. Vibrant. Bucolic. That is their trade. Dealing in snazzy, bright clay figurines, bowls, masks, wall-hangings. They sit by the side of the road. Their wares displayed along the pavement. So people can see when passing – on foot, in their cars. Every once in a while, someone passes in their car and then parks the car further along the road and comes walking back to inspect something that has caught their eye. They ask the price. Which is usually not too much. They still bargain. And eventually, at a much lesser price than the artifact is worth, they buy the piece. It will look amazing on their feature wall, they think. It will dazzle their boring passageway. It will welcome their guests warmly... But more often than not, no one buys much. Especially on working days. Busy days. When the adults are rushing to and back from work and the children are tired, being taken to school and back. But they still sit there. Their wares spread. Eve...

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...