Enthralling Trails

  It is ten days since I stopped receiving Neeta Mayi's Good Morning messages on WhatsApp. She would send witty puzzles, beautiful Philosophical notes, inspiring messages and sometimes meaningful videos and pictures of captivating nature. I would often ask her about the beautiful flowers and landscapes that she used to share. She would say they were sent by her son, daughter or one of her siblings in Nagpur. The last photograph was a drooping Brahma Kamal that had blossomed on Janmashtami. I was curious to know why she had not clicked a picture of the blooming Brahma Kamal that night, but she never spoke about it. That morning, we had blossoms of red roses in our tiny green space. I clicked a photograph and sent it to her with a Good Morning message. I did not notice whether she had read it as mornings have always been hectic. Neeta Mayi was not my biological aunt but was my friend. She was my husband's aunt's colleague. She shared a youthfulness in her demeanour...

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” ― Edith Sitwell Raj pulled the cardboard box full of toys towards himself, and Diva pulled it back towards herself. The toys that were neatly bundled spilt out with their laughter. Diva was seven and was dressed in a green frock with leggings to keep herself warm this winter morning. Raj ‘s hair sported a crew cut, he was tall for his four years, both had snub noses and dark eyes, their hair was brown and skin tanned. They lived in a shanty with cemented walls having twin doors and an asbestos roof lined by bricks to prevent it from flying off. The shanty lay in the centre of a 2 km long field of agricultural land. It was a prime spot layered by the main road on one side, a multi-storied building complex on the other and the famous Engineering college on the third side. The fourth side was a long walkway till the gate whic...

Focus on your blessings, not your misfortunes.” ― Roy T. Bennett,  Another Sunset edged its way through the garden. Meg sat next to me in the garden feeding roasted lotus stem bites to her infant grandson. Her old neighbour staggered towards the path on his bent knees and his wooden walking stick, she watched him steadily till he disappeared. She spoke vehemently, 'I wish Rosh could walk like this gentleman, but he has given up on life.’ There was agony in her voice, fear in her speech, and her moist eyes depicted the love for her husband Rosh through a mixture of meandering emotions.  Meg was clad in a pale pink sari with sky blue flowers. It was worn carelessly, her plaited hair could not catch the locks of hair that were set free by the cool breeze. She was short and plump, her face was red with emotions, the kohl in her eyes had spread out of her eyes. A tiny red vermillion bindi was stuck on her forehead between her eyebrows adding charm to her elegant ...

“Courage isn’t having the strength to go on – it is going on when you don’t have strength.” Napoléon Bonaparte  The banyan tree and the other large trees were cut down, the tractor and the levelling machines rolled in at a high speed to clear the agricultural land into a residential place. It was technically named NA, a non-agricultural land by the local municipal authorities after authenticating and making it legal on a stamp paper. The grass and the broken stump of the trees, however, tried to regrow after a few days owing to the excessive water supply on the land, but they were slaughtered with the spade and the axe till the last remains of the roots dried in the cemented foundation. The cleared earth was transformed within months into a dwelling area with its peaks growing higher than the nearby independent bungalows. Every bit of the earth was cemented and plastered except a central 100 metre which was raised and filled with sand and mud. It was then lined with pal...

“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything you gave me.” ― Erma Bombeck   The evening was an epitome of laziness as the roads lay barren edged by the lone factory walls and the dingy independent bungalows. The grass on the pavement was long and silent as it peered at the empty roads for a human touch. The lone daily wages labourer was in no hurry to reach home, he let the speeding car go by. The sisters of the missionaries were peaceful in the solitude as they walked on the long lonely road. The speeding car slowed down to turn to its right and enter the open gates on that sluggish evening at the Missionaries of Charity for the sick and the destitute. Sister Superior Missionaries Of Charity depicts the harsh realities in life as it houses the lonely, sick and the insane people who have lost their ability to get along with the difficulties in life. The security guard ...

“Yesterday is a pile of rubble. Today is a pile of opportunity. Life takes a new dump each morning” ― Ryan Lilly Troy was aghast to see the car move jerkily and climb up the walkway. The driver was none other than Roan who lived on the second floor. Troy had heard Penny, the neighbour assure that Roan was a careful driver. Troy waited in eagerness to hear Roan's explanation about the incident. Troy was the first to know of all the happenings though it was a mere balcony that jutted out of the wall into the open expanse in Mirraw Street. The colony consisted of independent bungalows, but of late the owners had begun selling their houses to the real estate agents and builders who built beautiful flats.   Penny was a narrow balcony, the French kind of balcony that we normally call a 'Juliet' balcony with a metallic barrier placed in front of a high window. Penny had metallic baluster, spindles between elaborate metallic network. Penny often felt suffocated when...