Enthralling Trails

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Arthur C. Clarke I was waiting for my laptop to download the software named MiKTeX. It seemed to go on endlessly and my memories impelled me to revisit life…. Teaching has been one of the most gratifying experience for an academician. The classroom is a creative site where the teacher can connect with the students bearing numerous personalities. Teaching students in a face to face situation is said to usher joy, contentment and supreme gratification as no day is the same in a classroom. Each batch of students, each concept and each learning happens with a freshness and the experience is always brand new. A good teacher has a unique quality of adapting to the environment and imbibing the environment in her teaching. For example, a Humanities faculty in the Management College imbibes Economics and Finance easily, the one in Performing Arts and Literature starts appreciating the Philosophy and Sociolog...

Mani Pradhan hailed from Shrivardhan in Raigad district of Maharashtra in India. He had retired as an Assistant Commissioner of Income Tax. He was tall, slim and was extremely fair with luxuriant hair on his head. The fair skin had a pink shade displaying good health on the cheerful countenance. He sported a thick moustache that was grey like his hair. He was married to a fair beautiful lady named Aboli. Aboli is an orange coloured flower that is often strung together into strands, sometimes along with white jasmine flowers. These strands of flowers are used to embellish a woman’s hair or offered to deities.  Aboli was short but fair and pretty with long hair that was plaited loosely. She never adorned Aboli flowers though the bushes graced the compound wall of their house. She was calm and had a smiling face just like Mani. The couple had moved to Pune after a few years of their marriage and had lived there long after Mani’s retirement. They bought a flat close to the o...

“There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” ― Mahatma Gandhi It was around five in the evening but the sun's rays were beating harshly with the onset of summer. The massive road was bare, sand blew mutely from the muddy footpath. The eerie silence matched the tranquillity. The puppies playfully ran across the road fearlessly as they had stopped hearing the din of the traffic. The Pandemic caused due to Corona Virus disease had found its way to India. India, a populous country needed to cut down the rate of growth of the infection. This prompted the Indian Government to a lockdown situation all over India for twenty-one days. We have been at home a week before the lockdown too owing to the impact felt in Maharashtra, India.  That evening, a family of four lugged a huge shoddy white bag. The lady carried an infant nestled in her arms, and the man carried the huge white bag while a five-year-old boy lingered behind. ...

  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...