A Slice of Life

"Amira, come on, finish your dinner quick. You have been sitting with the rice for such a long time!" Amira's mother called out from the kitchen, while cleaning the dishes. Little Amira, however, was absorbed in watching the night sky outside from her window, oblivious to her mother's requests. Far across the horizon, the sky intermittently burst out in a glimmer of light.  "Is that a firecracker, mother?" She asked, pointing outside. "Are they having a celebration? The crackers are so noisy! So loud!" Mother knew that they are not firecrackers. She continued to rinse the dishes, carefully draining the waste from the utensils onto the small garbage bag kept at the corner below the sink. "It's too far away Amira, how can we be sure? But see, our neighbourhood is quiet still. All your friends must have already finished their dinner; they must be helping their mothers wipe the dishes now. And you're still half-way through your plate littl...

I often wonder What I would do, If our paths crossed again.  If you show up Unannounced, at my doorstep, Would I run to you instantly And pull you in an embrace? Or would it be proper  To exchange formal hellos And engage in trivial talk Setting aside the songs of our olden days? Either way, As the poem goes, I would tell my mad heart To be brave. No matter how we greet The miniscule moments spent Come together, In a montage I carefully save.  Artwork by: Tanmayee Chakraborty

“So, what is the agenda today?” my sister queried, as we stood at the entry point of the street market in Colaba. It was a Friday evening. An ocean of people, dressed in their weekend best, swallowed us in as we walked into the busy street. “I need a skirt,” I replied, pulling my hair into a bun to keep the summer sweat at bay. “Okay. That seems fairly simple. Wait, did you just drag me all the way here to find ONE skirt?” “Yes, I did. And no, it’s not that simple. It should neither be too short, nor too long,” I continued. “I want something that can double as a formal one that goes with a shirt, as well as a casual one when paired with a t-shirt or a crop top. There should be no frills, prints or motifs on it. It should preferably be in a somewhat universal solid colour like black, red or navy blue, so that there are more options in my closet to team it up with. And all of this should fit into the most important criterion of all – a budget of 500 rupees.” My sister stared at m...

Forgetting is an art I am not adept at. I remember tiny details Trite, and often insignificant. Phone numbers from lost years Books hat brought you to tears Songs that broke you, healed you Line my memory, like souvenirs rare. Then how did you think That I can forget you Instantly, in a heartbeat And turn stranger, in a day or two? You left behind A kaleidoscope of memories. Each twirl brings a coloured moment Buried long, in deep debris. I see those and I see me.  Telling my lone heart That it was not meant to be. Artwork by: Tanmayee Chakraborty

I chanced upon A forlorn moon On my way back home. It was full and bright, Lighting up the twilight sky But morose, for reason unknown. As my car meandered Onto the winding road It kept me company, in silence.  It held my gaze In an effort to express That it craved for some solace. Life had been a tad unkind With burdens that wearied the mind. Could these worries dim tomorrow? A crushed-up heart From a star far apart And now, every moment, spent in sorrow. It had no choice As life had to go on For many needed moonshine in times of gloom. So come every night, With all its might It tried, and really tried, to shine through. It did not ask hence, Anything of me Favours, requests or a job to be done. Simply, it stayed up there And followed me through the turns Letting me know, that I wasn't alone. 

Unused cassettes in cupboards old Second hand books with stories untold Now forgotten, but once lifted your soul Pass them all to me.  Out of fashion clothes lost in corners of closet Middle seats in airplanes that you so hate Bread sides which often you eliminate Give them all to me.  The horrid summer heat you despise Brings for me orange mangoes and bright skies A wilted rose which in a vase dies Pressed in my notebook, lives. The ones who don't find a home Share a room with my bohemian soul Together, we make our halves full And life goes on in glee.  Artwork by: Tanmayee Chakraborty