Twenty-two years had gone by making a life in a big, unknown city with a stranger. Being a mother, a homemaker, building a new home every two years. The jackfruit and guava trees; girly conversations full of laughter by the pukur; Mrs. Sanyal’s piercing look through her glasses; Manav Kaka’s sesame laddoos and ghoogni; Rajesh Khanna wooing Sharmila Tagore, all had faded into the grind and loneliness of the city life.
Tag: mentalhealth
Facing emptiness by the river and the sea
The year was marked by deep emotional and physical emptiness, amidst reflections on life, family, and the futility of existence. Longing for liberation was countered by obligations and unresolved desires.
It was an August night
ask me what I want, what would make me happy, and I will blabber some incoherent, existential gibberish. That my arrogant, incorrigible self refuses to make peace with life’s banal existence. Yet that is what I have been doing over the years. Slowly, gradually, unconsciously, consciously, I have been accepting everything and falling into the abyss. What never ceases is the constant longing for the unknown. A restlessness for the intangible. The desire to feel alive.
Happy Anniversary!
Daaarling! Father musters his romantic self and tries to wake up his half-asleep wife. He tentatively places his palms around her face, and says with a big silly smile, Happy Anniversary! In response, Maa half opens her eyes, conjures a scowl, removes his hands away, and turns to the other side, clearly sending the message…
I am doing well. How about you?
Hey! Long time! How are you doing? Hi! Good to see you my friend! How am I doing, you ask? Ummm… let’s see. I usually wake up around seven to seven thirty in the morning. I would like to wake up earlier, do some exercise, take care of my body and mind. Have a healthy…
A fable of the past
I was standing with my father in front of the building in which we were moving in. A four storied building in a residential colony in South Delhi, with one apartment on each floor. We were moving onto the 4th floor. The labors were unloading our belongings from a small truck. A pair of cots,…
nomadictourist.com 