140: Bullet Journal, hey!

November 20, 2018

1

One day back in May, extreme fundae maven, tasteful item-number maverick, and #1 reason why mothers are naming their child so, Aadisht, asked what the big deal was about Bullet Journals. Is there any real advantage to bullet journaling compared to using calendar and todo apps except for showing off your drawing skills (which I […]

139: The Haunting

June 13, 2018

2

I constantly want to have it all, haunted by all my lives unlived. It’s difficult for me to accept that there’s only one job one can work in, one city one can live in, one experience one can have at a time. I fear this tendency may affect the big life decisions to come. Thoughts? […]

Posted in: Agony Aunty, Memoirs

138: An old, old post

September 15, 2017

0

Hallowed Ground My memory of red-oxide is tinged with the sound it made. There was a quality of foundation to that sound. A thick fatherliness. Solidity. Perhaps it came from the fact that it was mixed directly into cement, poured onto rigid ground, ironed with persistence, dried stern, before deemed terra really, really firma. Anything […]

Posted in: Uncategorized

137: Paying It Forward

October 6, 2016

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A shamefully long time ago, girlfriend Babushka (urf Babaloobie, aka Babs) very kindly tagged me on this really nice get-to-know, that I obviously put off because one of the things I *excel* at, is procrastination. And today, since I have about two tonnes of bread-butter work to do, I decided it was the perfect time to potter about, guzzle a […]

Posted in: Memoirs, On Writing, Travel

My favourite picture of me.

September 29, 2016

13

This is my favourite picture of me. I am about 5 years old in this, and I have no memory of this photograph being taken. It was taken in the corridor of our first-floor house in Hanumanthanagar. Judging by my expression, I gather that my grandfather has taken this picture. My grandfather had a very strict idea of […]

Posted in: Memoirs

135

May 14, 2016

7

Chinni cannot even begin to list the things she hates about herself. Today, latest on that list, is a single thick strand of hair that has sprouted overnight from the mole on her chin. She hates the mole on her chin. It is three sizes too large to be beautiful, and many a friend has failed to resist […]

Posted in: Prose

134

January 25, 2016

1

On days I am unsure, I take heart in certain certainties: the gratification of popping open a vacuum-sealed bottle. The feel of my toes in my bedtime socks. The openness of a good-natured dog. Morning light on my carpets. Ghee and steaming rice and salt. This past year, I have been frequently unsure. Of my shoe size. Of what exactly a cooking instruction has meant. Of whether “this […]

Posted in: Memoirs