Life was so predictable.

 A pattern set for each day,

This then that and then this again,

Repeat over and over.


Horizontal or vertical,

But always repetitive.

The days falling in pattern.

Till one day something broke.

And everything started spinning,

Twisting and turning,

Mixing the broken pieces,

To create

New designs, new worlds,

New knowledge

with every turn

Of life’s kaleidoscope.

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Problogger October 2017 Blogging Challenge and I hope you enjoy reading my posts here. If you do, please leave a comment. It motivates me to write more. 

Picking Up The Pieces

This post is written in response to the prompt on Write Tribe’s #WritingWednesdays. “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” ― Anton Chekhov


“Is this what you call tea?” he yelled and flung the cup across the room at her. She ducked instinctively to avoid the hot liquid. The cup hit the mirror behind her with all the force that he had thrown it with and both the cup and the mirror shattered.

As he turned angrily and left the room, she was just thankful that he had not whipped out his belt this time.

She turned to clear up the mess but was distracted by the shards of the mirror that lay on the floor; each piece reflecting pieces of her face.

“That’s me,” she realised as she looked at the distortion. “Fragments of the person I was. Will I ever be whole again?” she wondered.

And as she picked up the pieces of the mirror, she realised it was time to pick up the pieces of her life.





I walk through the house


It seems so big somehow

And so empty.

I strain my ears.

Is that your voice I hear?

That laugh that was so typically you.

I close my eyes and I can breathe in the scent of your body,

Feel its warmth surrounding me.

I reach out and can touch you,

Feel the texture of your skin

So achingly familiar.

I open my eyes reluctantly

To find myself alone

As I wait for you




This post is in response to the Friday reflections prompt of the week: “Sometimes waiting is the hardest thing of all.” – Luanne Rice

Gurmehar and all the ruckus!

This morning I woke up to whatapp messages and facebook posts all commenting about Gurmehar. So I went online to see what the fuss was actually about.

After reading a lot of articles and the newspaper, I must say, I stand by her. She is spunky all right. For those who criticise her, and most of you are too young to remember, the politicization of college unions was what got a lot of students threatened and killed and so elections to the students councils were eventually banned in Maharashtra in1992.

The lift of the ban was viewed with mixed feelings. There was apprehension that the violence would start all over again and that these political murders would claim the lives of the youth.

This article by Sunil Rajguru says it all :

And I am surprised that people, who are normally quite sane, have gone on a rampage against this girl. What has she said that is wrong? Why should she not speak out? All she has done is voice her opinion. How many of us do that? On Facebook, on twitter, on whatapp, all of us have vented against some political party at some time or the other.

So why single her out?

Just because she seems to be a soft target? I am glad her teachers have stood by her. She needs that.

As an educator, as a mother of daughters, as a woman, I hope to have raised and taught my kids to stand up for what they believe in and against what they feel is wrong.

The other thing that has come up is the picture of her saying that Pakistan didn’t kill her father, war did. I must say, I absolutely agree with this. It is war that kills. It is greed that kills not any particular nationality.

When one of our soldiers is killed we immediately talk about how he is a son, father, husband. But when our troops kill a Pakistani soldier, we think it is all right, because they are our enemies. Then we don’t stop to think that he is a father, a son, a husband.

That is what war does. It dehumanises us.

The other day, I very proudly shared an incident with my friend telling him that someone had asked me if I was a Gujarati and I had replied that I was an Indian. My friend asked me why I had said that I was an Indian.

He said, if I didn’t find being Indian problematic, why was I offended being called a Gujju? That really made me think.  I wondered if I should say I am a human being because I aspire to be part of the world, not narrowed down by barriers. But then I looked at my dog cuddling by my side and the rapport I had with her and thought of the endless killing of animals and trees around us and I knew I had to truthfully say, I am a living being. At least that is what I aspire to be, though I know it sounds very smug and arrogant.

But once you realise that you are part of one world, you perspective changes so much. Then war, rape, murder of any living being becomes abhorrent.

I am reminded of the poem by Robert Frost “Mending Wall” where he says that there is something in nature that doesn’t like a wall and that she will do her best to bring them down, either through roots of plants or burrowing animals that create gaps and finally make the wall crumble.

He asks his neighbour with whom he shares the wall why they need to build it as they have different trees growing on their lands. His neighbour replies that “good fences make good neighbours” and when asked why all that he says is that his father told him so.

Where Pakistan and other countries are concerned also I think we just go with what our political fathers have told us. And the people in those countries too do the same and so we keep building fences and walls rather than bridges.

We keep living in the past and don’t even want to think of a future of peace and love, of a place where we live and let live. Of a world that is tolerant and co-operative.

And so I am glad that there is a young girl who is idealistic enough to voice her opinion even in the face of dire threats!