Newerways

The least understood section in English besides the tenses was the figures of speech. It required years of work to achieve distinction in grammar. We received it, as a matter of fact, in barely a few hours. Mausaji continued to exalt us with his anecdotes, laced with puns, metaphors, hyperboles, onomatopoeia, and yet more on our visit to their home. He made us learn the figures of speech so effortlessly that edutainment became the hottest topic in family circles. My Hindi-speaking American niece required little explanation when she enquired him of his profession. He answered her by rolling his tongue and saying ' layyar ' that he made it sound like a ' liar ' when his actual profession spelled ' lawyer, ' It reminded everyone of an incident that my grandfather had narrated. In those times when people struggled to speak English. The ' character ' was pronounced as ' chara-actor '. Nothing could then be as confusing as calling ' Champagne '

  You always say you don’t see many movies but still, you seem to have seen every one of them’ commented my husband. ‘Yes I used to see all the movies in my younger years that came on television and besides this, we have always been blessed to stay in houses which had cinema halls just within walking distance. Living in a joint family with uncles and aunts was an additional privilege too. The good old days are gone. Never mind, we now have theatres in every house. The fifty-five-inch screens and the Netflix, accentuated by home theatre systems suffice for the theatres. Soon I too disappeared into my phone, tablet and the next smart thing, all too tempting to disengage. Google's recommendation to watch ten movies before Netflix decided to remove them drew my attention to a classic. It was a recommendation also once from my sister, by name it was a woman-oriented movie and not one but two women and lastly, it appeared in the comedy section. I was all eyes and ears to ‘Julie and Juli

Giving flowers is an age-old tradition. It elevates the endorphin levels to incite genuine happiness both to the giver and the recipient. A visit to a garden in full bloom can uplift and transform our spirits, such is the effect of their aura. 'Flower' and 'phool' have the same meaning in different languages.Yet the interchangeability of the usage of two words can induce an interesting effect. An academic who was into the business of teaching young adults often embarked upon the topic of healthy diet besides the professional discourse. The emphasis on the need to eat raw fruits and vegetables was almost a second nature as much as following it. To utter astonishment, this academician was once stopped by a student who felt indebted to his teacher. He wished to express his gratitude and hence pulled out a large green from his bag. It was a wonderful ‘Broccoli’; a distant cousin to our ‘Gobhi ka Phool’, the cauliflower.

Yet another day of waiting and long queues. I briefly looked at the chiller of a shop at the lounge and stared at the menu on display for breakfast. I collected the bottle of Bisleri and moved out to settle on the bench that probably was there just for me. I busied myself by calling family and informing them of my schedule (arrival and departure). I was enjoying my Solitary Reaper status till an old lady made herself comfortable near me. My grey hair and thin build attracted her to me as she thought we were the same age and could be great companions. Hence, a conversation struck between us. She divulged the secrets of her aches and medical problems one after the other and enquired of mine. You are a dentist, that too my daughter's age said the bewildered woman. I got busier with her queries. She was now even more comfortable and asked me to run and buy her a Bisleri. I offered her mine; she refused because of her fast. I towed my luggage back and forth along with her water bottle.

   With a travel itinerary including Nathdwara, Eklingji darshan we were bound to presume that it was a pilgrimage we were setting out on. Our ages too are the cornerstones for that divide we often turn to, religion and spirituality. Resisting the urge to decline we trotted on to this extraordinary journey. We were at Nathdwara with the group of friends. Despite our rapid action force like act the doors of the sanctum sanctorum closed down. We missed seeking the blessings of the deity by minutes. Out of the temple, we gobbled up samosas and jalebi. Next it was gulping adrak pudina (ginger, mint) tea a variant served in earthen pots only here. We proceeded to our next destination. Dhabology, enroute to Udaipur was an interesting surprise. It lay cozily amidst the Aravalli range, very picturesque offering a wonderful location for trek and stay. A neat and clean place, decorated with wall paintings of bygone era in most colourful palette. The unconventional advertisements of matrimony, as

I ferried children to school, to sports fields and to their extra classes, I was involved with their activities for more than ten years. After restrictions of having one television in our home, the end was drawing near. My husband now decidedly could install as many idiot boxes as he wanted in the house. The two boys were embarking on their adult lives. They just flew by initially for higher education, later for their jobs and finally with their soulmates. Silence has been my best friend. In fact, it has suited me always and preserved my existence as an introvert. I have for this reason navigated many years by not becoming a member of any group. With so much time to spare now, it was time for the ‘Titans to clash’, not over hierarchical status, money, interests but over how to effectively spend time. The tilt of the balance proposed a threat and so finally all ‘kit kit’ stopped and we became members to not one but two kitties. It took me some time to acclimatize. I realized even thoug

The August rain had created a thrill and early morning visits to our terrace garden had become very ritualistic. Often we would sweep the terrace with the mopper while it drizzled to remove the grime that the pots created. A pair of yellow beaked common mynas fluttered their wings on the iron rails that supported the solar panels basking in the comfort of shade it provided during a heavy rain. I wondered if they too felt the desire for a cup of coffee and pakoras, but I had nothing to offer. They were gone before I could think of their invincible spirit to soar in all weathers. The next day too it rained heavily; the solitary visitor today that took shelter was a drenched, sick looking flutterer that hid underneath the outdoor unit of air conditioner. My husband changed its position twice to provide it protection. Yet it had no energy left to move and within minutes it passed away leaving us behind to dispose of its corpse. 'One for sorrow, two for joy' crept into my mind. Thi

      The talk of Time Machine and Theory of Relativity is for the likes of Stephen Hawking and Albert Einstein. As far as I am concerned I only look back in my photographic albums to travel back rather than forwards. As I conveyed my anniversary greetings to my cousin today I reflected back nearly two decades ago. My children got very excited to travel by train for her wedding. The moment they boarded the train and reached the compartment just near the door all hell broke loose. They discovered that the compartment just had three berths and even a sliding door so it turned out that they had a room to themselves with bunk beds and to top it all the room was chilled. The baby boys imitated the monkeys as they sprang from berth to berth, laughing and playing all games. Soon the journey was over and the sultry weather in Delhi drained them. The return journey by Shatabdi was equally memorable for them. The meals on wheels was just beyond their baby minds. The juices, tea and breakfast

My call was very gladly received by my sister who was in the midst of a monotonous job of setting a question paper for her students. She needed a distraction which I willingly obliged. These days we happen to be enjoying our telephonic conversations a lot more than usual. The reason being we dwell upon the stories from the past that have been handed down to us from our ancestors. They are not stories of valor being passed down the generations in musical forms to infuse courage. They seem like tall stories stretched by imagination, not only to us but also to an innocent bystander. These have become so believable to us by virtue of being repeated so many times during our family reunions. The stomach churning laughter they induce keeps those anecdotes so lively till today. Tippan chacha, was a guest who came from far away to take a departmental examination for promotion in the city where my grandparents lived. Our grandparents were too glad to have him visit them. As for one of their bro

"You will not read any of my WhatsApp messages and so it is useless to send you anything.” My mother said to me. I acknowledged her by my silence mentally reciting," I read all that you sent to me". So, here I am busy reading all about Indian spices and medicinal herbs used as daily household ingredients, thereby indulging in more studies on naturopathy as compared to any other ‘pathy’ which has side effects. I speed dialled my mother when my patient refused to undergo the procedure of scaling to clean her teeth in favour of 'alum', or "phitkari," a desi nuskha. No wonder patients shirk away from scaling. I ruminate. "I just called you up to confirm if you WhatsApped something to my patient "I vented. Ever since, I have been scrolling through all her erstwhile messages to know more about natural healthier medicaments, their benefits and roles in dentistry and health. Oh! WhatsApp was not there when I was a student. No wonder, my gold

I developed a taste for words a little late. That happened only after faring poorly in the language and working on myself that I became an avid reader.  We had preferences, so we amassed volumes in our homes. Some were those we had borrowed, the ones we forgot to return, others were second-hand or the new edition we either purchased or were gifted, and a few were even our professional textbooks. The pages had begun to crack, and a distinct moldy smell emanated. The once treasured books now occupied only space, and their regular maintenance was a menace. After my father passed away, my mother offloaded our home from the clutter, and first in line of fire were the books. Those prized possessions came down from the first-floor balcony onto the floor. An unassuming raddiwallah collected our priceless belongings of years in his sack for a paltry amount. My friend shared, advertising on Facebook, the free sale of her Encyclopedia Britannica after she became an empty nester. The story was tha

Notification alerts continued one after the other and I knew it had to be my sister. Next morning her WhatsApp did not seem so interesting. Thank God! I never got up at midnight to see these. There were images of mud, plants and potatoes. Nothing new, I put it aside without a thought and sipped my early morning tea. As I read further, scrolling down the images was her excited note on her home grown organic potatoes. Now that was a bait I asked her "miraculous, since when have you started all this". "While composting for my garden I had accidentally left a potato in the garbage ditch. This was my discovery just today" she answered and I could imagine her admiring those potatoes. "Great guns," I responded. The matter rested after this for a few months. The feathers were ruffled again as she posted images of tomato, eggplants and potato plants neatly planted along the sidewalls, her today's endeavor .Thanks to our family group messaging system, ginger a

As a student I had to commute in local buses as prevalent during those times. My wait for the arrival of the next bus forced me to notice an old lady curiously observing me. I pretended to ignore her but still found myself to be a subject of her curiosity. Undeterred she stared, unabashed I turned my back towards her, only to find her blatantly changing sides to face me again. Realizing my awkwardness in avoiding her she questioned me about my grandparents and excitedly mentioned my mother’s name to confirm my filial descent. She then introduced herself as an old neighbour of my grandparents who had seen my mother as a teenager and my resemblance to her. Thank God! I whispered as I took a seat and bade a farewell to my new acquaintance. Genetics and not Facebook turned out to be the most potent tool in uniting the long-lost, figures in my mind.  As I was having my morning walk session, I could see groups of people performing yoga and yet another group indulged in a discourse on adhya

  Holiday Reading was a wonderful concept in my children’s school. They were given a book to read in English and Hindi during summer vacations and then their understanding was tested and later prizes were showered during the annual function which again were books. These books were classics and a few even contemporary; I too got to read new kinds of literature with them .  The curriculum in ICSE and ISC when I studied was relentless. There was, A Midsummer’s Night Dream, Julius Caesar, Joan of Arc, Richard the second, Mayor of Casterbridge in successive years. I reminisced to my boys. They seemed to have found it incredibly amusing that their mother showed a poor performance in the subject. To add salt to my injury my grandfather even shared a school report card which stated “Needs to work hard in English” and a grade of 4 marked with a red underline describing the inevitable. This report card continues to be an only family heirloom of my academic record despite being in tatters now. Th

                            What a wonderful sight?, a flight of migratory birds descending over the Ana Sagar Lake. These migratory creatures travel across the globe along the flyways. They are an annual attraction to the birders and the non-birders. The majestic beauty of these birds gliding on the surface of water, their winged formations, and their synchronized flights continue to mesmerize us year after year. As we walked along the circular pathway, we could see people tossing wheat puffs high up in the air and these birds swooping down to catch the feed. A  few even kept it on their palms while the birds made a sweep for it. These birds dared to fly over the walkway in numbers, performing acrobatics to indulge us right above our heads.  The other day, I talked to my younger son, who had been working from home since the lockdown and intended to visit  Goa with his friends and work from there. A few of his friends had migrated to beautiful destinations far away from their homes for

  “She’s your daughter,” my husband’s acquaintance asked him when I met him for the first time while we waited for our turn at a shop. I giggled at his joke and marveled at his judgment of my age. That was when I was dark-haired. A few years later, my hair started to turn grey.  We often visited a complex together regularly, so regularly that the guard could identify the two of us. The irony struck when my husband had to travel alone. Then the guard asked, “Mummy Ji has not come today.” I laughed at the cruel joke. It is not that I mind going old: I do mind looking old, so aptly said by someone, I thought.   I had the usual concerns as someone in the fourth decade. I was beginning to hide that lock of silver hair so conspicuous on my scalp. It has been a source of pride for all the years spent well. I found myself reminiscing about the hair. I felt great about the comparisons I had. A decade later, I was going ahead with a natural balayage without a penny spent. The lockdown was

  Googling for ideas, my search stopped short at the gates of Pinterest. As a conventional netizen, I dared not venture into downloading new apps. There seemed to be no escape, my conventionality succumbed. Finally, there was a P on the red dot symbolizing Pinterest on my app list. I was on the lookout for ideas from paper maiche, but as my search unfolded, there was fashion, cooking, makeup, writing, home interiors, organization, in fact, every kind of organization, management be it time or money and so much more. I forgot the paper maiche and the artwork momentarily and here I was looking for hairstyles to suit my face type, dresses for my body type, makeup, dressing styles for fifty plus and I began to wonder if all this ever mattered in the past five decades. Never, my conscience answered.  Mocktails had found a new place in my recipe list. Forget about Mojito, I was searching for Pina colada, Dalgona Coffee and many more nonalcoholic drinks. Oh! I could be the next entrepreneur g