Newerways

   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