A message to all my readers When I first began writing down my stories in this quiet space, it was nothing more than an open diary. A place to put memories that needed somewhere to rest, reflections gathered over a lifetime, and thoughts that felt too personal—or perhaps simply too ordinary—to share in conversation. Conventional wisdom often suggests that personal musings rarely accomplish much on the wider internet. There are no frameworks here, no quick advice, and no polished agendas. Just the raw textures of life as I have experienced it: the sudden turns, the quiet routines, the moments of doubt, and the steady work of beginning again. Recently, as a small corner quietly crossed 30,000 reads, I paused to look more closely at the numbers. What moved me was not just the milestone itself, but where those visits were coming from. While some readers join from home here in India, so many of you are reading from entirely different corners of the earth—from Singapore across the seas ...
Salads were the newest additions to our menu list as starters. It owes its origins to friends we visit often, like a second home. The mundane sprouts could be part of a creative jewellery piece with pomegranates and cheese cubes that had never occurred to me until I saw them beautifully and colourfully occupying the centre table. The rainbow salad on another occasion was also mesmerizing. The presentation and the warmth with which they served added to the taste as much as to the refreshing memories. As I uncovered the lid of the container on my kitchen slab, I observed that the moth beans had sprouted, and rootlets were visible. I could eat them as much as I could plant them. I decided to plant a few and serve the remaining for breakfast. They lay embedded in the soil, surrounded by air, water, and food in abundance. After a few days, I observed that most had not survived. They had turned black and lay on the verge of extinction in that darkness. The paradox of having plenty but provi...