Newerways

"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...

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 a...

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 were 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, and Mayor of Casterbridge in successive years. I reminisced to my boys. They seemed to find it incredibly amusing that their mother performed poorly in the subject. To add salt to my injury, my grandfather even shared a school report card that stated “Needs to work hard in English” and a grade of 4, marked in red, describing the inevitable. This report card remains the only family heirloom of my academic record, despite being in tatters now. There’s a silver lining t...

      What a wonderful sight! Migratory birds are descending over the Ana Sagar Lake. These migratory creatures travel across the globe along the flyways. They are an annual attraction for the birders and the non-birders. The majestic beauty of these birds gliding on the water's surface, their winged formations, and 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. As I spoke to my younger son, who had been working from home since the COVID lockdown, I found out that he had 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 similar pu...

  “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...