Parents , siblings and the filial  bonds are the first sense of belonging we feel . It extends beyond the inner family circle that extends to grandparents , uncles , aunts , cousins , cousins  twice removed and more !The first  sense of belonging is rooted and  tied into ancestry in many societies and communities around the world .

Our next sense of belonging comes from the friendships we foster , school mates , childhood bff’s and those we carry through the years . The first step into kindergarten and early school years are fraught with uncertainty as children navigate stepping out of the protective cocoon that parents and home provide . The gentle friendly understanding teachers tether children to a  sense of belonging . Teenage angst , rebellion and the feeling of largely not understood leads to some  degree of shunning parents and we find our anchorage in music icons who have played a huge  role in driving that feeling of being understood and foster a sense of belongingness .

The sense of belonging  extends , to the spaces we create be it home or a modest desk space at work ; a young adult in a shared accommodation where the room becomes a space , a sanctuary that feels personal and safe . We feel a sense of belonging to the city we reside in , not necessarily the one we grew up in where we find ourselves as natives of a city and all that it offers . As we begin to embrace the city and our life , the misplaced identity begins to fade and the ‘ roots’ question pops up much later .

Human beings , being the social creatures that we are , often seek to ourselves in another through shared interests and believe we have found the one who understands us . In doing so , we proclaim we have found our sense of belonging in another .

The question does present itself here  ‘ what is it to truly belong ?’ Agreed that almost everything I’ve placed here is true . Yet the question begs to dig a bit deeper . Is it possible that the sanctuary we seek or the sense of belonging something that resides in oneself ? We recognise  over a period of time , that in many ways , our sense of belonging can also be found within ourselves . Our beliefs , an ability to enjoy one’s own company , the conviction we carry in the values we practise , the choices we make and finding that often elusive peace and the discovery of ourselves and life are our very own . We are shaped by all of these and of course , by the people we spend our  life with and the company we keep .

We can discover   the truth that we can also  find the sense of belonging with ourselves and within ourselves .In doing so , we free ourselves to a certain degree from the bondage of belongingness .

‘Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance.’

A lot of our memories  of our lived experiences of events , celebrations , festivals   and how we remember people ,have the strongest associations of smells and our nose serving as the archiver of those memories and  the emotions they evoke from longing to belonging , joy and warms our hearts .

The wafting fragrance of freshly baked buns as I hopped on my way from school bring the memories of carefree childhood school days and lollipops and blue ribbons in my braided hair , when our we lived in a world of wonderment .

The mangoes sitting in a room in my grandparents  ancestral home ,in nearly organised rows like a cavalry as they warmed  in the summer heat and the smell of ripening made your fingers itch to grab them and bite into their succulent sweetness .

The délicate smell of the dried Champak  flowers infused into the coconut oil my nanainamma  ( paternal grandmother) used to apply on her hair, revealing a softer side  which seemed like a contrast to an otherwise strict mostly undemonstrative person who hid  her emotions under a veil of stoicism. It revealed a tiny insight to a side to the person I knew little of and  feared  . My father imbibed a lot of her qualities , from the stoicism,  to the lingering smell of his aftershave and the cigars in his study  serve as one of the many reminders of him.

My summers in my maternal grandmother’s home and the smells that still tickle my nose were the avakai ( pickle ) preparation as the mustard oil and the hot chilly powder assaulted our senses , my grandfather’s talcum powder and the super white string Soam papdi that would be made in the sweltering hot sun as the ghee flour and sugar were transformed magically into wispy strings of deliciousness .

Growing up , festivals brought on the smell of ghee and cardamom as my mother churned out festival fare staples of Mysore pak and boondi laddus which till date remain unparalleled in taste . As the golden mixture was poured on steel plates and cut into diamonds , the wait was endlessly tortuous as you couldn’t taste them till offered to the Gods .

Birthday celebration memories bring the smell of her tutti fruity cake baking in the modest aluminium vessel fashioned into a rudimentary oven  on the cooking gas , yet another symbol of middle class homes and long before the electric baking ovens made their way into the kitchen but still  turning out perfectly spongy !

My religious memories can’t be complete without the delicious lunch   that attacked your senses of the Durga Puja bhog . There’s something deeply spiritual snd magical that lifts the humble bhog offered to the Goddess into smells and taste  that is truly the food for the Gods as a humble mixture of rice , dal and vegetables bring out heavenly wafting fragrances  and taste .

The associations and memories are many , jasmine flowers woven into beautiful ornaments that adorn my mother’s hair bring the strongest affirmations of her unequivocal support and love for  me till date .

As our children go older and we gaze at the baby pictures and videos , our strongest recollection also comes from the sweet  smelling babies  dusted with baby powder mixed with baby food ( let’s not bring up soiled diapers here ! ).

People associate happy living family times from the aromas wafting from the kitchens , where the food acts as a binding agent of familial bonding , shared moments snd decades later , people relive them ; almost  as if they can still smell the mysterious dance of the cooking smells .    

Fragrance sellers don’t just sell an aroma of day long freshness ; they create  a personality of a person defined by the type of fragrance they wear and build lasting memories of a person where one of the strongest  associations is how they smelt of lime , or roses or musk .

Nothing awakens a reminiscence like an odor." — Victor Hugo

The weekly public library visit allowed me to bring home 3 books on my lending card and

Enid Blyton ‘s famous 5 , secret 7 , Malory towers made their way into my daily reading as I imagined scones , boiled eggs and sandwiches to be the stuff of picnics that I dreamt of . As we raced  to finish the Nancy Drew  Hardy boy series and the 3 investigators  , I found  myself scouting for the titles in book havens  beyond the public lending library . Purchasing books was beyond the reach and the next treasure trove   was the IISc staff club library .

The reading habit came early - as my dad spent time reading James Hadley chase as i spent time chasing titles that offered an escape in the world of stories . In my mind’s eye i lived through each line creating a visual cinematic experience that was mine to create aided  by the wonderful weaving of stories by the authors I loved .

As my teenage years went by , Agatha Christie , Erle Stanley Gardner came by and made way for Archer  , Sheldon , McLean and Ludlum . My earliest memory of reading came from the stacks of Readers Digest  sitting alongside the box of Cuban cigars in my dad’s study . A childhood memory flashed as I found myself picking up James  Herriot recently . As a 12 year old , I remember reading a section of his  vet stories in a Readers  Digest , where the last section of the monthly publication was dedicated to excerpts of books such as  those by Somerset Maugham , Alvin toffler  among others .

What is it about the books we re read decades later ? Beyond the staple classics of Dickens and Brontë , I have found through my adult years reading the books that we were such a huge part of  my childhood . Train journeys meant buying Chandamama , Indrajal and Tinkle comics and Amar Chitra Katha which decades later became the pathway to reading about Indian mythology aided by the beautiful drawings .  The characters we loved ranged from a Suppandi , Shikhar Shambhu , Mandrake the magician and more and the books take us back to our childhood memory lanes . We recall the children we were , relive those years and wonder if our imagination is still our best visual .

For me ,the  magic of those stories and books still hold their pride of place in the age of audiobooks and kindle versions . Through the magic and the stories , we relive and rekindle ourselves a little bit once again . I’m proud to say frayed covers of my childhood favourites sit alongside my adult love of Murakami , Ghosh , RK Narayan and more !

I sign off as I read an article by Rose Horowitch ‘s ‘ the end of reading’ where sustained book reading habits are gradually giving way to AI assisted , digitally creative multimedia forms of consumption and leave with this :

“Books are a uniquely portable magic." Stephen King

And yet , it took a rainy day in late August , a few weeks before a milestone birthday and I meant it when I said “ diamonds aren’t thos girl’s best friend ‘ ! For all the bauble loving women , I’ll say , ‘ you go girl ‘ as I had made my choice .Many Proclamations and promises later  that just fell short of me signing a paper , and before we knew it ; fast forward to a few days later , the horrendous late evening traffic and a flat tyre , the mutt was home .

A first time pet owner , everything was new to me . I remember reading Dr Spock decades ago when I turned a parent to the human offspring . This was altogether new . I stumbled and devoured the Internet while the mutt devoured everything in sight at home , I learnt . One paw at a time .Exasperation was thrown at me each day ” he’s a dog , treat him like one “ .I became the poster pet mum who  got suckered into every thing that was marketed to me - supplements to spas , toys to treats , behavioural experts and i just stopped short at a dog whisperer . While I may have not turned none the wiser , I did see myself go through a perceptible that crept upon me before I knew and recognised it .

And here’s what my canine teaches me . The heart indeed is a muscle that expands to hold more than you think was possible . You suddenly find yourself discovering  new people where the thread that holds you are mutts and kittens and animals . You develop a deeper layer of compassion and kindness towards the voiceless .It’s strange and almost  embarrassing to reveal this  newly discovered  side of yourself and almost keep it hidden while you let loose your joy and laughter to the ones who sense  and feel the depth of your emotion with excited wagging tails .

The mutt taught me to show my emotions unabashedly . The excited  greeting he has each time he sees someone , the quiet presence in the morning next to me , the joy he feels for the smallest things  and the love that you feel across the room with melting brown eyes .

Someone said that it’s possible to be in love with 2 people at the same  time .I say it’s possible to love all the dogs that you see and know at the same time .

Without a word, my dog taught me the meaning of love.” — Leila Grandemange

Some of our fondest memories are stitched to childhood best friends, teenage partners in crime, and the people who stood beside us as we stumbled, grew, and found our way into adulthood. Over time, our circle expands and contracts, shaped by the cities we move to, the seasons we pass through, and the different roads life asks us to take.

Keeping those connections alive takes time, tenderness, and a willingness to keep choosing one another, much like tending to anything we hope will endure. In earlier years, this felt almost effortless because proximity did so much of the work for us. Hostel nights, weekend plans with housemates, house parties, movies, pub crawls, late-night gatherings, and conversations that stretched endlessly into the night over chai , hot chocolate or a poison of one’s choice ,  all became the small rituals that made friendship feel permanent. Back then, we rarely imagined that time could soften even the strongest bonds.

Some of these friendships, thankfully, continue to hold steady. People build their lives around communities they want to remain part of for years, creating an extended family and a circle of support that feels increasingly precious in an age of urban loneliness. Catch-ups are impromptu and easy, and conversations flow as naturally as chilled beer on a hot summer day. Then there are friendships that can be picked up from where they were left, even if they begin with a little awkwardness, a few pauses, and the quiet effort of finding the old rhythm again before the years apart begin to fall away.

And then there are friendships that fade slowly, like embers that still hold warmth long after the fire has dimmed. It is rarely because love or intent has disappeared. More often, distance stretches, schedules harden, work and home demand more of us, families grow, personal pursuits take shape, and the endless responsibilities of daily life quietly push these friendships to the edges. In adulthood, friendships do not always end with a rupture or a final goodbye.

Sometimes they simply grow silent, slipping gently from the centre of our lives into the tender ache of what once was.For in friends and through friendships , we discover ourselves , we find ‘ our person’ and love outside of the filial bonds in life . And in the fading away of such bonds of friendships , a sense of loss prevails of much more than the friend , we lose a part of ourselves .

“We are nothing but shadows Fading away

Trying to hold on to this bittersweet life

That we call our own “

‘ what should I tell the hearing aid company guy ‘? The morning call started with this . My mother distraught , for having lost her hearing aid which beyond the discomfort of the inability to hear, she was visibly upset that it was an expensive purchase . 2 days earlier , she broke down after spending hours hunting for a bank passbook that she thought she had misplaced . Her crying revealed a helplessness , a sense of feeling overwhelmed which you rarely hear coming out of the mouths of that generation .  I remember the same panic when my mother in law couldn’t find some insurance papers .

A recent reflection by the legendary cowboy hero , Clint Eastwood spoke of what life felt like at 97 . Most poignant and real  with no punches  held back , he spoke of how the body refused to cooperate on the everyday things and you become to feel lesser like yourself . The recounting and endless repetition of stories and incidents we’ve heard over and over again are more for them , reminders of who they were , they identify with and lesser what they are now .

The role reversal hits hard ; we saw our parents infallible . Our childhood heroes where we saw them as ‘ parents ‘ , lesser as ‘ persons ‘ and our realm of understanding didn’t go beyond the things they would do for us and the belief that they could solve anything for us .

The leaning in creeps up till suddenly it hits you like a ton of bricks . For a lot of people entering the middle aged years , the responsibilities get added as you’re not only parenting near adult children ( which sounds like a daily war of words ! ) but also , parenting adults who were parenting you ,  till not so long ago .

The contours of caregiving hits hard - both the givers and recipients . A  fiercely independent person , compromised mobility was the hardest for my father to accept . His definition of dignity of life which was foremost in his senior years was to do all the everyday things by himself including his morning shave . The old spice bottle and the half used Ralph Lauren sit as poignant reminders of the last few weeks when he was dependant on another .

The courage and emotional strength giving requires us to first radically accept that there is wisdom they impart sitting with reassurance required akin to children . We alternate between frustration , guilt , the  emotional vacuum we begin to see as we are no longer able to lean  in on them like before . The life lessons they  continue to give us from their lived experiences sit alongside the  strength they need as they lean in to us .

Adulting moments are many , and we see them and experience them as the milestones in our lives ;

Moving  away from home for academic pursuits ;

Landing our first job and living alone in a new city ;

Becoming a parent ourselves .

The next big moment has been the role reversal and will see days of exasperation , guilty excesses and the flow of affection to them . For we are here for all that they have done . Even now while they navigate their sunset years .

And the recognition that the time now is one of the last best gifts they share with us .

I look at my plants swaying furiously holding on to their tender spines , some of them shoots that are yet to grow and bloom .

I pause as these beautiful creations of nature and pray they hold steady through the downpour , while the roar of the nearby sea adding to the storm all around as the foam of the waves gets obscured in the grey downpour .

The city thrown put of gear as I rewind to the stories I’d heard whenever my parents and grandparents would regale us with the stories of those lives.

And the storm reminded me of how much  in life , we not only hear of the storms our grandparents or parents have weathered but see a quiet strength , an outlook to life and spirit that stayed strong , not unbroken We wonder and marvel at the storms  they weathered , the beauty of their human spirit untouched that is full of joy , gratitude and light . For those of us who have weathered a storm , we wonder if we would get through it - the storms that brought despair , grief , loss .

And when I remember the smile of reminiscence on their faces , I realise that the storms do pass . The sun does emerge , and we do find and reclaim our smiles once more , we see the hidden rainbows and the glimmers of joy .

I look at my plants which have been my companions for years now , as they stood  on the balcony through each monsoon Mumbai rain . They stand full  and graceful and you know they weather the storm just as beautifully .

The rain came quickly , as if to make up for the oppressively humid hot days of the past  few weeks . Out in the distance  she  heard the children running and  laughing in the rain. She sighed , knowing that the dirt mixed with the rain water meant extra surf powder sachets to clean the stains of the children’s clothes .

She rearranged the modest belongings and the small cupboard she got from another . Stowing  away the  precious little from the rainwater flooding that would seep in on the heavy downpour days . She was thankful though ; heavy rains meant lesser time waiting to fill  the water pots each morning . It would save her an hour , a peaceful short  time to maybe sip chai and khari before she  set off for the day .

She sat at the threshold watching the rain and her  gaze turned into a stare . The neighbourhood buildings looked like giants touching the sky , as if looking down on the Chawls below . The redevelopment would happen someday here too  which meant a room with an attached bathroom ;  her daughter and she would no longer have to walk to use the public toilet . Late night natures call meant her son and the neighbourhood children would go together to stay safe .

She recalled with a sigh that the one thing her husband left her with her , apart from raising  her two young ones by herself , was this room . For she knew that tomorrow for her children would be better with a pucca roof over their heads in this city once the work in the slums began .

Gazing at the string of lights hanging from the building balcony close by , she remembered coming to the big city with him. A young bride , with a trunk of saris and bhartan that held her Bidhai possessions and dreams , she was overwhelmed and excited  at what her new life would be . He was loving , he was attentive . To both her and the bottle . In the end the bottle won over her anger , her pleadings and tears .

She smiled to herself , at her own loss of the fresh faced wide eyed innocence when she came 10 years ago . The city taught her . It gave as much as it took  . She felt  stronger , learning from how to use her smartphone . Watching receipes on YouTube , she taught herself to learn to cook and worked in well paying homes . Her employers were generous , liked the food she made . She experienced their generosity too , hand me downs of clothes , books , toys , discarded school bags and lunch boxes . An occasional  cake and savouries from birthday parties would be  instructed ‘ leke jao’. Her children would stand on their feet equipped better than her . She felt proud when the teachers would tell at the parent teacher meetings about their marks and activities   .

The downpour quietened, her reverie broken .  She wiped her face dampened with the droplets of rain that caressed her face . A cleanse of memories by the Mumbai rains ,as if to proclaim that the  city had embraced  her . She could smell the rain for the first time , after a long time.

Part 2 - Random conversations

Picking up from where  I left off , Solo trips reveal a bunch of things including freeing up your attention to a whole e new set of things .

My second favourite thing about solo trips has been the random Conversations that happen with complete strangers . Solo travel accords  the luxury of observing human behaviours which makes for a fascinating subject which otherwise you’re too busy notice as constant rummaging is the primary activity on family trips as you  fish out something that the bag can miraculously hold from a bandaid and some rare obscure thing which you don’t know it’s purpose but it’s there  !

As you revel in the discovery of a cafe for your caffeine or turmeric latte fix , you meet the  pet owner  and his dog . An opening line  that  still has still yet to fail me “ what’s her/ his name ?”  And has  you discussing everything about the mutt and a little bit on oneself .  sally the Yorkshire terrier , teddy the jack  Russel , Bruno the corgi , Bella the border collie , Raja the indie , Zaya the mountain indie and more than i can name have been the starters to many conversations with strangers .

Solo trips force you to confront unfamiliar almost uncomfortable situations ; table for 1 and your companion to go with the glass of wine is a paperback or your hand held . Pubs mostly allow for one to be entertained   as there always something with a sports game on . Yet , you find yourself being sanguine as you overcome your first time around with a pint and to your surprise , conversations do happen .

I’ve experienced those wonderful moments of human camaraderie , understanding and random smiles ,

When a nod of approval came my way from another shopper when i tried on something and had no one  to tell me how it looked ;

When a seatbelt adjustment on the flight translated to a conversation for the duration of the flight ;

When attending a musical by myself saw me standing and dancing  with the person sitting next to me ;

When i sat in silence retreating within  myself in the moment of the Aarthi by the Ganges with  a bunch of people around as we chanted together .

Solo trips are adventures of self discovery , discoveries of shared moments with complete strangers that stay with you long after the experiences remain as memories .They also reveal that you can be your best company ,  sprinkled with the joy of random conversations !

24 hours later after a whirlwind catch up with three friends of mine all tied together with a timeline of knowing each otherfor 30 years has left me revisiting so much. Beyond recalling the time we spent, laughter shared and catching up on all that has gone on with our lives, the realization hit: I had spent time revisiting a version of myself 30 years ago.

Friendship through the decades as time passes gives us glimpses of the metamorphosis we undergo as people; life happens to all of us. With it there are those changes that invariably alter parts of ourselves.

It is no wonder then we hear “Oh Gosh! you’ve haven’t changed a bit “to “What happened to you?” and “Remember the time we did this ... or that” as we recall and relive what we can look back fondly or sheepishly at the fun or the stupidity with which we operated.

Looking back reveals how much we once believed in ourselves. In those earlier years, whether driven by adventure, chutzpah, or youthful courage, we felt ready to take on whatever life placed before us, from a new role at work to life in an unfamiliar city. The future seemed distant enough to give us room to make mistakes, fail badly, and worry less about the choices that would eventually shape our experiences and who we became.

Our experiences, life events, and changing perspectives shape who we are today—some strengthen us, while others diminish us. Not every experience leaves us better than before. We learn, evolve, and shed parts of ourselves that we believe no longer serve us. Yet along the way, we gather not only wisdom, but also discontent, weaker self-belief, and creeping self-doubt.

The emotions that hit me in that moment are mixed, twinges of regret and sadness, an introspection if I would do things differently if I could rewrite some of the choices I made. It is also true that the choices we make also shape us through the implications of the choices in the people we are today. There is also the element of not knowing of how things would have turned out if our choices were different leaving us with “whatif I had done this “and “How would that have turned out “.

Reminiscing is a wonderful walk and makes for such great moments of a past that sometimes we nearly forget. It can also serve as a wake-up call to bring back some part of our past self that somewhere has been lying dormant and reclaimingthat self of ours. Meshing that with who we are now can only bring a newer version of ourselves as we look ahead at what lies ahead for us. Discovering new layers while folding back some parts of who we were is indeed a beautiful journey of self-discovery!

Solo trips were unfamiliar to me, having been the frenetic family vacation planner for year where one had to find something in the trip for each one. The preferences are stark,from cuisine to places of interest and the holiday planner looking more like the weekly planner stuck on the refrigerator door.

Solo Trips were not something that I chose intentionally, like an awkward first date, my first solo trip was awkward,unsettling with the added set of emotions that I couldn’t fully define, a sense of loss and sprinklings of self-pity. I wasn’t a stranger to travelling by myself, work travel made me chalk up frequent flier miles and it was a routine I could do half awake. Travelling on anything that wasn’t about work, a wedding or an event meant there was no agenda. And for the first time, it forced me to spend time with myself and my thoughts.

I had decided that in my wisdom and exercising my newly minted state of liberation of planning a trip with no agenda, I would go for restoration of some inner balance. Where better than Devbhumi and booked myself for 2-night 3 day stay at what I felt would restore the glow on my face with my vata pitha kapha aligned diets and my chakras with the right energy frequency. The super luxurious place intimidated me,the beads of rudrksha around my neck made me feel I hadjoined a cult. I felt the same discomfort that one felt after consuming a spoon of castor oil when I looked around and saw that I was the only one as a solo traveler. Around me were couples seeking new meaning to renew their vows and find their ‘belongingness’ with each other, groups of women indulging themselves with gossip and all-day massages and then a few others who wanted to learn more about past life karma and regression.

I decided I was a misfit and wondered if I would be better off going to a place which offered me familiarity. And that was exactly it! I was out of my comfort zone, in unfamiliar emotional territory, stripped of the bickering and complaints that accompanies holidays and stress with it. Which was the moment of revelation. The morning walk with sun kissed cheeks by myself where no earphones with playlists, instead replacement with the morning birdsong. The unhurried meal totally tailored to what I wanted to eat, the yoga sessions where I learnt to listen to my breath. The massages till I had oil dripping from every pore and the hot water bottle tucked between my sheets all brought guilty pleasure in the sheer indulgence with the attention I was given.

But beyond all of this, my first trip revealed many things, we need to be comfortable and embrace our own company. It’sthe beginning of discovering new things about yourself, your shed certain parts of yourself as you definitely grow with experience and discovery. The discovery of yourself also throws up not so pleasant learnings about oneself. I would discover for myself how the first trip led to the start of an annual ritual, but more on that later!

As I wound up the novel experience which cost me a month’s salary, I however did not find my brave to understand the past life regression. I still had a lot to learn and discover that lay ahead in this lifetime!

I forced my way working her muscles to dip her fingers , long and willowy with tips of red into the molten dark silken liquid . As the dark brown gold slowly began to flow , she placed her finger into her mouth waiting to welcome the assault on her taste buds and her senses . The explosion of the sweet cacao mixed with hints of sea salt bringing the saltiness of the sea , the hints of chilli that pushed the spice onto her tongue revealing the fiery deep ness of my character . It’s here where I metamorphosed and exploded into ecstasy which left the human wanting more .

Pic credit : Liana S

I am anything but singular in the reasons that I evoke and present myself. From the pursuit of material wants  as the route to happiness , from the need for comfort and love  that one human seeks in  another ,in my sublime intrinsic form where people look for inner joy  and peace , I manifest my form and dictate behaviours differently .  A slow dying ember that can be stoked to a fiery flame , burning and destroying things in my hunger . I have evoked madness , heartbreak , wars , extraordinary efforts that have seen me play out as lust , passion , fame , greed , determination , denial ,prayer and penance .

From the sensual to the spiritual  , I take different forms of expression and interpretations  and reside passively in some , more actively in another .  I wonder and watch as the quest continues and the efforts that are made , to reach the point of no return , the point where I am permanently banished from the human mind , where I have been conquered and there is no victory bugle . A quiet departure and vanishing , dissipated into the cosmos leaving behind the state of no want and a pervading peace .

For now , I leave asking you “ for what do  I reside in you today ?”

Pic credit : Jayanti Nayak

We lead frenzied existences  where our day reads like a timetable of sorts . Or to put it in more contemporary lingo , a planner that  makes Chinese checkers look like child’s play . Somewhere with the routine,  unending to dos , scheduling children’s school , post school , building , play activities apart from planning,  car pooling or coordinating work  trips , we brought our lives to fall into time slots or the tiny boxes that control our time . Added for good measure we have alarms and notifications in atleast 2 devices reminding us of the next thing for which we are time slaves of .

The constant plugging into the world around us as we stay hyper connected on devices that will relay everything from the worthwhile to the nonsensical leave one in a constant processing mode . 16 waking hours and we roughly process about 6200 thoughts without taking into   account the sub  conscious processing that happens without is being aware of it .

Weekends and holidays have turned into more planning and catching up on everything that the time slave  existence through the week didn’t allow for . We turn into weekend warriors to pack in everything from workouts we missed , swim lessons , hobbies , social dos , family quality time   and more . And the cycle repeats itself .The holidays offer no succour either as planning goes into overdrive to chalk up Ticking off the things on the bucket list .

The busyness of existence doesn’t leave much room for solitude , and many a times mostly treated as loneliness. Solitude is a retreat into oneself  far from the madding crowd as Thomas Hardy would say ,while in the space of a room in your urban dwelling or in the presence of expansive nature .

Solitude can be inviting and intimidating , it forces one to sit with ourself  , forcing us in confronting our versions of ourselves and truth as we believe it .  It is in the stillness of the moment and space that we can begin the discovery of ourselves . Raise existential questions , our own perception of life , expectations and if we are willing to be brave , where and what we are and what do we aspire ? We question choices we made , we see the not so pretty  parts of ourselves . During the rest of the days of our packed  lives , we push solitude under the carpet , we proclaim it to be a luxury when others even abhor it .

Yet there are those of us , who welcome solitude for the peace it very often brings . A pause , A reboot , A time stripped naked with no one but you and the company of you .The choice lies with is , within us .

I lean into the welcoming emptiness

All around me

Knowing within

That I am with me .

For as long  I have  existed and I can remember , I have evoked emotions that include   anguish , excitement , joy , grief  , anger and I have  wondered if I am responsible  for the same . Yes , it is true that I don’t stay forever ; I am moving constantly ,  a blessing to some or a curse to others  . My stay is sometimes defined by powers higher than me , the cosmos which has its own mysterious powers that I do not fully comprehend .I have been called names ‘ bad timing ‘ ‘ perfect timing ‘, ‘ the worst time ‘, ‘ the best time ‘. I chuckle in amusement for the power that is bestowed on me , as if i am a master of the  destinies  of others .

It is true , I reside in peoples memories, some even place me in a vault as if to recapture me and go back . It is my observation of the human  nature and the fragility of their understanding that neither can one recapture me nor push quickly to where my journey with them ends . I cannot be  controlled nor captured and will slip away quietly for I rarely make a noise of my arrival or departure .

I’ve been a silent witness to everything around me . Like an invisible cloak of the universe  , for the most part of my presence  I have seen wars , famines, fury , destruction , resurrection and more as a bystander  without judgement .

I have  wondered if I could make myself stay still and bring that eternal state of happiness that is deemed elusive which humans seek .

I want to share : make the most of me while I am around . Draw and extract whatever you seek while I am there,  for I am in the constant steady state of moving . Recognise me as a traveller, make me  your ally and  take all that you what while I am still there .   I recall when many have said I am a gift . Precious  even ! I do know this : I never know myself how long I will stay

For once I leave  without a goodbye ,  I don’t look back .

And never  say “  Au revoir“

Photo credit : Jayanti Nayak

As one with no particular talent in exercising my vocals beyond an incessant loud, often jarring chatter and singling in solitude, I am mesmerised by the experience of just tuning in to music.

From music classes in the school where one learnt the early songs of ABBA and Boney M fuelled to the tuning in of the weekly Sunday radio for “ Listener’s choice “ , listening to music was a habit cultivated early.

And as we grew, so did the quality of sound and the sound of music and melody change as we witnessed changes in our own lives. From the 60s and the days of Woodstock and flower power, we saw the lads from Liverpool , Dylan and then the leather clad Morrison of the Doors, the 70s that saw new sounds introduced by Floyd and Zeppelin , we cruised along into the 80s with disco beats, the 90s as Madonna and Jackson painted our walls . The genres expanded with new sounds , melodies and lyrics with Boy bands, girl bands , rap, hip hop, fusion , dubstep , electronic and so much more came our way as we navigated new technologies for the ultimate listening experience.

Each song and each melody bring the strongest association of a time and place in our lives. Madonna became the symbol of my own teenage rebellion, while Floyd exposed me to experiment and question choices we wanted to make , Richard Marx or George Michael for that first flush of infatuation, and heartbreak , Nirvana and Deep purple for our own inner angst and so many more ..

An entire series of valentines gifts came from the making of mixed tapes as gifts before playlists took over. Road trips became memorable with sweet memories of beautiful weather, travel companions and music that felt the words spoke to us.

As I continue to binge listening to music on a lazy Sunday afternoon , it’s time to head to the bathroom where the stage is all mine and the handheld shower head my mic !

#musicmusings

To be honest , the midlife hits women a bit differently . An expanded family member being the new pet makes its way to the heart in the blink of an eye . Looming empty nest syndromes lends to the transference of the maternal instinct and love , making pets today the emotional proxies . There’s a poignancy in the moment , for in the raising of a family and hyper demands of a career , many a number of adults lost the versions of themselves they were . Instead stood someone who needed a rekindling to rediscover the forgotten versions of themselves . Midlife throws up existential questions which are often lost in the years spent in raising a family and the milestones of a declared good life ; financial security , dream house , children raised to be achievers , as most societies continue to carry the tyranny of marks and meritocracy . As children move away , the time spent with them rapidly diminishing and adults begin to find , for the first time in years something that has been a luxury : time .

A recent user on social media spoke of the loss of identity for himself beyond being a provider for the family and a sense of loss of who he really was , a version of himself who he no longer remembered .But alongside we began to witness among afriends , colleagues , the building neighbours and residents , an emerging new social trend : The rediscovery of themselves .

From first time marathoners who through sheer grit put their muscles through agony and a sense of exhilaration reaching the finish line which wasn’t as much about clocking a respectable time as much as a new self belief ;

Rediscovering the artistic side slowly , through every stroke of the brush and word written bringing forth the experiences of what life had already taught them ;

New passions and purposes unlocked from reluctant entrepreneurs , heirloom receipe cooking and more !

A question then ,that often makes the rounds of late is , “ is a life well lived when we fulfil our purpose ? Is life about existence and is that a lesser life lived ?”

Existence and Purpose are the like the stem and petals of a flower ; they grow and unfold at a pace and time that is different for each . A bloom of roses sit at the top

Of thorny stems . A beautiful lotus is afloat when held by the hidden stem . Yet each have their purpose and existence and places neither as one more important than the other . Existence and purpose are like the two sides in the coin of life . They only vary in terms of their nature and requirements they place .. Albeit differently , they need discovery and dedicated efforts and Sometimes at different timelines even to fulfill their growth . There is a symbiotic relationship as one fuels the other , Needing as much of their own self and each other . And just maybe then , there is the elusive and rare element of balance , of alignment . And the quest is for us to find them and embrace them fully .

In doing so , we bring purpose to our existence .

The tigress who early on teaches the cubs to learn to hunt , the elephant Matriarch who shelters the calf under the expanse of her body as the calf learns to walk , the giraffe who prods the newborn roughly to stand up within minutes of birth as it’s a survival skill and the birds who push the chicks out of the nest to fly .

From times immemorial we have cherished the mother through the stories of Yashoda , Kunti , Kaushalya and many who became pivotal in the building of moral character as well as the strength of the mother figure . Celluloid dramas immortalised the mother with lines that became iconic “Mere Paas Maa Hai,” “Ammi jaan kehti thi koi dhanda chota nahi hota,” and “Jab ladki jawan ho jaati hai na... toh maa uski maa nahi rehti, sehali ban jaati hai”. We saw Nirupa Roy , Reema Lagoo , Farida Jalal and the more recent Shefali shah ,where we’ve seen the cliched ever suffering , draped in white sacrificing mother to a modernistic outlook they brought into the character . We watched the mother play out in each if the stories woven and we wiped our tears as she wiped hers from the edge of her torn white sari be it the revenge seeking Rakhee in Karan Arjun or Nargis in Mother India .

And then our very own . Our first teacher teaching us from part instinct , part wisdom handed down and never short of trying which as children we never knew nor saw . Stretching the household budget to make sure we had birthdays with home made tutti fruitti cake and Samosas , a seamstress as she stitched clothes which in our teenage years we turned cruel and refused to wear as they weren’t fashionable enough , helping us cover our books and labels at the end of summer vacations . Her endless lectures on financial independence , letting me fly and her own strength building snd courage for her own self , her strong work ethic have been the treasury of gifts , far far more valuable than the wedding jewellery trousseau she built , parting with some of her own .

I see the mother’s love in the women around me - come rain or shine , they show up at work . The cleaner in the office , the domestic helper at home , the beautician who takes up late night work so that she that the extra job will mean better earnings for the day . The countless stories of strength , sacrifice , love and resilience are impossible to capture .

Forged in steel of inner strength , with love that’s expansive like the universe and the hopes and dreams they carry for their children is a definition that doesn’t do full justice to describing her .

Why do we need just a day to celebrate her ?

Flexing has become the new muscle of one’s existence . It’s ironic , as what started out as a literal ‘ show of muscle ‘ by body builders , the flex now permeates almost every facet of our lives and beyond. And Flex is the thing that is noticed , often celebrated , a sign of the times where “ who you are will be seen “ or “ your work will speak for itself “. Quietness , on the other hand is staying away from chasing the spotlight is often mistaken for a lack of capability in one . Yet we have witnessed the muted celebrations of many , in any facet of their life with a mixture of awe and envy . For shying away from loud declarations reveals much more beyond a fierce protection of identity , achievements and putting it down to keeping it exclusive . It stems from a quiet bravery , strong self belief and a choice exercised over and over again in themselves , in their strengths and what the choice means to them . There is no position to take , we live in a world that is hyper connected , social trends , behaviours that influence the flex .

The only question to ask is when did it turn into a modern phenomenon that leaves many wondering if they’re different because they choose to live outside the flex .

Flex ( noun / verb ) : to show off possessions, or achievements, often to impress or annoy others commonly used on social media to show off lifestyles and more .

Hostel life brought not just the first whiff of partial independence , it brought us co living with someone we were unfamiliar with for the first time . We learnt to co exist and the start of a sisterhood of sorts that would be built steadily through time and hostel times was midnight gossip, lazy oiled haired Sunday mornings and endless laundry .

As we stepped into the beginning of adulting and as carefree college hangover days ended , we found the shared experiences of our first jobs , where independent living wasn’t quite the cocooned existence of hostel life . Life began to happen as personal milestones of marriage and children came along .

We navigated work , juggling parenthood and parents and experiencing joys and losses . We were learning how families and the pursuit of careers took priority over everything else including cherished times with the circle . In the process , we grew . As individuals with newer nuances to our personalities . We witnessed the metamorphosis in each other as the gifts hidden in each began to reveal themselves .

The passage of time does bring its rewards and brought all of us back into the circle once more , no matter how much we were distanced by geography and fuelled by the strongest intent . We rediscovered ourselves with each other and through each other’s eyes .We marvelled how each one had become a tour de force in her own right . We became each other’s cheerleaders as we saw each other in the way we had wanted to be seen for the many times when we were overlooked .

Studies and evidence point to the power of female friendships , the girl gang , the cheer squad , the tribe as the best longevity and happiness hack . The times spent that include spa days , luncheons , and holiday trips go further when there’s someone with you when you’re going for a medical appointment , making sure food finds it way when you’re caregiving for a loved one or showing up at the times when you’re grieving over the loss of a loved one .The encouragement that comes your way freely and generously , when you are seen for so much more than you are when you feel inadequate are the most powerful Affirmations of the power of female friendships . To be seen , understood , supported and cheered through the things one goes together makes it cherished , rare , precious and to be nurtured .

To have that is one of the biggest gifts and blessings in any lifetime !

Summer vacations meant visiting ancestral homes of parents , quaint roads , star gazing while swatting mosquitoes , eating ripe mangoes in our undershirts so as to not let the golden juice spill on our clothes . And then there was this special room called the ‘ store room ‘ in my ammamma’s ( maternal grandmother ) house . Cooler and darker than the others , it held mysterious smells from an ancient time . Years of holding spices , pickles and firewood lent to a unique blend of an aroma that clung to her sari . So much so you wish you could capture it in a bottle and sell nostalgia aptly titled “ nani ki yaadein”.

As children we would witness the ritual that was an assembly line production where the aunts and my mother would follow the instructions of cutting and cleaning the green bounty from the market . The mangoes would be selected and put through an eagle eye inspection by my grandmother , much haggling over the price and the sour test : where an eye would involuntarily close due to the sourness at first bite .

The secret of making a good Andhra avakai was in the spice proportions ; red fiery Guntur chilly powder , earthy mustard that lent its name - avakai from Ava meaning mustard in Telugu and Golden sesame oil added that nutty flavour .

‘ the hand that rocks the cradle ‘ goes the adage , a no hands policy lest the pickle not be spoilt as wooden spatulas were used , before transferred into the trademark Bharnis fashioned with a muslin cloth to cover it airtight and allow for the magic to begin.

A mysterious magical act would follow with brine oozing and the spice mix coating itself lovingly over the mango pieces ; your mouth would start watering despite knowing that a spice explosion was waiting to hit your tongue .

As the jars were opened 3 -4 days later , inspected and once the matriarch said they were ready to be consumed , each one brought forth their jars to fill and pack and take back to far off lands they came from .

It took me years later to understand that the ritual was so much more than eating a favourite accompaniment at mealtime . It brought the family together , sometimes warring and like all families, the undercurrents of disagreement and disappointments remain . Yet for 10 days they were forgotten and the pickle took center stage. The recriminations were pushed aside , forgotten even and the joy of the perfect pickle once again became the hero of the trip .

Decades later my mother carried on the tradition till she grew tired and I took over . The purpose ran deeper - a return to my roots and a trip down the childhood lane of summers . The receipe is modernised - Himalayan salt , organic cold pressed oil and what more . And the belief that love language can be the pickle in the Bharni .

As I start on the ritual and label the bottles that will reach my friends , I can’t help but think and chuckle :

‘who said love is expressed in a heart shared red velvet cake ? It’s the pyaar bhara bharni of red hot spicy pickle .!