Tuesday, September 29, 2015

The Smell of Home

Image Source

The smell of hot coconut oil wafts into the room and wakes up Mittu from her nap. She smiles to herself, stirring half asleep. Her Amma would be getting ready to make her favorite snack, pazham pori. Even in this blissful state between dreams and reality, she could see her Amma slicing up the bananas, thin and smooth, as the knife slides into the flesh of the bananas, so as to make them extra crispy, just the way she likes it. She would add in a pinch of tumeric to the batter next, giving the pazham pori a nice golden color, making it all the more appetizing.

Mittu hears the bananas dipped in batter being dropped gently into the hot oil, the sizzling sound confirming her suspicions about her favorite snack. Reluctantly, she wakes up. The smell is too tempting, though her sleep feels disturbed. She walks into the kitchen and sits on the kitchen counter, closing her eyes, relishing the delicious aroma that has filled the entire house. Her mother looks at Mittu and smiles, she knows that this is a sure way of waking up her daughter. 

They don't talk; words are unnecessary between them right now. The freshly cut and washed banana leaves sit on the counter, waiting for the fritters to be placed on them. This was how her mother always served up the famous pazham pori. She was a stickler for doing things the traditional way, unlike Mittu, who made do with instant things in an instant world.

As soon as the first batch is fried, Mittu grabs one and takes a bite, burning her tongue slightly on the steaming hot fritter. The flavors explode in her mouth, making her eyes water. After the first one, she waits for the rest to cool down, her craving satisfied for the time being. No matter how hard she had tried to master the recipe, hers always turned out soggy, the batter and the bananas separated, turning it into a pathetic mess. She had abandoned the attempt the first few tries. 

Outside, the rumble of a thunder breaks her from her reverie. She goes outside and sits on the verandah, waiting for her mother to join her. Tomorrow she would have to go back to work, away from home, from her Amma. But for today, she wanted it to be just like the old times, just the two of them. Her mother comes from the kitchen and joins her with the rest of the pazham pori and two cups of piping hot tea. There is a gentle breeze that rustles up the dry leaves on the ground, sending them quivering and dancing, never failing to amuse her, like they have a secret life all of their own. 

As the rain begins to fall, Mittu looks up at her mother. She sips her tea, her eyes distant, looking at the grey horizon, but not really seeing. What is she thinking about? Is it about Achan? Of why he had decided to vanish from their lives one fine day, without any reason? Or was it about the loneliness that would shroud her till her next visit home? What were her secrets, ones that she seldom spoke about? No matter how hard she tried, her mother refused to leave home and come stay with her in the city where she worked. For her, this was home, this was where she had turned into a wife, a mother. The walls plastered with pictures from the various stages of Mittu's life, right from childhood to her adolescence. Yes, this will always be home for the both of them. 

Mittu scoots on the floor next to her mother and lays her head on her lap, watching the rain begin to fall outside. Tiny droplets of rain water falling on the verandah, on her face; drenching them both slightly as Amma's slender fingers runs it through her hair, massaging her scalp gently. Lying on her lap, Mittu smiles to herself and watches the rain while it beings to pour down as the smell of wet earth rises up and lingers in the air around them, mixing with the fragrance of the pazham pori and tea. For her, no matter where she is or how many years shall pass, this shall always be the smell of childhood, of Amma, of longings, of where she belongs; of home. 

Monday, September 28, 2015

An Update on Me and the Blog

Image Source: Tumblr

So I have not been posting much here and has been MIA for quite some time now. Definitely not a fact that I'm proud of. I have been away on vacation for a week and rest of the time I was procrastinating, stuck by the dreaded block, call it what you will. I was unable to write and I thought the muse had left me for good. And just when I almost gave up, I got it back. Or at least I'm pursuing it. Writing has been a part of me for so long that it's really difficult to find myself when I don't write. 

I'll definitely write more and try to post more as well. I owe to my blog, the one constant that has been in my life throughout it all, good and bad. And thank you, my readers, for coming back to read me, even when I was behaving in a not so civilized manner. I know I haven't been blog hopping as frequently as I may have liked. For now, all I can say is that I will be back to read some of my favorite writers. There seems to be a lot of catching up to do on more than a few blogs. So thank you for being patient with me :) I also miss writing fiction, there are a few story lines running around creating havoc in my mind. The only way I can lay them to rest would be if I pen them down. So yes, expect to see more stories floating around here! 

On a happy note, my blog had been selected in the top five personal blogs in India by Blogadda for #WIN15. I may not have won, but the fact that it came in the top five itself is a huge achievement for me. Me, who started writing without any idea of what I was getting into or the impact that it would have on my life. But once I stepped into this world of words, there has been no looking back. I'm so glad that I wrote, irrespective of the fact whether I was read or not. 

There have been people who loved what I wrote and few who thought that I was wrong to write what I did. I'm glad I have both for it leaves enough room for improvement for me. This is not a place where I intend to offend anyone, but if you feel offended by me or my writing, feel free to leave. I certainly don't wish to be shackled by chains and writing should be liberating, if it's not then I don't see any point to it. I was however, lucky enough to have readers like you who has been with me through thick and thin. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! Love you all. It has been a wonderful journey so far and I'm looking forward to the rest :)

Misty Days

Image Source: Tess Kincaid

The drizzling rain outside 
Our breath that fogs the windows 
Inside this tiny cafe, you and me
Smell of coffee in the air around us

Sprinkled with the spicy smell of cinnamon
And the unique fragrance of you... 
Like a freshly plucked flower 
Your palms gentle in mine 

Time ticks away, the wind takes it afar
Like the rain that blows outside 
Your deep, dark eyes with just a hint of gold
Like those lost sunsets of my childhood

The smile that touches the corner of your eyes
The only one thing that gives me warmth 
On cold mornings when I wake up 
Like the steaming cuppa that I drink daily

A million things to tell you 
But in your gaze, I'm lost
In their depths I swim to find myself 
In them I rise again, only for you...

Linking this post to Magpie Tales - Mag 286

Saturday, September 26, 2015


From greens to yellows and reds
The leaves change color 
Summer to autumn to winter 
Falling down, one by own 

Change in seasons
Change in moods 
Changes in you and me 
Changes in the world all around

A leaf swaying gently in the wind 
A journey completed 
Sights like these makes my heart weep
For things that once were

The tree would stand bare at last 
The dry leaves a melancholic carpet 
On the ground... 
Watching it, I drift further and further away from myself 

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Mountain Roads and You

Image Source: Magpie Tales

Riding along the mountain roads
Clinging on to you 
Fresh air greeting us as we climb higher
Getting crispier as we go 

Twists and turns along the way 
Some shallow, some steep
My fears disappear with you by my side
The wind messes up our hair 

Neither of us could care any less
We are together and that's all that matters
The hum of the bike, the cool atmosphere
Breaks my face into a wide smile

I can smell your hair from behind
There's the scent of wet earth and sweat
That's only belonged to you 
There's a cottage waiting for us 

Right at the hill top; a tiny alcove
A fire shall crackle tonight 
Warming our frozen bodies 
As we consume our love 

Twilight has bathed us both in a golden sheen
The colors have merged into a bright neon sky
Here time seems to have stopped
As we make our way towards home...

Linking this post to Magpie Tales - Mag 284

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...