Railway Lines Here, There and Everywhere
Lines that never meet yet
Connect
People, places, things
Intersecting, punctuating
A journey's premise
Promise
Of something that will shift
A rift
Between what you were and
What you become
Like lines that never meet yet
Connect
June 8 2025
Diwali is one of those festivals which brings back tons of happy memories. Childhood Diwalis in Kolkata began with preparations a day or two before. Making yummy bakshanams (snacks) helping mother out particularly with sieving the flour for whatever sweets or savouries, cutting the designs of the matris / namakpare, tasting (a big and essential part of Diwali as it was one festival where you didn't have to wait for any puja to start munching, and of course running around to the neighbours to check what was on their menu list and comparing it with ours, then running around again on Diwali morning to distribute the goodies. Diwali mornings started with the eldest in the house - dad, grandmothers, mother applying oil on the head. Nallamma's was gentle, Appa's steady and firm, Amma and sometimes Pati's was full of brutal love 😃; the bath and eating the Diwali essential - the marundhu. The firecrackers (I sheepishly admit) was a big draw. The neighborhood dadas in Kolkata would go a few days prior to buy the fireworks from Luni and then would put us to work to sun them for better performance. In Coimbatore, all cousins sheparded by Annaji and later my eldest cousin would go to Townhall exhibition to buy fireworks. And then Diwali morning started early. In competitive spirit. Who wakes up when, bursts how many crackers, wakes up how many people. Much later, Dilwalis started becoming our own - with lots of lights, friends, food and of course Diwali snacks (one sweet, one savoury) and the Diwali essential - the marundhu. After finishing unbelievably long days of work, coming back home to start preps (invariably going on until midnight). 'Early-morning-bath' was replaced by 'whenever we wake up bath' calls to family and friends. Now while spending hours in front of stove / airfryer (sorry, pati!) slaving away over bakshanams, all these memories brim over. So much love, warmth, friendships, feels like a tight hug for the aching heart. Growing older comes with this bittersweet emotion I guess - deciding what we hold on to or what we let go. This year, as I will not be calling so many people (especially pati), I'll hold tight to those memories and hug those around tighter.
October 20 2025
The dining table holds pride of place in memories of places I close hold to heart. A place of conversations, a place where stories are traded and a place where newer memories are made. The intricate web woven by the warm tales spun by people held together by the silken bonds of deepest thoughts shared. At my grandmother's house, when we visited every summer, relatives would gather for evening tea and snacks. While most would make space around the large table, drawing up chairs from around the house, a few of us cousins would be perched on the staircase, hanging on to the gossips. As streams of bajjis would keep coming in from the kitchen, animated, loud, boisterous family members would keep up the music playing off the sound of potatoes and brinjals dunked in besan touching the hot oil. The smell of hot sesame oil in which bajjis have been fried are one of the pervading memories of my maternal grandmother's house. It wasn't always only fun. Intense arguments, emotional fights, grief and longing, all came together around the dining table. No matter how big the house, how big the drawing room and how comfortable the cushioned couches in the living room, we all eventually came back to the life centre of that house. That big oval dining table with chairs tottering under the burden of the stories they held. After sitting around the dining table at my parents' home in Coimbatore, either the four of us, or the six of us, or the many more who join us every now and then, the conspiratorial glare of the morning sun bouncing off the glass top seems to call out longingly to share one more story, one more memory, one more anecdote. Friends, family, friends of family and families of friends have all seated around this table, bound together by the invisible arms of its embrace. Even today, no matter where I go, I seek the comfort of that dining space which is the fireside of the homes I have been brought up in. Some my own, some that have become my own.
Counting bars
Counting stars
Fleeting rays
Empty space
Ceiling dance
Stealing chance
Freedom lost
Freedom gained
July 7 2026
