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Blowing soap bubbles. Riding a bicycle. Taking a dip in the river at my grandparent's place. Eating mangoes. Lots of them. Making dresses for my dolls. Watching cartoons and then enacting them. Spending afternoon reading storybooks. Believing in tooth fairies. Eating jamuns and competing whose tongue is the purplest. Watching the clouds take different shapes and naming them
accordingly. Waiting for my mother
to come home from work and
then surprising her with little
handmade gifts. Going for
long walks. All those things
which became a memory. All those things which faded away before I could realise.

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In the world of
tainted puddles,
he was the sea
who received anything:
misery and unfortunes,
but still, remained a sea.

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11/5/2024

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My mother hums
A song while cooking
kheer
And I hold her hand
And spun her around
Just to let her go
In her childhood dreams
When she was a little girl
Who held her
Mother's hand
And twirled her around
While she was cooking
kheer.

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(In caption)

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●Little things that aren't little●


Grandma's wrinkled hand. A rainbow. A warm hug. Someone telling you that everything will be fine soon. A good cup of coffee. Smile of a stranger. A hug from a lover. Star gazing. Finding annotations in the pre-loved book. Watching the sunset together. Saving the last piece of cake for someone. Sharing comfortable silence. A pillow fight.

Smelling a kitten. Noticing that the salt in food is less but still eating it. Tucking someone into a bed. Bedtime stories. The smell of earth after the first summer rain. Everything that makes your heart beat. Everything that makes you say, yes, I want to live.

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The jasmine tree

(A short story)

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The words that
haven't been said yet.
You can never tell
Whether they should
Be said or better left unsaid.

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