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Our Ishithaa

I have always stood in awe of a lady, whom I have always seen riding a ferocious lion, with her thick black hair let open, and her beautiful big eyes burning with the fire to bring back justice by slaying the demons that torment the world. The Indian mythology calls her Maa Durga. For me, she represents that feminine quality that remains submerged beneath all the conditioning that the society has done over generations on the so called weaker gender; that quality which stays hidden until there is the slightest threat to people or things she cares about. Ishithaa means mastery, superiority in Sanskrit and is one of Her many names. This little place of mine, I dedicate to Her, under whom I aspire to grow yet remain an innocently playful child forever. Here is Wishing Her all the best as se starts on a new chapter of Life‌‌

He by Bhavya He is the first person I look at when I wake up. He is the first one I talk to everyday. He is the first one I hug and cuddle in the morning. The guy is quiet, observant yet absent minded, taller than me and pampers me a lot. At social functions and family get-togethers, the people we meet are always amazed by the queer combination we make. He is tall, lanky and quiet. I am round (to put it subtly), talkative and hyper active. He is the studious nerdy types, while I’m the one you will see listening to loud music and jumping up and around with the kids from the neighbourhood. The guy is as quiet as a sloth, always glued onto the book he is reading or the game he is playing. But, the moment I am in the room and pose a question he is all ears, he runs around until the errand I assigned is tackled properly, and then assumes his sloth like behavior again. Even our parents pull out their hair when they have to get an answer out of him, but I suspect they are just jealous of us. He is not very expressive – neither with his words, nor in his actions. He has his own way of petting me, hugging and giving a peck on the cheek while I’m all about to step out of the house. My day just is not perfect if I miss my daily dose of love from my darling brother. These small gestures fill me up with life, love and positivism. You cannot but agree with Winnie the Pooh that, “Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”

Dear Bhavya, As you step into a new life, a new world This wish comes your way‌. The Brother you played with all your life, Will always be there by your side The father you adored day in day out, Will always be there with open arms The mother who cuddled you when you were sick, Will always be there all ears to hear you speak But All your life you now have to share Your joys, your sorrows, your love, your care With one more person who joins you this day A hand you can trust, a soul you can pair. Wishing you both the very best Go my dear without any fear. ~~ Geeta Aunty

Nandyarvattom ~ Crepe Jasmine by Bhavya Everyone who knows me know how attached I am to my brother. He fills up my world, and I think I do occupy a significant corner in his heart. Before you think this post is about my brother, let me tell you that it is not. A post, a page or a book would not possible hold all that I have to tell about him. The other day, our family was visiting a distant relative, when we spotted this shrub growing in the garden behind their house. My brother, K, pulled me along as he wanted to see this particular plant. Now I was wondering what was so special about this plant, sure it had pure pretty white flowers on it, but this was not the first time we were seeing this particular flower. The purohit from the Krishna temple I frequent, almost always includes this flower among the Prasad he gives us. Mumbling that he doesn’t let me sit down and have a moment’s peace, I played tag and went along with him. This flower (called Nandyarvattom in Malayalam, and nandeevriksha, kshirika, ksheeri, vishnupriya in Sanskrit) is a pretty white pin-wheel shaped flower with a mild fragrance that resembles a jasmine. It is known to have many medicinal properties and is used in ayurveda to treat illnesses of the eyes. I am posting this picture that we took of this flower so you know what I am talking about. If you will notice, one edge of the petal is smooth and rounded, whereas the other is corrugated. This, is what K wanted to show me. Though I am familiar with this flower and its plant, I had never noticed this specialty. There are certain times, when the details just overwhelm you, you look at something and think, how wonderful an artist He must be who shaped this flower. To have imagined the different colours, the animals, birds, plants and trees, to have given them such wonderful shapes and structures, God must really be an artist who gives attention to the details. Do we, in spite of the limited things we need to attend to, give things the attention they require? Couldn’t help but, wonder.

Sweetie Pie, I chose this post cause for me the flower and the post defines you. A flower we may not give a second glace, but once you take the effort to know it better – you will be surprised! That in effect describes you sweetheart….. I cant wait to see you spread your wings and bloom into the creative beautiful person hidden under the guise of that “naadan” girl .. … May your dream of being a entrepreneur, a writer come too a day soon! Loads of Good times, good food, laughter, travel, good luck along with SR is what I wish for you! Here is wishing that you have a delightful journey with SR ~~Meena Menon

Tingling Memories, Wafting Fragrances As twilight approaches, signaling a new dawn a couple of hours away, a new day filled with new dreams, new life and new hopes, new things to be achieved and newer relationships to be nurtured, I can’t help but feel an ache in my heart. Some of you know that my big day is approaching, when I would embark on my journey with my soul-mate. I know it is a dream come true for every girl, every parent and her friends to see her living a new life, one of joy and comfort, love and contentment, but how can you overlook the fact that this also means that you have to let go of all the wonderful things associated with your own home, the one where you grew up and spent your childhood, the one where you fell down and broke your limb, the one where your mother lovingly nurtured you back to health ignoring her own health, the one where your daddy always brought home an ice-cream on your smallest achievement, the one where you fought over the tiny bit of sweet with your brother. The wafting fragrance of the incense stick announced it was sandhya. My brother had lit the lamp and was praying, doubtless, that the girl in class whom he has a crush on would smile at him the next day. Does he know that his sister is praying that he doesn’t miss her much when she no longer lives in the same house? Would the smell of the new home and the agarbathi there be the same? Dinner would be served promptly by 9 and its just 8.45 now. The yummy smell of the tomatoes and the coriander leaves frolicking in the sambar filled up my home. Freshly roasted papads, still glistening due to the oil they were fried in, would be gone even before dinner time as daddy and bro had the habit of munching on them while they were still hot. Mother’s admonitions were futile, for such was the inviting fragrance emanating from food cooked by her that we could never resist nor did we ever try to hold back. For our mother, it is a ritual to plant kisses smelling of her minty toothpaste on our cheeks while we are still sleeping. Though she is careful not to rouse her sleeping children, the mint flavor does it for us and we roll over and try to catch hold of the end of the blanket to cover ourselves and delve back into dreamland. Sweet are the mornings when daddy would wake me up before sunrise, the hot steaming tea made by him all ready. Accompanied by the strong heady smell of the tea, we sit in the hall, I chattering away while he is busy listening to me and reading his newspaper, making sure that he doesn’t miss out a single word that is printed and ensuring that not a syllable from his daughter goes unheard. Holding onto these traces of memories and nostalgic moments is all I feel I can do right now. Maybe tomorrow’s fragrances would be richer, but that does not mean I can or I will let go of these olfactory pleasures I have indulged in throughout my life.

Soul Sista‌.. Atlast! The wait is over and you're gonna join your Mr. Love without much delay. As in your fragrance post, the aromas of our life define us. And as you open a new chapter in your life, you'll be discovering many new fragrances also... may all of them be just flowery and sweet like you. Wishing you very Beautiful Married life, Sweetheart. As your love found you, may all your dreams too come to you. Keep blooming more n more in love. And may God Bless you n SR with all the happiness in this world. Loads of love Sheethal

Why I Write? ~~ Bhavya School was bad those days since it was a new one and I was yet to make any friends. I was still sulking because I did not want a change from my old school where I was quite comfortable, but parents’ transfer required that we move to a new city, hence a new school for me. Rebellious as I was, I stopped taking notes in class, never wrote my homework nor submitted my assignments. I was gaining notoriety day by day as the new student who would just not listen. Sitting by my table one night, trying to read Enid Blyton because I had to write a review for the library hour the following Saturday, I was caught up in the world the words were creating around me. Soon, I developed a fondness for the mystical world of fiction and was lost in it. Mother would have trouble dragging me out of my room, Father threatened to throw out the books I read if I wouldn’t listen or respond to him. In the books I read, I found friends- the kind I might never have in my life – from princes to rogues to feminists to animals! I loved and longed for their company in real life too. The characters from the books were sadly confined to the pages of the books alone. It was then that I discovered I could cook up stories, all thanks to my kid brother who would want me to come up with different stories every night – he just wouldn’t sleep until he heard a story. He was very particular in that way, he never wanted stories to be read to him and he would throw a fit if someone repeated any story. I would get exhausted at the end of story sessions with him, but still loved it. The days were moving ahead and I was finding it increasingly difficult to come up with stories. It was he who finally came up with a solution – he would pick the characters for the stories. He, being an ardent lover of nature and animals, would come up with weird combinations of which I would have to make stories and narrate, oh and he was very particular about the endings, he always told me in advance that the endings should be happy… no sad stories for him. Ha! Easier said than done. Once, I still remember, he picked a cat and a tuft of grass!! What story would I weave for that little child from a grass that talks to a cat! But I did, and that’s when I felt proud of myself, that I could cook up stories too. That’s the way it all started. I have come to realize that writing touches people in a way nothing else does. I still write, and my brother is the reason why I write.

As a person whom I came to know via her blog and writings, my favorite post of yours is obviously on why you write. Apart from what one reads on your posts, this one gives us insights as to what makes you tick, what inspires you and motivates you to write. As you walk towards an event in your life that will be of great influence to the things to come ahead, I give you my sincerest compliments and wishes. May you be inspired in a different manner by all that is to come, and may you cherish every bit of it. It has been a really wonderful time knowing you as you are now, and may the time ahead be like a different flavor of chocolate. Something different , yet enjoyable. ď ŠCheers, Bawa

It’s Him The day dawned when Piya’s parents hoped they would get a chance to stop complaining about her not having found a good guy for herself. Today, he was coming to see her and more than Piya, they were apprehensive of the whole affair. She seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood, humming to herself and roaming around the house throwing caution to the winds. The Piya her parents knew was not like this. She was not very keen on meeting random guys and being interviewed by them. She was headstrong, picky and very fussy. There were times when the most popular matrimonial sites came up with profiles who could sweep her off her feet, but the whole exercise was as futile Whenever reminded of the fact that she was not getting younger by the day, she would make some excuse and a hasty retreat from the scene and come over to my home. We would then spend hours chatting about the kind of a person she was looking for, the kind of a relationship she wanted to share with her man. Though very much a girl of the modern age, she never tried to make her parents understand what she sought, instead placed her faith in her Lord. She ‘felt’ that the one made for her would come to her eventually. My words trying to get her to look around for someone she liked always fell on deaf ears and she would haughtily retort, “He is not here. Yet”. Yesterday when I met her on the usual walk home from the bus-stop, she told me someone was coming to see her. There was a strange emotion on her face, I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes. Was it hope? Submission? Excitement? Fear? I couldn’t tell back then. Trying to learn a bit more about this mystery man coming to see her, I asked, “What does he do? What does he look like? Have you seen his picture at least?” Dismissing my seemingly endless number of queries, she told me, “I don’t need to.. I know it’s him”. There was something about the way she said those two words that I refrained from questioning her further. Even on the day he was coming to her house, she seemed unaffected. I expected her to be anxious, impatient and awaiting one sight of her prince charming, but shattering all my expectations, there she stood by her window that opened out to the playground behind the colony, looking exactly the opposite of what I expected her to look like. Clad in a simple salwar kameez, with the white watch on one wrist and her favourite silver bangles on the other, she look almost like someone who would go unnoticed in a crowd. “Piya, at least today you should have dressed up a bit!” Her mother complained for the umpteenth time.Piya threw one glance at her mother and looked back at me and said, “Aunty, please tell her it doesn’t matter. It’s him and I can feel it!!” Today, she is happily married to him and they are leading a very happy family life, contented with each other like two pieces of a puzzle who came together to complete each other.

My dear Bhavs, It's a precious feeling... to share a life with another in the most intimate of ways, enjoy the experience ... All the best Luv, Aswathi

Food For The Soul by Bhavya

Those kind words of yours soothe my anxious mind, make me smile and give me new hopes, dreams and prayers. The magical sentences take me back in time, beneath the tree in college where we spent hours sharing dreams and hopes, philosophies and tragedies. It feels so good, my soul is satiated when I realize, all over again that someone out there cares so much that even when a mere phone call would suffice, he is willing to sit and write pages after pages because he knows I will smile as I open it. What better food for the soul!

I found you. In times of struggle, When love seemed to bother I lost you. When life looked dismal And future distant I lost you. In misunderstandings And rumours I lost you. And yet tonight After circles seven. I found you. For the love you both share and cherish, now and forever. Luv, Richa‌.

Loving a Prankster by Bhavya

Thud!! Noisily, she fell down again. In the darkness, he smiled. “Next time you try that, I will sleep on the other bed. You sleep here all alone hugging that cold pillow.� Oh he was a prankster, who did this all the time, but she loved her little brother too much and indulged him always.


Month-long weeks and week-long days are gonefor, the wait is over and the hour is near to pen a new chapter, now that your co-author is here. Let the dreams of yesterday drive your life forward. Let the story of your life turn out to be a blockbuster. Here's wishing you a Happy Married Life.

~~Vaisakh Venugopal

Paru’s Umwelt by Bhavya The day had begun like always. There was nothing different in the sunrise today and the sunrise yesterday – Paru slept late as usual and missed seeing the sunrise yet again. The breakfast was those white fluffy things again, mom was telling paa that it was quite easy to make. But Paru hated them so much! In fact she was about to throw up as soon as she put one piece in her mouth and when she tried to put her finger into the mouth to pull out that white sponge that was stuck to her throat, paa called her disgusting. He shouted out to mumma that he couldn’t tolerate Paru any longer. What if that kid with the runny nose heard paa? He would come and ask my paa to be his paa, because his paa was now a star in the sky. Would that noisy Pinky hear her paa shout and make fun of him? Paa made a huge noise when he shut the door, calling out to mumma. But mumma was sitting on the floor in the kitchen holding her head in her hands and poking her eyes with the funny shaped cloth she wore when working in the kitchen. Paru doesn’t like the kitchen much. Paru had gone there looking for her doll once and the aunty who came to sweep the house put something in her hand and told her she would do it again if she came into the kitchen. Paru doesn’t like to go there anymore. Today she must go. Her mumma is sniffing into her clothes, looking like a wet dog. Why does she always look at Paru like that. Paru feels bad for herself when mumma does that. Paru knows she is not like her brother, but her brother went to school every day while Paru stayed at home with mumma. Paru tried her best to be a good girl and to sit in the same place from morning to evening, till mumma was free. The humming inside her head did not let her be a good girl for long. If she tried to close her ears tightly so it would stop, the humming would return as soon as she opened her ears again. Paru stopped going to school a few days after the humming started, but she still can write her own name and also her brother’s. The humming likes Paru’s brother. It listens when he talks. It doesn’t listen even when Paru is speaking. But he doesn’t like Paru much, he calls her nutcase. Is that even a word.. hah! No use sending him to school. The humming has started and Paru cannot take it any longer. She knows that if she jumps from the top of her building, it will stop. The humming itself had told her so. She must go and jump soon, she must make the humming stop. [Every day, people with mental disorders go through hell – not because of the disease itself, but because of the lack of understanding of the other ‘normal’ people around them.

Negligence and apathy causes their death. Their lives too are important. Because you do not understand them, you call them crazy. One day, when they will be more in number, they will call you psycho.]

Dear Bhavya, I wish you every joy in the world, peace and love. May your wedding day be wonderful and a day to cherish. Congratulations. Love Suzy.

Because You Live Only Once by Bhavya When your heart wants to roam, Unfasten the leash, When you want to fly, Open your wings When you feel like laughing, Laugh freely like a child When you want to cry, Cry your heart out Because You Live Only Once More than being a post, this is more of a note to myself – the things I would want to do in life… no, this is not my bucket list, though I do like that movie. This is not a complete list, I will add to it as and when I find something worthy of being included in my dream list • Bungee Jump • Go off on a world tour • Climb Mt. Everest • Build my own Home • Get a Tattoo • Find my Purpose • Run my own Educational Institution • Be known for my writing • Go Scuba Diving • Find and Keep Love

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