Someday, today will be nostalgia

The scriptures say we are currently in the stage of Kalyuga (the age of downfall). Some of us were told we belong to Gen X or Gen Y. But we all currently belong to Generation L.  Generation Loneliness.  What each generation stands for can only be judged by history. Scientists have recently discovered water on Mars.Though I seriously doubt the existence of Martians or aliens or any form of extra terrestrial life, it may help to take a leap of faith for the sake of argument. If any form of extra terrestrial life took a good look at us, they would probably find a demographic that is seemingly busy but uninterested with what is happening around them. One fictional entity will think of us as zombies, another fictional entity.  About a year back, I used to go to the bank to get my passbook updated, draw money from my savings account and put it into my PPF account. The person at the counter remembered everyone who was a customer of the bank and made polite ...

Note: Glossary of terms you may not understand: Alai Payuthey (Waves are flowing) - a romantic drama by Mani Ratnam  Vinnathandi Varuvaaya (Will you cross the skies for me) - a romantic drama by Gautam Menon  Minnale (Lightning) - a romantic drama by Gautam Menon  A little over 3 months back, I grudgingly surrendered the boon of bachlerhood. Nearly 30 years of attempting to play hide and seek with the institution of marriage ended up in me being finally caught like a deer in the headlights. The game was up. There was no where left to hide. After you sign on the dotted line, life gets divided into phases:  a) Pre-marriage - The  Vinnaithandi Varuvaaya  stage when you are waiting for your beloved. b) Marriage day - The  Alai Payuthey  stage when there are smiles all around. c) Post-marriage - The  Minnale  stage when reality sets in. Each phase comes with its corresponding questions and pronouncements. a) Pre-marriage - How ...

Picture drawn by Vidya Iyer Winter is watching your parents grow old Dry leaves fall in clusters and make a haunting whispery sound every time the cold wind blows. In time, memory fails, limbs linger longer than they should on the ground before they feel blood coursing through them again. Like the clusters of leaves that fall and fade away, memories fade too, never to return. Cracks appear on the veneer of the mind, the cobwebs of the past weaving into their grasp the uncertainties of the future. Time is raspy, its passing met with fear disguised as cynicism. You can buy anything you want, anything except time. The clock is a conscience keeper, one that you cannot fool or bribe.  Winter is comfort Warmth is measured through touch, not a like button. Friendships get muddled in a haze of likes, comments and tweets. But real friends are those who show up. For a wedding, funeral or just to say hello. As the years pass, memories will come to your rescue. Ecstasy, tragedy, re...

A home is just bricks and mortar, nothing more, nothing less. Bit by bit it gains a soul, indecipherable to the 5 senses. When I was a kid, the homes we stayed in weren't too big. But they always seemed enough. Summers meant a 3 hour train ride to Mysore with a helping of maddur vada on the way. From then on, maddur vadas transport me to a time when life was shorn of its complexities. And no other place makes them like how they do in maddur - oily, soggy and with a rider for a cholesterol check. The home in Mysore has since been sold but the memories are still vivid. The maroon tiles, granddad in the portico, a dog that went by the name Julie and the scent of Mysore rasam that emerged from the kitchen. They're all gone now, the home, the dog, my grandparents. The only link between me and those halcyon years is the maddur vada. And every time I greedily sink my teeth into one, for those few moments, it is home. In the course of a life, we switch homes. Moving h...

I read a quote sometime back that went something like this - "Jealously is how much fun you think they had." At some point in the evolution of social media, quality of life began to be measured by a person's social media feed. And you think that person must be having the time of their life. No dull moment. No faux pas. Every moment so tailor-made to create a thing of beauty. You will be misled into thinking that people were waking up daily to a view so beautiful that it seemed right out of a tourism guide and that every meal was a Michelin rated gourmet style offering. If life were like an instagram feed, the day would begin on a cottage in the hills, a selfie with the morning mist in the background. Breakfast wouldn't be poha, idli, sambhar or anything that bears resemblance to the ordinary or everyday. It will be crepes with chocolate sauce, some orange juice, french toast with a side of bacon and waffles with maple syrup. You could use the filter 'Rise...

Note: This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. If you are still hell bent on taking offence, no one can help you. Happy reading. Cast of characters 1. Seshadri Iyengar - an ageing Iyengar with a penchant for cooking. 2. Vasu - Seshadri Iyengar's good for nothing son. 3. Mohini - Seshadri Iyengar's wife  3. Mani Iyer - Seshadri Iyengar's once-upon-time bosom buddy.  4. Kalyani - Mani Iyer's pretty daughter.  5. Leelavathi - Mani Iyer's wife 6. Muttal - the local astrologer  Old age and infirmity hadn't yet robbed Seshadri Iyengar of his independence, but his idiotic son Vasu Iyengar had robbed him of his peace of mind. Always claiming to be between jobs, Vasu was besotted by his neighbour's daughter, Kalyani. She was pretty, diminutive, and sang the raga  Sindhu Bhairavi  without missing a note. Named after her father's favourite raga, Kalyani, her idea of rebellion was to choose a...

How would you know that summer had begun? One day you would come home from school and find mangoes on the table. Winter is the season of entropy. Trees greet you with their barrenness and the cold lulls you into a deep sleep, wherein you dream of running toward the everlasting embrace of summer. And the accompanying mangoes.Winter thaws into spring. The eyes slowly accustom themselves to the myriad colours that are sprung upon you. The chirpiness seeps from the air into your very soul. The birds sing songs that resonate with the lightness of being. Before you can grasp it, hold it, feel it and touch it with all your senses, spring slips out of your hands. It's almost closing time at school. The summer holidays are within reach. But the final exams stand between you and the promised land. And mangoes. In those few days you try to find god. In classrooms, heavy with the air of uncertainty, the whir of the fans and the flipping of papers are the only respite from th...