Thursday, May 21, 2015

A ‘Dosa’ of gyan

She wiped her brow, looking at the crumpled mess of half-cooked dosa batter, sitting adamantly on the tawa. The greasy spatula in her hands had murdered the could-have-been-golden-brown-crispy dosa. Ten minutes of labour promptly dumped into the dustbin.

She started over again. She dipped her ladle into the thick, white batter, tapped a bit to get rid of the excess and poured it on to the tawa that hissed at the breach. Slowly, just like an artist giving final touches to his masterpiece, she moved her hands in a circle, creating a perfect white disk. But then, that was just the beginning.

Just when the underneath of the dosa began turning golden brown, she slid her spatula strategically, patiently through the edges, retaining the shape, careful not to tear the delicate delicacy. Once the disc was fully peeled off, she flipped it with grace.

It isn’t just a dosa that needs to be crafted with care. Relationships can be a mess too, you know. Understanding the heat of the situation, being careful while initiating discussions, being gentle when issues are sensitive and turning things around -- all of these orchestrated together will give you the pleasure of enjoying a perfect dosa and a perfect relationship, too!

Monday, May 11, 2015

A cakewalk?

She was upset. They'd read her completely wrong. The walls seemed to be closing in. Finally, she couldn't take it any more. She pressed the button with her index finger and the monitor went to sleep.

She stepped out of the glass building, soaking in the breeze that seemed to soothe her broken soul.

The park looked inviting. A slow walk, she thought, would heal her.

So, she took the path curved out for walkers. She gazed at the full moon that illuminated the dark blue sky in a dull, intriguing way. She trudged on, feeling the ground beneath in a leisurely way.

A man in grey swung past her, turning behind, a question stamped all over his face. Soon, a lady clad in a yellow gunjee with her earphones secured in, jogged past, halted, plucked her earphones out, burning her with her gaze, her eyebrows coming close together in irritation.

Soon enough, there were people walking, pushing along, some through her left, some past her right, stopping, gazing. She felt her pace increase, she began walking as fast as she could, comfortably overtaking petite in yellow and uncle in grey, turning back and giving them a cold stare.

She stopped suddenly, wondering what she was doing.

All she needed, wanted was a leisurely stroll. But then, she wasn't even allowed to do that.

No place, where she could be, just herself.

She walked back into the glass case, tapping away like nothing happened.

Monday, May 4, 2015

All the glitters...

"On your mark, get set, go!"

The shrill whistle and the loud instructions meant that it was time for them to race towards the finishing line, blurred because of the distance threatening to consume them. She sprang up to life, dashing for the ultimate line that got to decide who walked away with the cake and who trailed back, head hung in shame.

She gave it her all, people from across the ropes staring at her in awe and wonderment. "She got nice shoes," shouted someone and suddenly, all the attention was now on the pretty little thing she was wearing. Grey and black with streaks of mad fluorescent, her pair of shoes were looking posh.

Suddenly, she began to lose momentum. Her legs refused to cooperate. "Oh, come on," she cussed under her breath, but her legs just couldn't seem to fathom how important that thin line at the other end was. She dragged them, through the pain, others egging her on.

She crossed the finishing line, after two of her competitors were waiting for her. "Such a shame," she could hear someone saying, clucking their tongue, "she had nice shoes to help her, you know."

She walked away, her head hung in shame, sitting down and examining her soles: they were bruised and torn, all the fragments of stone piercing through them, finding their way to nibble into her soft flesh. Her shoes looked pretty to everyone, but what they failed to see were the torn soles.

It's easy to want to be into someone's pretty shoes, but stepping into them could be a rather difficult affair. Looks are deceptive.