New Beginnings



Here’s to new beginnings, new hope and new pathways to forge. Happy 2017!


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Dearest Mommy

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Love letter to my beautiful mother who is my strength and my everything, which I wrote a few weeks before I moved to Canada. Dearest Mommy,                   For three decades, I’ve clung onto you – right from when you carried me in your womb two weeks past my due date, to routinely getting up with me at four in the morning when I revised for all my exams. Despite holding me so close to your heart, you are bravely letting me go far to pursue my dreams, and unlike all parents, you’ve always wanted what I’ve wanted. Now when I am standing on the threshold of moving miles away from you…there are interspersed moments of panic when I think of not waking next to you or not being enveloped in your reassuring warm hugs. But even in these agonizing instances of worry, your firm and determined eyes comfort me. No matter the distance I seek, I know I ca...
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Resolve and Reason

As I mark 6 months of moving away from the only place I’ve called home to a new home thousands of miles away, I choose to pause and let some of it out, lest I burst from within. One constant question from everyone new I’ve met in the last few months is “Do you miss your family?” and this here is the answer. I miss my mother’s bear hugs, my father’s forehead kisses and my sister’s constant care. I miss my handful of friends whom I’ve known since kindergarden days. Friends who can sense that I’m troubled just from my voice on the phone and friends who choose to forgive me every time I don’t answer their call. I miss my extended family of friends and well-wishers who are constantly concerned about my wellbeing. I miss my books that have moulded and guided and brought me up alongside my parents and sister. I miss dancing at Devaniya. I miss my guru. I miss Natesan Colony. I miss my straw mat. I miss my home library filled with books, each with its own personal memory. I miss m...
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Mangoes and Memories!

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I had my first plate of curd rice with mangoes in almost two years. Watermelon and mango are two fruits I’ve never purchased after moving to Canada. When a wonderful colleague at a friend gave me a mango I took it home and it sat in my kitchen counter for a week until I could not bear seeing it shrink. I cut it up and sat down to eat it with tears prickling the corner of my eyes. Each bite and morsel brought out an evocative memory of scorching Indian summers and juicy ripe Banganapli mangoes. Memories of a mother who would just eat the tiny amount of flesh around the seed only so we would have enough, a father who would religiously carry bags of mango up three flights of stairs almost every day during mango season, a sister who would sneak mango cubes onto my plate, Sunday family lunches in the sweltering Chennai summer when every meal would end with curd rice with mangoes and piping hot puris with puréed mangoes which my mother would serve me endlessly. Such memories of love. Su...
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