I am the person who holds the charkhi, but doesn't fly the kite. I shout ‘woh kaata’ when it was actually ‘katwaya’. When in air, I prefer the sounds of the plastic ones to the paper ones. I don't like rewri, gajak or til patti, but chikki is fun.
My favourite thing about Sankrant is the sun.
I love how the whole city collectively decides to spend an entire winter day hopping from one terrace to another, flying colourful sheets of paper in the sky.
Someone told me the the flowers blooming outside my home are called, "Sankrant". I didn't bother checking if it's true, but they only bloom in soft winter sun.
I never liked clicking photos of clouds. It felt like cheating. I didn't have to put in any effort to capture them. They did their thing and I just clicked. It felt lazy. Inauthentic. Same with recipes. If I just followed them, then what is my contribution? It felt like cheating.
I cheated alot during the pandemic.
I cheated alot during the pandemic.
My Dadi was the self-proclaimed expert of the "desert cooler". She had an excruciatingly detailed routine to ensure that the room stayed cool throughout the day. Before every summer, she would freshen the panels with new patches of khus khus. It felt like entering a glass of sherbet.
We would enter room and call it Shimla. None of us had been to Shimla.
Standing under the rows of freshly dyed wet fabric, I couldn't figure out the smell, but it did feel like Shimla.
We would enter room and call it Shimla. None of us had been to Shimla.
Standing under the rows of freshly dyed wet fabric, I couldn't figure out the smell, but it did feel like Shimla.
Bua laid out one walnut, three soaked almonds and five tiny kishmish on a plate as I sleepily crawled into the living room. I was fighting for more kishmish when the Delhi smog, slowly, slowly lifted away.
