Mrs. Pammi Chopra is our buxom, next door neighbour, with an extremely foul mouth. She, along with her meek husband, Mr. Chopra who has a tiny frame that surprisingly dons a handle bar moustache, their two over boisterous kids; live in the apartment across ours.
Mrs. Chopra’s favourite hobby it seems, is to pick up arguments and fights. It’s been just six weeks they moved in and she has already fired four maids, broken out into expletives with the newspaper guy, almost slapped the plumber who apparently didn’t know his job. She invariably has to lash out at the courier guy, I wonder why!? My husband thinks it’s a character flaw. I give her the benefit of doubt and pass it off as the onset of menopause.
We drove down these boulevard of beautiful trees, last month. These trees have been my travel companions ever since I was a child, as I have crossed them multiple times
It’s a bitterly cold winter morning in New Castle Upon Tyne, UK. The roads are snowed out by 10 inches. Elvis needs to get to work. His job as a newspaper boy entails waking up at 4 AM, picking up the newspapers from the dealer and dropping them at each doorstep before 6 AM, in the Heaton neighbourhood.
I sit pretty, on delicate bone china cutlery, surrounded by my companions that include delectable savouries like shepherd’s pie, mushroom quiches, chicken pie, corned beef pie, pot pie, Cornish pasty. Then there are my brethren: sweet, mouth-watering wonders like pear pie, banoffee pie, lemon meringue pie, pumpkin pie, rhubarb pie, blueberry pie and the likes. I am the quintessential apple pie. We all have made a grand comeback at the Claremont Pie Festival.
Sanjana sits demurely, a royal blue, Banarsi silk saree draped around her head, in a ghunghat (veil).
Last evening she took the saath phere (seven rounds around the sacred fire) with Suraj amidst the chants of Vedic mantras, to culminate their 5-year-old relationship into marriage. Both sides of the family, from the rural interiors of Uttar Pradesh had congregated to witness the ceremony. The Band Baja Barat, clad in their usual garish red, had sung and played, blaring the loudspeakers through the night with Mera Piya Ghar Aaya O Ramji (Happy Homecoming of my Husband), Subah Hone Na De, Saath Khone Na De, Ek Doosre Ko Hum Sone Na De, Tu Mera Hero Oo Oo (Won’t let the Mornings come, Won’t lose you for Nothing, Won’t let each Other Sleep, You are my Hero, Ooo) and the likes.
When the country roads took me home, Ms. Amaltas came calling into my heart.
Creeps in stealthily
Like a thief
Robbing me of my goodness
Depriving me of my much deserved happiness.
I haven’t written since last Thursday. For some reason weekends snow ball into a busy time, and though I did try sitting down to write last evening, I drew simple blanks. So this morning after much thought and deliberation which also included exploring writing prompts, I chose to write yet again on happiness. I recently wrote one guest post on Isheita’s blog, as part of her birthday week celebration. You can read it here – Do I Deserve to Be Happy?
It’s our last morning at Dhanachuli, a quiet little hamlet in the Himalayas. It’s a Thursday morning too. A day when we share our Tree Love. As I walk past the apple, pear and walnut trees, I look at them quizzically and wonder whether to feature them in my today’s post. I take some random shots, but they aren’t as appealing as I would like them to be.
We are bidding this lovely hamlet a final goodbye, walking past the the flowers and tree in full bloom when this gigantic tree catches my eye. It’s got leaves like that of a Peepal tree. It bears no fruits; just a lush cover of green through which the gentle morning sunlight streams in, making it glisten with specks of gold. It’s a mystical sight to behold.
The Japanese call the sunlight filtering through the trees Komorebi.
Blessed be this wondrous gift from nature, blessed be this morning sight I behold and blessed be this beautiful tree that stands gracefully and so graciously.
Linking this post to Parul, our Tree lady’s prompt for #ThursdayTreeLove 11.