I am Just an Old School Girl

Letter Writing. These two words are just enough to set the endorphins running through me. I know, I know. It sounds so boring like some homework that you had to do for school. All those formats and addresses and grammar rules and whatnot! But, that isn’t the letter writing I am talking about. This “letter writing” is a little bit different. Let’s start from the very beginning…
Every month, when I have plenty of free time, I take out a stack of envelopes – the boring kind that you get in shops – and just decorate them – stickers, doodles, calligraphy, you name it. But of course I leave enough space (for what? I’ll tell you in a second). And then, I take colored paper and start. What makes it so much fun and in a way so addictive is that – well other than the endorphins – this letter that I put time and effort into is actual going to go somewhere and be read by someone. Someone in a land I have never been to but would love to visit someday and talk face to face with the person who I only…

Meal Time In Swenglish


Gotta love those days!

Math was a subject I dreaded when I was in the fifth grade. Addition and subtraction confused me, multiplication and division boggled my mind and the word problems just added to my own problems and made life more depressing.
Every day, I’d come home and curse every mathematician I knew and shout in fury at my lifeless book as I did word problems for homework. It was exhausting – the shouting and the calculator-less calculations. I’ll never forget the day I was humiliated in front of the whole class. We were asked to memorize the multiplication tables of sixteen through nineteen. As expected, I punched and screamed into my pillow each time I messed up the seventeen times table. Although I ended up with a sore throat because of all the screaming, I survived that night.
The next day in math class, the teacher had to pick me out of the forty students in math to recite the seventeen times table. The moment I got up, my mind went blank. I just stood there with my mouth half open and dem…

Remembering Her

I always used to wonder what lay behind those sunken eyes and about the kind of experiences that those wizened hands had to go through.
She was a small woman. She looked so fragile, that it seemed like even the slightest force would hurt her. Her hair – as white as snow and as soft as silk – flowed over her pillow as she slept. From time to time, I would message her thin hands and legs slowly. I was afraid I would hurt her if I rushed. While I would be at it, she would look at me with those eyes that never failed to shine and mutter something incomprehensible in her raspy and shaky but extremely soft voice. I would listen hard trying to understand her but I could never make out what she was saying.
During those moments when I sat next to her on her bed, I felt like asking her so many questions. I wanted to know what her childhood was like – what it felt like to be married at the age of twelve and have kids by the age of seventeen. I knew that those were very personal questions that…