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A daughter’s memory of her father’s slow-cooked kheer

A daughter’s memory of her father’s slow-cooked kheer

Rain clouds have emptied themselves, returning the sky to a washed, bright blue hue. Dragonflies fill the air and the unmissable saffron of genda (marigold) flowers sitting in wicker baskets on roadside stalls beckon the most-awaited festival of autumn - Diwali. 

As the moon wanes into amavasya in the night sky preparing for the luminous festival, the memory of my childhood Diwalis come to mind. As a little girl, after I’d bathed and dressed for the festivity, the first scene in the morning that welcomed me every year when I entered the kitchen was my father in his crisp, white kurta pyjama squatting in front of an old kerosene stove. 

Memories of childhood - a photo story

Memories of childhood - a photo story

Memories of childhood - a photo story by Nirmala Mayur Patil.

Memories as soft as muslin, woven on the loom of slow days - wishing on stars, swinging under the trees, gazing out of windows, leaving flower gifts in unthinkable places, hiding between curtains, making art on pavements, celebrating sweet messes, tiptoeing, scribbling, having long conversations with secret friends, and believing in fairies.’

Fading memories

Fading memories

[Photo credit - Nirmala Patil] This year, on autumn’s first full moon, we’ll celebrate our daughter’s fifth birthday. Five years. How does one measure five years - of a child’s...
bidding adieu

bidding adieu

[photo story - Nirmala Patil]
Summer, a one word poetry

Summer, a one word poetry

[Photo - Nirmala Patil] Summer, like one word poetry, stirs so much in the heart. It comes, making its intense presence felt in its very coming. Nothing about this season...
New born mango leaves and You

New born mango leaves and You

[Photo - Nirmala Patil] It’s the first day of phalguna, the last month in the Hindu lunar calendar. she comes running to me in the kitchen and taking me by...