Our Diary
Winter Sun
Somedays, I go for solitary morning walks wrapped in my shawl.
The winter garden is faded with fog
and the wind among the branches
of the wayside trees is solemn and still.
I slip out of my kolhapuris
and walk barefoot on the dew-bathed grass.
Cold slowly starts to seep into me,
making me one with the wintry earth.
High on the trees, some birds begin to sing.
I take a deep breath and exhale,
the evidence of being alive comes out of my mouth
as a visual breath, like a cloud.
Joy over Glamour
[Photo credit - Nirmala Patil] Once again, it is that time of the year… for genda (marigold) torans to brightly gleam on doorways, kitchens to puff up with the scent...
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...
My story of love
[Photo - Nirmala Patil] He was coming home for the first time, to meet my parents. It was a windy June morning and I remember being drawn to the play...
