Inkblot

  I had this delicious plate of food for lunch today. There’s organic brown rice with Brahmi tambuli, Surinam spinach and potato sambar, some fritters—we call them Chakkuli (which look like starry sticks) and Kodubale (rings)—along with some salt and pickle. When following traditional customs, we always place a little salt on the plate before serving the rest of the food. There’s even a specific spot for the salt on the banana leaf that we follow. (I’ll definitely show y’all this culture and tradition in future posts.) Do you know why we have salt on our plates, even if we don’t always consume it? Here’s what my ajji (grandmother) says: “If you deny salt, whatever you eat will be equivalent to poison.” What?! Seems extreme, right? But there’s a good religious reason behind this, and my ajji puts it simply. Salt is considered a purifying agent. It’s believed to ward off negative energies and bring blessings. Serving it first is seen as a way to sanctify the meal. This tradition defi...

Legs feel so heavy. Am I wearing a skirt? Or have they just left me naked after I was hit hard? Are my bones connected? I wish they were! I want my legs to walk on the beach, holding his hands. What if I don't keep my promise? Will he leave me behind? I want to know if my hair has grown— Maa will be happy to comb and braid it when she sees me. And where have my hands gone? I feel so numb. What do I do with my energy when I can't move? My body feels like a ship lost at sea, adrift on waters I cannot see. Though I cannot see anything, I can see everything. I see everything in green and blue, and sometimes in yellow and orange. So, are my eyes fine? I feel a small ache in my heart because I know he comes daily to see me. I remember his perfume so well. He keeps his hand here, but I wonder where my hands are. Papa stays here, being my protective angel, being my guardian. Maa comes every morning with freshly brewed coffee. My memories are so fresh, so is my mind. Time feels frozen; ...

          The sky was overcast near the banks of the Bering Sea, where two brave kingdoms prepared for war. The weather was neither rainy nor sunny, setting a somber tone. The atmosphere was tense, faces filled with aggression. A strong wind howled, so powerful that it made the Weselton horses tremble. On the other side, Baleen soldiers adjusted their helmets, patted their horses and elephants, bracing for what was to come.           The Weselton kingdom, with its white-skinned warriors, hailed from North America, while the Baleen kingdom, made up of brown-skinned soldiers, hailed from Asia. Both kings surveyed their mighty armies—equally strong and formidable. But the Baleens, with their fiery expressions, seemed poised to conquer at any moment. The armies were mirror images of each other—equal in number, strength, and even the size of their elephants and horses. Ministers stood at the ready, and all ears were alert for the so...

Do you know what my backpack's like? It is black. It has quite a few zippers, ample space for all my fillers. My cat loves to curl up inside, and my dear backpack doesn't mind. It keeps a hundred secrets tight, without a hint of sass in sight. Candies and chocolates, a sweet disguise, Tangled thoughts and dreams that rise. Sometimes it’s heavy with confessions and fears, Yet it hides them all, never shedding tears. It has seen many colors, in autumn, monsoons and summers! It’s braved the blazing rays of day, and sheltered from the warm sun’s sway. When a dear friend couldn't walk beside, the backpack stayed as a loyal guide. The friend, grateful and full of cheer, appreciates the seat saved, always near. Notebook, journal, and cherished mementos, Nestled inside, keeping secrets and torments. It’s faced hunger and panic shocks, But never sneaked a bite from my lunchbox. Toner, foundation, lipstick, and hairbands, never quite where they should stand. Tablets, self-love, and g...