In March this year, we had the opportunity to drive through the Healy Pass. Often described as one of Ireland's greatest drives, this is a mountain pass that snakes its way through some breath-taking views at an elevation of about 334 meters. We were holidaying in West Cork, and the Healy Pass is located in … Continue reading Healy Pass and a thermos full of Indian tea
Here's a toast to all dogs on National Dog Day - for the love you bring us all. Whether you are a stray or a pet. I don't have a dog of my own, but all those kind humans who let me play with theirs - thank you so much. So full of gratitude always. And to the dog at the waterfall near Chikmagalur - you will always be in my heart.
Did you know that in Ireland, in 1999 a 'sacred' bush in Co Clare was protected after it was deemed to be the abode of fairies? And that the plans for a motorway bypass had been worked upon or modified in such a way that the bush wouldn't be destroyed? There are also many caves across Ireland where, as the story goes, the tragic lovers Diarmuid and Grainne slept and hid. And one of these caves is in the Gleniff Horseshoe, which itself is a place full of magic and breath-taking beauty. The world around us is full of such stories. No matter where we travel to - each region has a rich repertoire of folklores and fairy tales. And that is why this blog on World Folklore Day, which falls on 22nd August every year.
My kaka (a term Gujaratis use for their father's brother) had a garment factory in Dar-es-Salaam, and he would often get some swatches of synthetic fabrics. My mother would fashion these into frocks, curtains, covers for my writing desk...Sometimes my dress and desk cover would be from the same swatch of fabric.
We went to the counter, and paid for them. I was a bit hesitant about our purchase at first; I thought the mugs were rather expensive. But I knew that these were handmade and unique, and thus we were paying for the craft and their uniqueness. When the woman at the counter handed the cups/mugs to me, she put them in a paper bag that was fashioned out of a newspaper. The font looked very familiar. This looks like Hindi, I said to my husband.
A lone donkey grazed in a large filled full of yellow irises and other flowers that appeared like buttercups. You could see the backdrop of a mountain, and trees in the horizon. The donkey did not seem like he was in haste. He looked like he was at peace. Neck bent, head down in haze of green and yellow, he seemed far removed from the miseries of the world, and the unfairness, death and grief that rocked the world in the past year and more.
Two travellers, after an eventful trip, ponder over a pivotal issue – what is behind our innate ability to trust strangers?
Husband: But why are they so unhappy with their lives? Me: Why is anyone unhappy with their life? Aren't we all unhappy in our own individual w
On one hand, I understand the concept of equality. Of being equal partners in a marriage, of being responsible for your own happiness, and that you can get yourself a bouquet if you feel like it, and do not need anyone to get or send you one. And lately, even the sheer expense of these bouquets and the economics or the commercial undertone behind the celebration of a lot of 'days' and what one is expected to do on these days as a mark of love or respect. However having said that, I love receiving and gifting flowers.
I wanted to write this blog post to tell you about a website that I have set up along with a friend, who is also a journalist and an ex-colleague. The website is called The Good Story Project and the idea behind creating this platform was that all of us, no matter who we are, carry various stories within us.
The Banyan tree and other stories 