In finer print...

Deep within the hard shell of bones, amidst the million cells, hiding in some imaginary compartment, some memories sleep cozily. Years and years of grey cells may have accumulated onto them, forming cobwebs of memories all over again and yet, these lie intact.
Today I read a friend’s post on childhood nostalgia. Memories, some so precious that simple things easily remind us of them, leaving behind a warm fuzzy feeling in the tummy. Childhood brings back memories of aloo bhaja-dal-bhath, afternoon story sessions, cheede bhaja and so much more. All those animated conversation, the aekanodos, the lies that were caught instantly etc. Yes, a myriad of memories.
When I think of these, I am quickly taken into a flashback much like an Eastman colored film, a montage of shots, seemingly unconnected yet making complete sense. One of my most fond memories is that of crying over spectacles. In my time, kids rarely got specs or maybe I did not know many who did. My older brother had one and so did…

(Pic courtesy: http://aidthoughts.org/?p=1381)

Did I just say lost? Yep, thats what sums up my life for now. Between cooking, writing, haggling with writers (for money, keywords, language and much more), I am a nervous wreck. How did mothers manage all of this all the while? Phew...no idea and right now I don't want to know. 


I have this nagging fear that my blog is dying a silent death. I have five posts lying in my drafts which may not see the light of the day. Yes, some are about weddings and life after weddings. Fiction, poetry or anything relevant has left me. I am irrational about most things now and very emotional. Read - I cry at the drop of any hat (mine or anyone I know or don't). Crap. 


Marriage life is getting normal by the day and it irks me. No more violins heard in the background, instead just the whistle from the blessed cooker, is all I hear. Gah. Back to burning the midnight oil - writing the night away.