O n w a r d

Returning to my grandparents' home after seven years was bittersweet. Everything has changed; much of the time I felt like I existed between the wonder of the new and the ghosts of the old, trying to reconcile the familiar with the unfamiliar, separating the superimposed layers of what my eyes saw and my mind remembered.  It was the first time I'd returned since my grandfather passed away in this house that he built, this adventure that he gave us all. I wanted to feel his presence, imagine his movements, his path through the home, his favourite position with the best mountain view, the table where he would cut paneer with precision prior to selling, the sound of his army boots on wooden floorboards, the nook where he watched TV. Some of these, including the stove upon which I once burned my hand, have been erased. We can't live in memory and time won't stand still, and so much of the old is...just falling apart.  And maybe it's change that helps us cope, rewriting...

My heart had its reasons. An email and gifts from my cousin. Unsent letters from someone I would have loved long and deep – A life built within words and ideas and spaces "Meh" t-shirt to a dreamed-of address. It eventually found its way to me after years knocking together two heartbreaks. I was younger then, more hopeful perhaps naive  (I'm still naive  sometimes and I keep reminding myself to dream.) Ah, feet at last in Sweden. It felt like I should have big feelings,  but I didn't, not really, seven years since my past. Seven years since I'd traversed foreign roads but by the time I arrived in Sweden  I had my confidence again, and the comfort of my Korean playlist  in the chill of October autumn nights – the ways we build ourselves back up after being shattered all the way from India long-distance words once again.  The next day I switched ring fingers just to see what it felt like. I took myself to the ABBA museum  this music of my youth...

There comes an age in every person's life when they accept that disappointment is inevitable. It may not come easy, however, and on the warm bus back to Reykjavik on a cold midnight, I tried to placate my slightly sinking heart.  "At least I saw something."  "We've got like three more nights."  "I can return someday."   It sort of worked. I was a little sleepy, and the disappointment was no longer in waves, slowly ebbing into acceptance. All we can do is try, and try we did. The aurora answers to no woman, and she appears at will – this much I had learned from my antsy walks peering at the sky in Rovaniemi a few nights prior. The clouds and the weather might cooperate, the app might show false promises, and she might appear as white wisps to the naked eye, which, to be fair, she had. The camera picked up more colour, but was hard to operate in darkness with frigid fingers, and I hadn't done my research on the ideal settings. At any rate, there ...

On 22 October 2021, I received a very mysterious message through my website.    Patricia wrote that she spent her adult life trying to reconnect with her "very best school friend" and "soul mate", Marina Keys, who happened to be my great-aunt. They went to school at Loreto Convent, Asansol, and were "inseparable" – but lost touch when Patricia's family moved back to England.  I used to spend many weekends at the Keys' house. We would leave the convent, cross through Saint Patricks' boys' school, over the wall and into the Keys' garden. Many a time we would sit under the tamarind tree, eat lots of tamarind and then wonder why we would get [a] tummy ache. I have always lived with regret that we lost touch. I remember that when we said goodbye for the last time we were both crying, and made a pact that we would stay in touch and not lose each other. However, life and distance prevailed, and I have spent many years searching for a contact w...

We were both young When I first saw you I close my eyes and the flashback starts I'm sitting there At my computer in a wicker chair... I can't quite recall exactly how I first came upon Taylor Swift's music. I know I was in college, in Delhi, and it was either through watching Faith Hill on Oprah and finding the song Taylor named after her husband; or it was the collaboration " Breathe " with Colbie Caillat, whose songs I listened to rather a lot at the time. Either way, I was quickly enamoured by this young woman, a kindred spirit the same age as me, with the curls and dresses and boots, and the ability to tell entire stories in a single song.  She wrote of love and youth in words I thought I'd use if I were in a world like hers. " Love Story " and " Teardrops on My Guitar " were inescapable on MTV. But it was "Tim McGraw" that spent weeks in the sidebar of my blog, which was really as big an honour as being on any music chart. I...

In a letter to her daughter Patience dated 4 July 1970, my great-grandmother Elsie wrote about enjoying BBC plays on the radio: "Do you all hear the BBC plays on the transistor? Did you'll [sic] hear the 'Conquest' by Somerset Maugham the other day it is a lovely interesting play & acted so well really — BBC is tops & we hear all this on that small Phillips radio we bought from [?] for Rs 100 — we play our records on the other radio — we made the Gram elec. — the other radio we have to play on a battery — Batteries have become so expensive now eh!" I was dreaming of connecting with my great-grandparents by listening to the same things they once listened to, but... does W. Somerset Maugham even have a story called Conquest ? I tried researching more about the BBC Radio in India — most likely the programming was different than in the UK — but all I've found is that they've been around since the 1930s, with a reputation for balanced reporting (well, g...

I was at a wedding in February when I learned something new about my dada – that he was a voracious reader, and a lover of arts and culture. I never got to meet him, so I was moved by this tidbit. What could I have learned from him? What could we have exchanged ideas about? Thus far I'd known of him as a dental surgeon, albeit one who had made a multi-generational family tree. This was a whole new world opening up.  As I stuffed my face with food, I also learned that my dadi , whom I've also never met, was a reader too, and encouraged this habit in her children. She took them out to watch a play every month. She insisted that they read or borrow at least one book in Hindi when they visited the Dilli Public Library opposite the old Delhi railway station. No wonder, then, that my dad and his siblings enjoy reading. Incidentally, the library, which dates back to the 1950s, also has a mobile version in the form of buses – yes, has , not had, and I didn't know until now! They...

Did you inherit any weird tastes from your family? One of the oddest things "passed down" to me is an unhealthy suspicion of mushrooms. I didn't eat them growing up, and until recently, I thought my mother hadn't either. We asked my nani once if she liked mushrooms, and she said that she never knew what they were when she was younger (and no).  When my grandparents decided to build a house in the Himalayas in the late 1960s, there were wild mushrooms to contend with. These could be poisonous and risky, so my great-grandmother was naturally stressed about this particular dietary adventure that I presume was communicated to her.  In this letter from 1970, my great-grandmother writes, "I always feel nervous about you'll eating mushrooms anyway & more so now when Vindri [wrote?] there is also poisonous grass on your mountains above you all & I think the men gather the mushrooms thereabouts. Please do be careful about this darlings better to do without it...

noun movement forwards or towards achieving something verb to become better; to develop (well) *** It has been two years since I (soft) launched my business.  In 2020, having finally paid off my loan and facing what seemed to be a changing, precarious work culture, I found myself thinking about progress. I knew I wanted to move on from my job at some point to something that fit me better, and where I could keep growing. But I wasn't optimistic about opportunities. At that time, I'd also been avidly listening to podcasts , and I seemed to attract those about living a different way of life – slower, more fulfilling, and not necessarily adhering to conventional work milestones.  It was then that I started – very hesitantly, but increasingly more and more – thinking about working for myself. This was distinct from freelancing, which I'd tried before; rather than pitching articles to publications, or being on a regular contract, I'd offer services and packages with r...