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Peek a boo with flicking tails and grotesque whiskers…..šŸ€For the last two days,my life has turned into a horror-comedy called Peek-a-Boo with a Rat. This skittish, jittery,ugly little creature with uglier whiskers, God knows how, when, or from where it sneaked into my home—has been ruling my nights, stealing my sleep, and sending me into fits of panic. One twitch of its dreadful tail, and I’m leaping like a gymnast, hopping on the sofas and beds as if the floor is on fire…My week end couldn’t have been more spoiled.Of course, I’m no killer, so the plan is simple: trap the beast. Enter our society helper, armed with a cage, a teeny slice of Golden Harvest bread (apparently, rodents are picky eaters), and plenty of bravado—or so I thought. He sets the trap like a pro, but when I ask him to poke around the cupboards, he freezes, muttering, “Madam ji, mujhe bhi darr lagta hai…” And there we were—two grown humans, terrified of a rat the size of a potato, as if it was a tiger we were dealing with.The days pass uneventfully, as I confine myself within the four walls of my room, with doors closed and mother in law making bold entry into the kitchen. But come nightfall, my ears are on high alert, straining to catch any sound from the trap. To my relief, I finally hear the familiar clinking of metal—proof that the little terror is caught. Yet, it’s the dead of night, and summoning Vijay at such an hour would be unfair. Caged or not, I dare not step into the kitchen; the very sight of the creature makes my skin crawl. I wait impatiently for dawn, and as soon as light breaks, Vijay arrives, dutifully carrying the captive far, far away—hopefully never to return. My mother-in-law suggests dabbing the rat with a bit of nail paint so we can identify it if it ever dares to come back. But truly, who would have the nerve to do that?The trap is reset, baited with another chunk of bread. The invader, undeterred, seems to wait for nightfall to resume its skittering parade. And once again, at the stroke of midnight, the cage rattles, signaling another capture. I exhale in relief, awaiting morning when we can bid goodbye to yet another unwelcome guest.But fate intervenes—Vijay is away. In his place, Mahinder, the garbage collector, is called to handle the situation. He steps up bravely at first, but as he approaches the cage, I notice his trembling limbs and beads of sweat forming on his brow. His nerves get the better of him, and in his clumsy handling, disaster strikes—the rat escapes, its tail the last to slip free. From the safety of my room, I shout at the top of my voice, “Pakdo! Throw a cloth over it!” But it’s too late. The creature vanishes, leaving Mahinder standing there sheepishly, twiddling his fingers. I give him a piece of my groggy mind, my frustration boiling over.A clarion call is made to the carpenter and plumber, who inspect every nook and cranny for possible entry points. Tiny gaps are sealed, cracks repair ed,doors adjusted, and until the runaway is caught, peace will not return to my home.And yet, as another midnight approaches, I hear the all-too-familiar clatter of the trap. Another night of waiting for dawn, another morning for Vijay to carry the menace away.This ordeal has not only laid bare my deep-rooted phobia for the skittish rodent but also revealed that even two strong, able-bodied men tremble at the sight of a tiny, twitching creature. Mahinder, perhaps wiser now, suggests using sticky mats to trap the rodents—where they remain glued and die—something he can deal with more easily.Meanwhile, I lose sleep, my mental peace, my sauntering around my home, and not to mention, a small fortune every time a trap is set and emptied… at least only when a week passes with the trap un occupied by the jittery creature will I stay composed …Amen to that!!!šŸ€šŸ€šŸ˜–šŸ¦”

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Grishneswara jyotirlinga

Six down, six to go… walking the divine Shiva circuit of Jyotirlingas !!! For the past few years, I’ve set myself a gentle goal—each year, to visit at least one Jyotirlinga, those twelve sacred shrines where Lord Shiva is believed to have manifested as a radiant column of light. This year, since I had planned a trip to Mumbai to spend time with my children, I extended it into a whirlwind visit to Grishneshwar Jyotirlinga near Aurangabad—one of the three Jyotirlingas in Maharashtra. ( Bhimashankar & Triyambkeshwar …being the other two) Tradition says Somnath should be the first one and this shrine should be the last in the circuit, but I am still midway in completing my Shiva journey. Be it random or out of sequence, I am not too rigid or fastidious about it. About 300 km from Mumbai, the drive itself was an experience. The Balasaheb Samruddhi Expressway, resembling a sleek runway, cut across the Western Ghats and made the journey enthralling. The road opened up to the lush green fo...
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Clouded Thoughts, Silver Lining…..šŸŒ¤️šŸŒ§️⛈️

While travelling, I usually pass the time absorbed in books. But on a recent early morning flight from Mumbai, groggy and drowsy, I set them aside and let my gaze drift through the aircraft window. To my surprise, I had never found the fluffy, scattered billows of clouds—shifting endlessly in form—so deeply engaging and fascinating. While clicking those cloud pictures, I knew I was acting like an excited child , a first-time flyer, but there was something truly ineffable, inexplicable about the beauty of that cotton-candy sky. From above, the clouds gleamed brilliantly, bathed in sunlight, with rays dancing across their surface. Yet from the ground, the same sky appears dark, overcast, and gloomy. Perspective, I realised, changes everything. The magical expanse stretched like the kį¹£Ä«ra sāgara—the mythic ocean of milk, abode of Lord Vishnu—milky meadows of light that invited me to imagine Lakshmi at His side and the great serpent on which He reclines. As the plane whooshed past, the cum...
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Krishna teri Yamuna Maili ho gayi.....

.. I am Yamuna — jamuna for  some, Kalindi  ( kaali nadi)for a  few, and Yami for those who knew me in my celestial days. My journey has been nothing short of a saga — from the brilliance of the skies to the dust of the earth. Born to Surya, the radiant Sun God, and Sanjana, I was cherished as “Surya Tanaya,” the beloved daughter, and fond sister of Yama, the lord of death. But destiny  had something else in store A discord between my divine parents led to a cruel decree, as a punishment to my mother, my father banished me from the heavens and left me to wander eternally on the earth.. My descent to Earth is still remembered and celebrated as Yamuna Jayanti, observed with reverence on the Shukla Paksha Saptami of the Chaitra month. Another day close to my heart is Bhai Dooj, when I invite my brother Yama, anoint his forehead with a tilak, and serve him sweets — a ritual of love that blesses brothers with long and healthy lives. I descended into  dark Kalindi mou...
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one hour ..one park ...many stories

While most people find peace in the morning rush—through meditation, yoga, infused drinks, sunrise strolls, —my rhythm flows the other way. For me, it is the golden twilight hour that brings solace. When birds trill their way home, the crescent moon quietly appears against a crimson sky, and the harsh sunshine softens—I step into my sanctuary. That one hour of my evening walk in the adjacent park is my true ‘me time.’ Thawing out in the park ,the familiar faces, trees, and shrubs greet me like family, though we seldom speak. I notice every detail—the fresh golden blooms of the chandelier-like Amaltas, the shy stunted Champa blooms-new leaves sprouting and the old ones withering , the mulberry tree at the entrance waving its leafy hello, and the two cats that cross the pavement each day with their predictable meows. The environment is so familiar that even blindfolded, I could still feel the warm breeze, hear the rhythm, and sense every presence around me. Not seeing someone for  fe...
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A Flight, A Stranger, and a Story That Stays

--- On a recent flight from Bhubaneswar to Delhi, after a divine visit to Jagannath Puri, Nisha (my *bhabhi*) and I slumped into our seats. She put in her earphones, and I was ready to immerse myself in my book when a dusky, dainty, smallish girl plopped into the aisle seat next to me.   Her beauty caught my attention, and we exchanged a smile. Outfitted in a skimpy, snazzy denim dress, with dangling flip-flops on her delicate feet and a phone and tablet in her petite hands, she had eloquently expressive, gazelle-like eyes. In her dulcet Bihari-accented voice, she requested to sit by the window at the time of landing. I figured she was eager to capture aerial pictures of dazzling Delhi at night, just like my daughter does. Nisha, generous as always, swapped her window seat with her at the outset of the journey.   Striking up a conversation with routine topics, our unfamiliarity quickly dissolved into a casual and warm exchange. She was curious about me and my family ...
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The Terracotta Lady of Coorg

Sundays usually pass in a blur of household chores. While wiping the specks of dust from the trove of trinkets in my living room, the tribal terracotta lady mask fell with a crash and shattered into smithereens. My wanderlust ensures I always set aside some money for trinkets and souvenirs as tokens of memory. (Mimo Magnetist is my name.) This mask was one such treasure, bought from the bustling markets of Coorg in Karnataka way back in 2016, during a family mini-vacation—perhaps the last one the four of us took together. Clutching the broken terracotta lady in my guilty hands, a rush of memories flooded me, transporting me to the utopian land of Coorg, nestled in the cozy folds of the Western Ghats. The mask unleashed memories I thought I had left far behind—a nostalgic mix of lovely moments and emotions now resting between the broken pieces. The car journey of about 100 km from Mysore to Coorg was a delightful drive through misty, dreamy terrain. The lush greenery, pleasant climate, ...
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