Confessions of a Writing Freak

.. 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...

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...

--- 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 ...