Sindhura Chamala's Blog

Sweet is my life, for I have always craved and fulfilled my sugary pleasures. There has been almost an instinctive relationship with it all my life. And so I have never looked beyond the simple joy of building my body with sweetness. But as always, there are stories, and I have been such a simp for them all my life, too.

Although sweets are a matter of personal taste and intimate experiences, they also carry a rich cultural, religious, and regional heritage. Each sweet has its own history and a place in the present. Today, I share some of them and their presence in my life.

One of my fondest childhood memories is sitting beside my grandma in her village home as she directed my grandpa and others in making sweets and snacks for her children and grandchildren. She has exquisite skills, but her fingers had given up long ago due to rheumatism. And so the grandparent team planned meticulously and worked together to ensure their homemade delicacies reached their offspring every few months for as long as possible.

The eagerness while waiting for the Mysore pak confection to be poured out, cut into pieces, and cooled down, or for the group to roll out the sweet boondi mixture in the large bowl into round laddoos, is my first untamed longing in life. These and other sweets, such as ariselu, garjalu and palli patti, along with numerous savouries to accompany them, are a hallmark of our family celebrations. Preparations for our major local festivals, such as Dussehra or Sankranti, or important events like weddings, typically begin with making these. And the entire festivities are marked by distributing and enjoying them together.

The process of making ghee or any of the other steps in creating these sweets was a ritual, passed down through generations, connecting us to a lineage of sweet-making. These weren’t just sweets; they were edible heirlooms, embodying the spirit of togetherness and the continuity of our heritage.

But not every occasion called for such an elaborate production. For the quiet solace of a small family gathering, a simple puja, or an intimate festival, we create quick yet equally cherished delights. Paramannam, Semiya Payasam, and Rava Kesari are a variety of puddings that offer a comforting blend of rice, vermicelli, or semolina, milk, and sugar or jaggery, adorned with almonds, cashews, and raisins, and often offered as prasadam. These are a testament to simplicity and devotion. There are some sweets made with a bit of help from outside, such as fruit custard and gulab jamun, and they are the anchors of spontaneous celebrations, providing comfort and joy without the grand fanfare.

When it’s time for larger feasts, the sweet course often takes on a different, more regal character. This is where the unique culinary legacy of Telangana truly shines, offering confections such as Double Ka Meetha and Qubani Ka Meetha. They are a testament to indulgence, yet they provide a delicate balance that speaks to sophisticated palates. These sweets bear the indelible mark of the royals, evident in the rich ingredients and intricate preparations; yet, they are undeniably rooted in the local flavours and traditions of our region.

And then, there were the times when the craving struck, or when we simply sought a different flavour profile, leading us to the vibrant sweet shops of the city. Here, we’d find the perfectly flaky layers of a Baadhusha, its crisp exterior giving way to a tender, syrup-soaked interior, or the intricate, spiral design of a Jhangri, its orange hue and syrupy sweetness a delightful burst of flavour. These and more store-bought treats, such as Palakova or Kalakand, offered a different kind of joy — the pleasure of instant gratification, the discovery of a master artisan’s touch, and a connection to the broader tapestry of Indian sweets.

The story of sweets is incomplete without a mention of the delicious drinks that put up a strong fight against rice and fruits like mangoes, custard apples and the like for their time and place. The rasnas and sharbaths of our childhood summers, the goli sodas and sugarcane juices from the streets, or the badam milk and faloodas with their rich tastes, offering up their content to calm our tropical bodies and filling us with their honeyed melodies are woven into the very fabric of life.

I have many sweet memories. From the little Parle Kismi caramels, to the little leftover pepperments my parents got from their schools, to the 1 rupee red-coloured coconut sweets found in tiny cigarette stores, to the time we looked forward the bell of peechu mithai (soan papdi or cotton candy) and milk-icecream sellers, to the first time I made my grandpa buy me an orange bombay halwa piece at a bus station, or to the first time I bought a dharwad pedha packet for my family because the train I took after my college semester to go home passed by that place. With the fast access and mainstreamification of them, it is easy to lose their charm in our lives. So, sweets, too, require a little effort, allowing us to build magic or create a memory around them and be mindful.

In today’s world, life is not considered sweet. Or so it is for some people. For others, sugar is a vice, a dangerous addiction. But for most of us, those who are privileged in their own way, life can be sweet, if only we take the time now and then to appreciate it.

It was a pleasant day as Josayya finished his morning work, but he didn’t care. He never did. Only lousy things made him notice, like an untimely rain or an unseasonal scorching Sun. Or that white tempo parked in the temple clearing. It disturbed the calm land where he usually saw nothing but green and brown.

The vehicle wasn’t there when he left for work in the wee hours of the morning, but he could see no one there now. This was at least no surprise to him. Trickers, as he called them in his head, knew enough to start early, though not as early as him. It was a difficult path that took time and was dangerous after dark, especially to city people. He never understood why they came, that too for fun. A disgruntled young lady dispelled his notion that this was a useless activity. He had approached her thinking she was lost, only for her to explain it all to him like he was an idiot. She also taught him the English word for it that he didn’t know he was pronouncing incorrectly.

Josayya entered his double-room mud hut without wondering about the driver. He was a simple man. He didn’t know that ordinary people didn’t own or drive tempos. They would hire it for trips to transport them if a big enough group of people couldn’t or didn’t want to go separately to tourist spots. Only after his meal and small rest, when he came out to return to the fields, did he notice a lone man standing at the dreaded spot smoking a cigarette.

Josayya’s instinct kicked in, and he ran. The driver looked up from his phone to see a crazy man in his lungi coming at him with his hands swinging wildly. He wanted to move away in a quick flight of self-preservation, but his legs didn’t coordinate, and he ended up doing a little hop in place. This would’ve made anyone laugh out loud, but it made Josayya, already worried about the guy’s footing, even more mad, and he lunged at him in a weird, long jump.

Not knowing that he would soon fall several feet, the driver clutched his phone to his chest to prevent what he thought was a robbery. Just as his legs would have stepped onto thin air, Josayya pulled him away. Josayya used sheer will and helicopter hands to stop himself from toppling to the other side. Once stable, he turned to find an offended, perplexed man who didn’t know why he attacked him.

Josayya shook the driver and yelled at him in stilted tones how easily he could have slipped and fallen into the rocky ditch below. He finally let him go, asking him if he was a stupid person to be doing time-pass there. The enraged driver let go of the burning cigarette in one hand and almost took a swing at Josayya. But his heavy body didn’t cooperate, and Josayya’s battle cries from the minute before started to make sense in that delaying minute. He looked disappointed at his dropped cigarette and then at the still heaving Josayya.

After several tries, the driver got up from the ground and, without dusting himself off, took out another cigarette and put it in his mouth. With a look that conveyed more annoyance than gratitude, he walked away. That’s how deceptive that spot was- it looked like any other part of the forest. Covered by thick trees, it didn’t seem far from the top and looked like one could casually climb down. Or that’s how strange Josayya looked in his hurry to stop an accident and his mad determination.

Shaking his head, Josayya returned to his hut. He tied up his lungi, picked up his tools, put on his worn-out sandals, and left for his field again. Given his physical stature, the driver would not have survived if he had slipped, but Josayya only knew he prevented another fall. It was a responsibility he would not forgo because he understood it well. As he moved through his daily work routine, he recalled the time he fell into that ditch nearly twenty years ago.

He didn’t remember how he had arrived there. It was the day after his mother’s death. He had been married for a year by then. For a long time, it had been just him and his mom living in a ramshackle hut at the edge of their small field, where he now rested in the afternoons. They had still been preparing their new place at the time, which he checked upon every day. It was in a small deserted patch close to the centuries-old stone temple. His mother had chosen it because no one would bother with that tiny piece of land, and she felt safe closer to an old god. Josayya was too poor for religion, but that day, he had wanted to see the face of the statue. Because, try as he might, he couldn’t dispel his mother’s dead body from his mind.

After saying a broken prayer he learned from occasionally overhearing his wife, he had walked along the line of weeds he cut down for the funeral pyre. He had stopped at the edge without realising it. After a time in that dazed state, he had turned to leave and slipped. By the time his hands found something to grip, he had slid halfway down. Even though his mind couldn’t comprehend the problem, letting go was never an option. Josayya was too pure to welcome death.

He had pushed his already hardened body to its limits that day, trying to climb up to safety. It had taken him hours and several attempts. When he finally pulled himself up, he had been bruised all over and dying of thirst. He had to sit down because his body started to shake involuntarily. After calming down, he had walked home to his wife, determined to tell everyone he knew of the hidden danger.

In the village, no one bothered about it. They had other things to worry about; why should they think about a pitfall outside their dwelling near a temple no one went to? Anyway, a forest full of serious threats surrounded the village on most sides. Josayya, too, had forgotten about it until he moved into his new home with his wife.

On the first day, he had taken her there and carefully pointed out the areas to avoid. She was the only one who understood the danger and had even expressed concern about their future kids playing there. Josayya was satisfied with her response and decided to clean out a play arena and build a fence to prepare for their future kids. But there was no time. And there were no children. The two of them found a new routine, and life went on.

A few years later, a government survey recognised the temple as a heritage site and decided to bring it back to life. This was mainly because they didn’t have to do much; it was only neglected but otherwise in excellent condition. All they had to do was clear the overgrowth around it to make a clearing and appoint a priest.

At the time, Josayya had asked the officers to build a wall around it, but it was useless. One officer had dismissed him, saying it would ruin the beauty. Another didn’t even deign to respond and threatened to demolish their hut. He had wondered who had permitted them to build their home near the temple, which was not for people of Josayya’s caste. Afraid, Josayya had to bribe him with his wife’s small dowry they’d kept aside. After that, he stopped approaching government people and prayed no one ever gave their mud abode a second look.

When they hired a priest after much political drama to which no one in the village was privy, he, in turn, hired Josayya’s wife to do the cleaning. Why their caste didn’t matter then, Josayya never understood, but it was not in his nature to question it or dwell on it. His wife was happy about the work and pay, which was enough for him.

Initially, there was some traffic- just locals wanting to visit the newly recognised place of worship and offer prayers. Since the priest mainly worked at another temple, he designated an evening slot on certain days for this one. Most of those days, it was just him doing his prayer routine and leaving early. It was not until a group of college students found it as a starting point for a new trail that this place started to get busy. They had gotten lost on their way to a waterfall trek and found the village rogue who offered to show them a challenging but shorter route to it if they paid him. Only young, reckless boys would ever trust that fellow. But he could sniff out an easy income from a dead body if possible. He ensured they had a good time and told them to spread the word. Slowly, a tourist attraction came to life. The village rogue found a way to sponsor his evening drinks.

The routine was that interested folks would come early with a change of clothes and packaged food. They would admire the ancient structure first and then set out to the waterfall. There, they would swim in the pool, have a picnic, and then aim to come back before sunset. However, since the route via this new way was steep, and there was no clear trail, most people wouldn’t prefer it and go for the longer route via the forest from the opposite side. But its toughness was a welcome challenge to many, so its popularity grew over the years, and the traffic increased.

Josayya, too, became vigilant. But people found him to be more dangerous than anything else around. His skulking presence whenever made newcomers uncomfortable. Even their guide’s apparent friendship with him didn’t put them at ease. His eyes got crazy, and his body went into overdrive whenever he saw anyone near the ditch. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to help.

One pleasant man, the first to ever take him seriously, aided him in carrying some large stones to place near the border. He even drew big cross signs with smaller rocks, which soon faded. To overcome the language barrier and his innate creepiness, Josayya developed a set of hand motions to convey his intent and warn people from a distance. However, he didn’t always remember them in his agitation.

How many appreciated it, Josayya didn’t know, but he did it anyway. He had never looked in after his fall, so he didn’t realise that it had become deadlier since then, but he knew he didn’t want anyone else to go through his experience. His instincts knew prevention was better than cure, so he did his best at a thankless job, time after time.

As he returned for the day, Josayya noticed a huge commotion near the parked vehicle. Before he could enter his home, his wife came out and told him what happened. A foreign boy fell into the ditch, and one of the local youths in the group saved him. The rescue took nearly two hours, and many villagers, other tourists, and even the forest officers and police who had come were now leaving one by one. It was late into the night when the villagers finally cleared the area, using up any opportunity to chitchat. But Josayya and his wife ate and went to bed as usual.

The next day, the village rogue, who had always hung around Josayya since they were the same age, came to the fields to give him the details. As Josayya did his chores one by one, he told him how when the group had just returned and was ready to leave, the young boy wanted to pee. His family had been travelling here for more than a week. However, his parents were still surprised that no bathrooms were available nearby. The boy had gone to pee on the side at the driver’s behest. But he had gone farther to the edge and slipped. His parents had gone running but couldn’t catch him in time. Fortunately, the boy fell cleanly into a dirty patch, not on rocks or hard trees. He was severely bruised but had stayed conscious throughout.

One of the youngsters in that travel group was a seasoned trekker who immediately volunteered to go down. The boy’s father, too, attempted to go down but couldn’t go beyond a certain point because of how dangerously steep it was. So the youngster advised the people at the top to find a long rope, which they did by removing it from the water bucket at the temple’s old deep well. They threw it down to the father, who then threw it to the youngster, who tied it to the boy. He slowly climbed up as the father secured the rope and acted as an anchor point.

It was excruciating to watch because they had slipped many times, but the youngster held slow and steady despite needing a lot of strength. After they reached the father, the others pulled the boy up to safety while the youngster helped the father get back up. The youngster was exhausted and took some time to rest and recover. A crowd had gathered by then, but there was no drama. When the officials arrived, they praised the youngster, and everyone complained to them about the unsafety of the place.

The week after, there was much talk, even press coverage. The foreign couple shared a post that went viral on social media. Along with many praises for the youngster, there was a push on the tourism body to build a fence, washrooms, and a quick response team. It was the forest police who announced they would create an outpost there. Of course, there would now be a fee and a parking charge. Someone would pay a bribe and set up a shop, and more would follow. Josayya, of course, didn't know any of that. Because the village rogue had died the following week from a snake bite. There was no funeral.

After nearly a month, when the crew came to put up a warning sign board, Josayya’s wife had to show them where to be careful and serve them her hard-earned drinking water. They came unprepared, thinking it was an easy job. They left without starting on the fence. In the evening, Josayya saw that one of the rocks in the pile they dug up was where a tourist had scratched the danger sign last year after Josayya saved him when he nearly fell.

Josayya looked up at the board without comprehending it. He didn’t know what they painted on it and if tourists would ignore it like they did the danger sign. All he knew was that he would do his best to prevent folks from falling until he didn’t need to. Given the public official’s usual efficiency, it would take a long time, perhaps years, before the fence would be ready, but that didn’t matter to him.

Several more months later, the youngster who had saved the foreign boy came to inaugurate the forest checkpost. There was now a massive clearing for parking on the turning from the highway into the village, but still no fence or washrooms. Once again, there was a gathering and press coverage. But, as usual, Josayya didn’t know anything about it.

Here is a list of five books I’ve enjoyed (in the formats I’ve enjoyed them) that you might like as much as I did if you gave them a chance. No surprise to people who know me, four of them are fantasy.

Note: I realized that all these were famous and appreciated by the audience. Somehow I’ve never heard of them despite their popularity and later stumbled upon them through my own exploration.

Piranesi

Before I picked it, I’d never heard of it. It popped up on my Scribd (now Everand) recommendations, and I started it without reading the blurb or reviews, only going by the good ratings and category tags.

It perfectly intersects dream-like fantasy, well-crafted mystery, and good storytelling. Susanna Clarke’s writing is simple, beautiful, and thought-provoking.

It is a book that is hard to describe. So, you should give it a try without worrying too much. But let me tell you, it may be a challenging read. Not because it has tragedy or gruesome details but because it can feel strange and hard to pin down.

Legends & Lattes (Audiobook)

Again, this is a Scribd recommendation find. I was looking for a simple audiobook in the fantasy genre that wasn’t a series, and voila.

This was such a breath of fresh air. The author did a great job building a cosy fantasy book and narrating it incredibly well in the audiobook.

It has a dash of romance, a little tension, and some moral teaching without any of it being cloying. It was like listening to a bedtime story that warms you up from the inside.

Heaven Official’s Blessing (web novel)

The super popular danmei (Chinese boy-love web novel) craze led me to this book. I read this on the beach and in our wonderful Airbnb in Goa as 2021 came to an end and I will forever associate a joyful experience surrounding those few days a huge thanks to this book.

You might’ve heard about this author’s other more popular work (because of the TV show ‘Untamed’), which I’ve read, and also another book from her. She has a great style in that her protagonist undergoes terrible circumstances but is still delightful and righteous. The plot is always well-crafted, and so are the other characters. The relationships and the adventures are fun to read. ‘Heaven Official’s Blessing’ is the pinnacle of it all.

The Queen’s Thief (Series)

What an utterly fantastic set of books. Megan Whalen Turner is a genius. This series shows that not all good fantasy fictions need to have a complex magic system or gruesome wars and betrayals, just a well-weaved political intrigue with a dash of romance and dollops of friendship and a fabulous but wholesome protagonist.

The first book starts off slowly where seemingly nothing much happens, but later on, the books are paced neatly. As the series progresses book by book, the story gets glorious. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading them.

There’s No Such Thing As An Easy Job (Audiobook)

There’s always a Japanese book that draws you in. And there are a ton of them in my Scribd recommendations always. Again, I picked it up without knowing what to expect and was pleasantly surprised.

Most of us work regular jobs where we easily get stuck in a routine and our worldview gets minimised. But there a whole bunch of absurd and weird jobs out there, especially in Japan (they seem more unreal to us because of our cultural differences). We get to experience five of them as the protagonist struggles through them.

A simple premise with unique and smart storytelling is always a win. And a good narrator makes this audiobook a nice package.

Are you someone who takes the initiative? Or are you happy to go with the wind?

Do you only think a lot and not do anything? Do you stop yourself from doing something because it is hard work, or do you think you are not good enough, so why bother? Or, because there are a hundred easy ways to get a little serotonin boost, why should you spend your time and attention on something that might fail? Or are you just lazy?

A majority of us fall into such ruts. Sometimes, it is a short phase. But often, it goes unchecked and continues for a long time. We sometimes even build our identity around it. But we remain unhappy, maybe because, deep down, we know it is wrong. Still, we go on.

Historically, there have been many famous quotes by great people- about talented ruins, the importance of discipline, being the change you wish to bring to the world, and working hard. Today, you only need to look at a handful of promising startup founders to be inspired by their passion and work ethic. Say what you want about tech bros; they get a lot of shit done. All the recent technological advancements are a testament to that. So, how are they doing that?

First, the realisation

I have been working for more than a decade now. I am also in my thirties. Somewhere along the line, I went deep into my comfort zone. My mind became so used to ignoring all stimuli that it started to shy away from all responsibility and struggle. I was coasting along, so my job lost all its sheen; it became a burden.

I realised I lacked agency at work when I was reading the tech news recently (all that OpenAI drama) and finding out about some successful people. It is hard not to look at these driven people and feel guilty about your own wasted potential.

Getting things done can be a habit. Losing it will affect all areas of your life, which was true in my case. I had stopped doing any hard work. Even on the few things I am passionate about. I was reading a cliched genre of books. I had no energy to cook, eat healthy, or care for my body. I was not writing. I was not reading good books. I was not even watching any new shows. Just repeating old favourites in a loop. Only noise.

Of course, you cannot dismiss the effect of the pandemic and the depression(my version of it) from not being socially active. Still, it is mainly because I didn’t give enough of a damn about anything. Like the frog from that proverb, I didn’t realise I was boiling to death slowly.

If a frog is placed in boiling water, it will jump out, but if it is placed in cold water that is slowly heated, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. — A widespread misconception apparently.

What’s in an environment?

If you become weak-willed to realise you’re dying a slow death, then you need an external nudge. Others were sympathetic when I vented out my depression. They gave some ideas on dealing with it. But no one said — pull yourself together, do something about your unhappiness. Why would they? They don’t have the full context and would not want to hurt me. But I knew they would support me with anything. Still, I didn’t do much.

http://www.paulgraham.com/ecw.html

This is why “show, don’t tell” works. If I had seen others passionate and motivated, maybe that would have poked me. That discomfort could’ve sparked something in me. But there is a danger of feeling further down, thinking you’re worthless, or becoming angry at others for thinking they’re pretentious. That’s why you need to toughen up the inside.

I Am a Lone Warrior

Again with this crap. No, you are not. We are social beings. Solitude is important. But meaningful connections and healthy relationships are what days are filled with.

Surround yourself with people who are passionate and consistently deliver. You can’t not get inspired by greatness. Seeing others in motion may move you. Take that step. Walk that road. Move places. Cultivate Agency.

What content you consume every day matters a lot. We are so easily influenced that we subconsciously imitate what we see — how we write, talk, etc. So, why not the way we live? Even if it’s social media, follow sensible accounts and look at worthy content, not what is designed to go viral or get hooked.

Why can’t we be happy with what we have?

Some of us have gotten into a mode where if we are dissatisfied with anything, we try to deal with the feeling rather than doing something about it. We try to learn to live with it- wanting more and being disappointed.

It’s the work on your desk. Do well with what you already have and more will come in. — Charlie Munger

Being happy with what you have means not envying others. Because envy is a destructive thing. Work with what you have, but don’t dismiss wanting to improve. Change always happens, so why not make it progress?

Where is the Magic?

A lot of us look for motivation. But it is not easy to find. Even if you find it, it is not easy to sustain. We cannot hold onto a fickle thing called motivation. What we need is discipline.

In my case, I knew something had to be done. I needed to start caring about stuff. That meant I needed to push myself to do things even if I didn’t care now. Even if I am unhappy. Even if it is hard to see clearly out of the fog. Even if I have to trick myself into doing it.

We need to embrace the ‘fight’. Lean into the ‘complex’. Simple has a ton of work behind it. It is not just something the hero goes through to defeat the villain. It is the story’s core, an essential ingredient that gives meaning to the joy of everything else.

But Why?

It is essential to ask the why. Why should you work toward mastery if you can get by with mediocrity? Let me flip the question- why not? Also, getting by is almost always bad. Only a master can be confident to deal with anything thrown at them. Otherwise, you live in anxiety.

You can start small. You are at work most of the time, so why just get by doing the bare minimum just because you can? Even if you only want to get a paycheck and move on, you can still care about the product, customers, etc., and try to make life easier for your teammates or colleagues. Ultimately, it makes life better for you.

Everyone talks about a ton of problems at their workplace, but are they solving any? Use the ‘dissatisfaction gene’ to drive you. Don’t learn to live with it. Do what you can to grow.

I am bad.

What if we are not good? No one is an overnight success. There’s always something behind it. Some luck, some talent, and a lot of intelligent work. But what is there is also an okness with vulnerability. Willing to risk it, taking ridicule or failure in stride. Being comfortable with doing badly and improving is better than being okay with not doing anything.

Many people have ideas. Some even steal, copy, or mimic others’ ideas. But it is the execution of it that brings results. Timing, meaningful people and money help, but you must pursue them actively. Only then can you reap what you sow.

My mind goes zoooom… zooom… zzz

We need to control our distractions, those quick, addictive pleasures. Rest and joy should be meaningful, too. Eating sweets or fats, watching useless drama, reading silly stuff — any or all of these could be adding to your bubble. Choose them carefully.

Then, it is about reigning your mind. Don’t talk yourself out of doing it. Take pleasure in small milestones. Learn to draw joy from attention and creation. Demand a little bit more from yourself. Make that a habit.

Of course, simply doing it is not successful. Critical thinking is required- Where you want to put your work, how much you want to suffer (or enjoy), etc. But all that doesn’t matter if you don’t actually do anything.

So, give purpose to your attention. Find something interesting or weird or fun. Give a shit about your code, your work, your family, and your health. Don’t let life lead you to death day by day without creating or achieving anything.

For everything? Always?

Of course, not in all things. Only one or two important things. But from what I notice, such commitment to good work influences all aspects of life. It betters your life overall. Having mastery in a few also helps fulfilment with or without variety.

Is it the journey, or is it the destination?

It is the person. You have to learn to enjoy the process but don’t expect it always to be fun. You should have a goal you work toward that will help you navigate and course correct, but don’t be so focused on the end result. Time is both your enemy and friend. Don’t pass it mindlessly, but don’t expect miracles in moments. Craft your own future. The end result is often a miracle anyway.

If AI takes over our art and work, what do we do?

This question stuck with me as I read a Medium post trying to answer it. I was unsatisfied with its presentation, so I kept pondering it. With AI, as machines can do more and more, what do we do with ourselves?

Recently, I read about the app Shazam being able to detect how a baby feels based on their cry. I was pleasantly surprised. As a new mother, I thought I had just got a handle on figuring out my baby’s distress. And that was because I started to pay extra attention to her sounds and cues when I discovered from an Instagram reel that they exhibit each emotion distinctly. Maybe I would have figured it out eventually, but no one told me about it initially, so it took some time – still, technology for the win (for making me aware).

My mom, who is as much a caretaker of my baby as I am, doesn’t yet interpret her cries confidently because there is only a small list of things to go over – hunger, poopy diaper, sleepiness, trapped burp, pain, or discomfort so she can get by with time and patience. However, we are both fully present with her daily, so it feels natural to us, and we worry when someone else needs to take care of her.

Now, imagine if the app comes into play here. Imagine it being so accurate that it does a better job than we could. Anyone can take care of the baby as long as they provide her with everything necessary (including cuddles). It makes our lives easier, especially the sleep-deprived moms struggling by themselves because of the weaponized incompetence of others.

As with most tech, it makes our life easier, so we have more time to keep the baby safe and happy. Not only the baby but also the mother or the caretaker, who, as a freer person, is now a better family and a society member. This is true not only with tech like smart swings but with other innovations like disposable diapers. Now, can we apply this to everything else?

For a minute, let’s agree it’s all positive; we now have people with more time and mental capacity in hand. That is potential. It allows us to push our limits and expand our known horizons. There is a lot to do because we don’t know what we don’t know and consider how much we have already uncovered these past few decades. Of course, only a few driven people are responsible for that. Most are lazy or make up unnecessary new problems to occupy the emptiness. But even those people can be the reason for innovations- the strides we made in social media and OTT, for example.

To counter, going with the baby app, does it negate the necessity of a fully present human caretaker? Because it has the potential to evolve into a situation wherein a machine can predict and provide everything a baby needs, including even breastfeeding and human touch (anything is possible). Of course, we must study its adverse effects on the children, but it is better than bad parents. And in an era where people don’t want to start families, we need everything to stop the population decline everywhere.

There are always good and bad. For example, if machines replaced cheap labor, it meant less exploitation. It also led to wastage, unemployment, and rapid depletion of the earth’s resources. For now, that is. But we have to think of a long-term(very, very long) impact, which I believe would be more wonderful than worse. Or maybe it will get so hot that we will perish anyway if we don’t find a solution or an escape – too many possibilities.

When we say AI replaces our work and art, it is our current possibility of it all. It makes our current capabilities redundant but also gives us opportunities to shatter our current boundaries. So we can push ourselves to explore more. Or give up and worry- if we can afford it.

I thought nine months was too long for pregnancy, and even though I had a relatively easy time, I couldn’t wait for it to be over. Not because I was eager to be a mom as soon as possible but because I wanted a long, clean break from work as I had experienced burnout and depression and was barely holding on until I could go on maternity leave. Yes, I knew it was not going to be a restful time. I only wanted to be away from my job for a while. It wasn’t anything at my workplace but my mental state. And I had amazing co-workers and an exciting roadmap that made me want to do good until I had to step away. In fact, getting pregnant saved my career; I was ready to quit and not look back. It brought about good change. I started to work rejuvenated, as I didn’t want them to go easy on me because of my pregnancy. It made me mindful. I began to go on walks again and read, both of which I had stopped. I began to sleep well because of the tiredness. I was looking forward to the future for the first time in a long time.

There were many benefits to being pregnant. People treat you well, and you can indulge yourself without feeling guilty. And no periods, hurray! Everyone kept telling us to enjoy the time before the baby came, but we couldn’t think of doing anything differently. We were already pretty lazy. I hated that I couldn’t go on a holiday for a while, and doom-scrolling Instagram reels made me so afraid of giving birth. I tried to prepare as the months passed, but the internet only gave me the wrong things. I had a mental block about the delivery. Fortunately, I had a super chill doctor who alleviated my concerns. Towards the end, having our parents with me and talking to my girlfriends immensely helped. We still weren’t ready, nor had we fully comprehended that there would be a new human being we would be responsible for, but at least I wasn’t scared.

It is amazing how everything goes like clockwork. My body felt so different that I immediately knew I was pregnant. Nausea came and went in the first trimester. The bump grew as expected, and the kicks started on time. The only unpredictable thing was the due date. Despite all that, I was yet to feel any connection. Perhaps our bodies knew of my impatience, so my baby came out almost a month early. I was waiting for the baby’s birth but unprepared for the arrival. Especially the emotional aspect of it.

I had never felt more relieved than when the delivery went fine, and my doctor said we had a daughter. I couldn’t believe it. I still hesitated to be happy but couldn’t hold the joy inside. I permitted myself a little when my doctor told me I did a good job, a little when I heard her short burst of cry, a little when they showed her to me, a little when my husband checked in on her and said she was fine, a little when my mom gave me a hug, a little when my sis in law congratulated me, a little when I heard them relay the good news to the rest of our family, and a lot more when I held her for the first time. In a daze, with the nurse’s help, I freshened up and fed her. Then we went to our room to rest. I was delighted, proud of myself, and trying hard to contain my overwhelming love for her.

All my emotions were amped up postpartum. Celebrations and congratulations felt genuinely wonderful. The love, I didn’t know what to do with it all. The concern when they said she had jaundice. The fear when she puked one night. The anxiety about feeding and sleeping routine. The desire to show her off but being shy, the worry about the evil eye. Everything is magnified. Knowing this would happen only helps you accept it, but it doesn’t change anything you feel. When I hold her against my chest, and our breaths mingle, I want to merge her body with mine. Like we are one being. For now.

Becoming a new mom brings out many hidden vulnerabilities. I cannot consume any traumatic news or scenes, especially with kids. I cannot help imagining those things happening to us, to her. And then you slowly digest it because you see them deal with it or fight. But this world, even as wonderful as it is, is still evil. Bad stuff happens. Some of it haunts us forever. Not everything is in our control. That’s why it’s essential to enjoy the good. And protect it. And strengthen it. With love and care. So, I will teach her when it’s time.

Time is all I have, even if it runs away, making this bond all the more precious. Her being. Her startling. Her smiling. Her grunting. Her bathtime. Her playtime. Her observations. Her angry cries. Her helpless tears. Her strong kicks. Her search for milk. Her sleeping form. Her sharp nails. Her soft hair. Her smooth skin. Her gaining limbs. Her tiny fists. Her smushed cheeks. Her big eyes. Her small mouth. Her fast-growing but still tiny body. My full eyes and ready phone, trying to capture it all.

It was not just her who was born two months ago. I, too, am a newborn. I kiss her hair and wait for her to wake up. She needs me. Her hunger and need for warmth add significance to my being. So I am selfish. I delight in her smiles. I am amused by her poses. I despair in her cries. I enrich myself in her presence. I don’t know what to do when she is content feeding or sleeping. I lost the art of silent attention, especially when it’s not demanded. So I distract myself. So much shopping. Sweet cravings. Social media. Stories. Indulging myself without shame is an art. Acknowledging my tiredness. It is hard to go easy on myself. I want to do a good job, but I make mistakes and get defensive. Then feel guilty. I should learn to take some liberties. Ignore and consider advice and criticism. I am not perfect. I just don’t have to screw up too bad. It is not all on only me. Looking at the ego battles with my mom, a time will come for those with my daughter. Hopefully, there will still be an undertone of love. A safe space. Confidence in my being there. Like with my mom. And her commitment. And her food.

It may not require a village, but newborns need an active unit. It’s mind-blowing that some people do this alone. Our daughter is not even that fussy. Because I can’t sit still with my love, I portion it for myself. I share it with my mother, who is ready with wider arms as a grandma. Days are filled with the three of us. And some rain. Her grandad, who watches from the side, waits for the time when she is not so fragile. Quietly supporting us in his own way. Her dad, who couldn’t and needn’t be me. Discussing her shenanigans with him after he returns from work in the evenings. Or in the mornings about the nights. Or his quality time with her on the weekends when more joy and frustration are going around. The video calls with her other grandparents, her aunts and uncle, and her little cousins. They all have their own bond. Letting them shine.

Taking care of a newborn so dependent on you makes it easy to forget your own self. So I carve out my own time. To rest. To engage with something else. To be able to write this. Taking short walks. Taking care of my body. Because I have to be a good person first, so I can be a good mom. So I try to eat well and curb bad habits. Enjoy myself, but not taking it too far. Learning self-love through this. Being patient. Being ok with her having to be patient as I take a moment to pee and drink water to sit with her well. Not resenting her dad a good sleep or going about his routine. Acknowledging his work being my emotional dumpster, his eagerness to be with her, his love, his grunt work, his learning, and his happiness. Dealing with issues. Experiencing love. Living the now.

I focused so much on all the things that could have gone wrong or the pain I would have to endure that the whole journey felt relatively easy. The worrier in me always goes home without achieving anything. It’s because there is a strong person inside me, even if I don’t always recognize her. And, of course, all the wonderful people who were and are a part of this. I am so grateful to them. I am also so privileged to be with my baby without any concern. Even if the world is going through shit. Even as my startup struggles to survive. I am so lucky to have the time to look after her with complete focus, document her milestones, and celebrate life.

I hesitated to write anything about my feelings these past couple of months. But when I watch reels or read stories from new parents, I feel connected and enjoy that shared story. We may be individuals, but our strength has always been in togetherness. And these emotions are flowing through me right now, perhaps only because of the hormones. An evolutionary mechanism to make sure we reproduce plenty- the ultimate goal. Still, it is magical, even more for all the short time and quick changes.

You must keep doing the hard things even when you don’t like it.

Especially then.

To prove to yourself that you can.

Maybe there is no meaning to the work.

Perhaps you don’t care for the outcome of it.

Still, do it.

So you stop running away from responsibility.

It is better than excusing yourself for those reasons and staying lazy.

Otherwise, it will soon turn into a habit.

You will keep hiding, thinking that you are being kind to yourself.

But you will lose your confidence in your abilities.

You will feel less of yourself and try to cover it up.

And it will go on.

So, try.

If you have that luxury, you must choose a pain to deal with.

Or take on that hurdle before you.

Go for it.

Give it your best.

Push through that struggle.

Take a break but don’t stray too far.

Come back to it again and again.

Ask for help if you need it.

Finish the job.

Perfect it if you can.

Reflect on it after completion.

Rest.

Appreciate yourself.

Do it again.

Do it more.

This is how you love yourself.

By being tough when necessary.

By being dissatisfied with your lesser self.

By building your self-esteem task by task.

By learning to enjoy the process.

By dealing with your duties despite the fear.

By finding hard love.

Life finds a way, and so do all the twisted and dreadful branches of it
And so it was in me that a wisp of black smoke was born, silent and lit

In times of inattention, lethargy, and an inevitable uncertainty
It rose up, little by little, not taking shape, never alerting me

It curled up around each cell, spreading its tentacles deep and wide
Taking a bite of my energy here, a swallow of my enthusiasm there, building its side

Leaving behind empty husks of feeling to be filled with fear and anxiety
It’s a presence, sometimes asleep but alive and growing, not letting me be

For I am becoming the absence of a person who could not conceive this
I will turn into its shadow if I continue in an ignorant bliss

I cannot kill it, for it is born out of me
I cannot shed it, for it is a part of me

Every day, it threatens to burst out of these walls
Every night, it entrances me in a stream of calls

How long will it go on?
Until nothing is left to be drawn?

It is easy to give in, to keep feeding it, even as I lose myself
It gains strength day by day, but it is limited on my shelf

Life springs in mysterious places in time of the suitable season’s beginning.
And so it was in me that awoke feelings of desire and deep longing.

I thought I always dealt with them in my stride
But all of them rose up in a big terrifying tide

Is there a self left behind all of this wishing and constant worrying
I wish time reminded when I was hand in hand with the wind, just going

But I cannot travel to the past, nor do I want to
Not worry about an imaginary future that I may not get to

I am afraid to look inside, so I look at others
I examine their work, and their success bothers

At the bottom of my pit is a dark hole
Once I fall, I cannot be whole

The need to be good still matters
Even as my will lies in shatters

So instead of giving in to its cold beckon
I look up and trace the warmth of a light beacon

There is a way out, and it is going to be hard
But I am tired of sitting unmoving on my guard

Life dies in days when you are lost in the fog, much before death
And so it was in me that my mind lay shrouded, easy as a breath

I am not dead yet, and neither am I living
But I am not done; not every fiber of my being

I am anxious, depressed, and miserable.
But I am also lucky, loved, and able.

So I turn away from everything and stop thinking
I give myself a break and let it all sting

Every moment cannot be joyful, productive, or meaningful
Sometimes, they are dull, and sometimes, there is potential

Then comes the realization that it’s all an overwhelming abstraction
Beneath the surface, there is only imagined suffering without action

There are also others who always extend their hand to my reach
Ready to lie down with me or pull me up and beseech

I am not immediately saved, but I am at least not drowning
It’s only a phase, and winter always brings forth new Spring

I accept the flaws and the laws, and I am glad for not giving in
Because I know one day I’ll look back and sigh and grin

A couple of years ago, unable to motivate myself to focus on my physical health and reluctant to give up on my love for food, I signed my husband and myself up for a Kashmir Tarsar Marsar trek. I hoped their fitness requirements would push me to get ready for our top bucket list item. But then COVID entered our lives, dismantling all the well-laid plans and moving us further deep into our safety zones. Fortunately, it did not affect us directly. But, a year of uncertainty and lonely lockdown later, the vaccines came after the devastating second wave and brought an opportunity to resume life. So, along with the vaccine appointments, still unsure about travel, we started to gear ourselves up for a 5-day trek in a beautiful but turbulent land.

Even while numerous preparations- arranging for trek gear, getting tests and reports, booking flights and accommodations, there was a thread of dread in our hearts. This exploded the day before our travel when a curfew was placed in Srinagar, and the network connectivity was shut down due to the political situation. We nearly called off the whole thing that night before a trek mate suggested a hotel owner with a landline connection who helped them. And thus began our experience of Kashmir kindness.

From the moment we touched down in Srinagar, we saw a strange reality. Beautiful land and people living under close observation and still strangely thriving tourism. On that first day, we set out on a walk by the lovely Dal lake and found a restaurant called Winterfell that called out to us. And just during that early dinner, it was like sitting in any other restaurant in any other place, but with a whole new city just lying in wait outside. The familiar hotel chai calmed my nerves and helped me cope with the worry of camping and trekking. It is wonderful to ask and get chai anywhere in India and instantly feel the warmth.

Food was always a big part of our travel. And that’s how I remember our journey from Srinagar to the base camp in Aru valley. On the road, along with the military stations and other roadblocks, you would see the lush vegetation native to the land. I tasted the sweetest pear of my life and the most delicious apple juice made right in front of an orchard. A belly full of fruits to accompany the most beautiful sights was the best start to a unique journey in our lives.

It was a week full of incredible days — the green meadows, the alpine lakes, the rolling hills, the delightful sunrises, and the fantastic night skies with the Milky Way and shooting stars more than make up for the high-altitude trek, no-shower days, and cold nights. Before starting the hike, I didn’t think about what we would eat during it and even took along a few emergency supplies to be safe. But the amazing kitchen staff with India Hikes served us good food meal after meal and even found the energy after a tiring day to immediately offer chai and snacks as soon as we set up camp. In addition, the naturally lovely ambiance and strangers becoming friends made for the great company every day.

Finally, with many memories and new friends, we returned to civilization. Once we ended our trek back to the base camp, the waiting vehicles immediately took us back to the nearest town. But we were all still lingering together, reluctant to let go of that once-in-a-lifetime experience. But our hungry and tired bodies and pre-booked hotels or flights were awaiting. So we decided to go for a scrumptious meal before parting ways. And we found it at a restaurant in Pahalgam, which generously kept the kitchen open longer to feed all of us. But it was not just any lunch. The yakhni, the Rogan gosht, and the other famous dishes were worth our hungry wait, confirming that Kashmir serves not only great beauty but also real taste. It was one of the best meals we’ve had in a place we were only passing through.

I cannot conclude our Kashmir journey without mentioning our final day and a half staying in a residential AirBnB in Srinagar with its own apple orchard. The host graciously offered us the local apples, pears, and a jar of homemade saffron jam, so our food journey continued, even as we got to rest and spent time bringing ourselves back to the real world.

Of course, any travel of ours is not complete without a trial of a local place, which we had already found in reviews- a no-name bakery a few meters from this home where all the nearby residents bought their breakfasts every day. And so we started our morning, making our way there under a slight drizzle. It was just a tiny shop in an old building, open only for a few hours every morning, and already had a queue of people waiting with their baskets. Noticing our hesitation, a local struck a conversation with us, explained the different kinds of bread, and even generously ordered and paid for ours. We ended up carrying our Girda back to our room in a newspaper and gobbling them down with some accompaniments. To this day, the memory of that morning brings us feelings of a warm hug.

We left Kashmir changed. And that is the power of kindness and love, and what better way to grab the hearts of two big foodies than through simple, tasty food? We have a special connection now in those memories, which we shall cherish forever.

I lit a tiny old lamp today

Didn’t even change the wick

Just poured a little oil

And off with the matchbox

And oh, it burnt for hours

It is still burning now

Every time I walk past it

Or my eyes fall on it from a distance

Just to see it going on

Gave me so much joy

Especially on a rainy day

When the Sun never made it past the dark clouds

I know the same fire can rage

But how easy it was to contain it

To illuminate only a small space

And offer it as a prayer

A symbol of hope

#HappyGaneshChathurthi