My Gold Mornings #Colgate360GoldMornings

“The best way to start the day is with a cup full of positivity,” my mother always said. I agree. That and a cup of coffee.

When I was younger I hated getting up early, especially during the long winters. The prospect of living my warm bed was to get ready for school was positively appalling. I would beg my mom to let me shut my eyes to five more minutes of dreams and on days she relented often resulted in me barely making to my classes on time.

Zombie Apocalypse: A Zica Adventure.

Pippa and I had barricaded ourselves in our third floor apartment. The sofa, a book case and a chest of drawer had all been piled up against the front door… just in case.

We sat in absolute silence only broken by the occasional growl outside.

“Please let this be a nightmare,” I prayed silently.

Navigating Troubled Days

I stand in front of the mirror dilly dallying over a strand of straying hair. Music wafts in through the slightly opened door, some Bollywood number about long lost love. I feel the beginning of a headache as I try to block out the cacophony of excited voices outside my room.

Raja Dada is getting married in two hours. I can’t call in sick at my own brother’s marriage.

“Get a grip,” I tell myself.

The Proposal

Fourth February, 2011

I decided to leave work early today. By early I mean, in time for dinner rather than the usual last cab before midnight. The project for March was of mammoth proportions and even with sixteen hours working days we were only just meeting deadlines.

So, could I afford to leave work in time for dinner? No, absolutely not.

Lyrics & Music

Years ago when my world was ruled by pigtails with ribbons and arithmetic homeworks, one summer, I had decided that I wanted to be a musician. A world renowned one no less. Kids my ages where dreaming of becoming doctors and pilots, but not me. I dreamt of standing on a stage with red velvet curtains in front of a thousand people … which was at least twice the number of people at my school, so yes to me it was a very huge crowd … and sing my own songs. My dream performance would invariably end with me being carried off the stage by my fans chanting my name over and over again.

Remembering Dadubhai

My earliest memories of my grandfather involves an old rocking chair. He would sit in the sunniest corner of the rambling old verandah reading the newspaper often accompanied by a steaming hot cup of Darjeeling tea and occasionally supplemented with a bowl of muri (or puffed rice, if you will).

Awakening the Netbook

The desert is endless. The sands stand still, save for when they shift ever so slightly in the evening breeze. In front of me there is a solitary figure walking hastily towards the horizon. She exudes an aura of royalty. But if you look closely there is a weariness in her gait, a sense of broken heartedness even, perhaps from all the battles she has seen.

She is not really alone. Her companion is short, almost like a child, armored in a white with orange patterned suit. ‘It’ seems to be rolling along speedily to match her stride. I call her companion an ‘it’, because it is most certainly not human.

“Who are you?”

“I am no one.”

“What am I doing in the desert?” I ask myself. The sun has disappeared completely beyond the horizon. There is an eerie red glow in the luminosity of twilight. I watch mesmerized when suddenly a streak of brilliant scarlet cuts across the dark skies.

I wake up with a start. It was just a dream after all!