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Durga’s Homecoming

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A new journey begins for a new Durga designated to vanquish the new Asura, more appropriately, Asuras.


After a precious interim of ten months, my little Durga was coming home. The joy was immense as was my anticipated relief. Through all my years, I never missed the opportunity of being in the proximity of the unique festival, the Durga Puja. Its exuberance overwhelms me every year and I respond to it ecstatically. But that year, it didn't even seem that the celebrations were going on. It didn't depress me though, for once, as I lay in bed away from the festivities that fostered the Feminine Energy of existence.

Such was her captivity. No lesser than the one Maa Durga exercises on her devotees, I pondered. I could feel her twisting and jabbing in my belly. Little could we wait to see each other.

According to Hindu mythology, Durga is created by the Gods to slay the evil demon, Mahishasura. She was born with astounding beauty and power, empowered by the collective strength and …
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Our Story

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A blog was born to share the quotidian tales of life. Tales of your lives and ours.

Randomness struck us as we bonded, not on the first day of the primary, junior or even senior school for that matter, but in the 11th grade with only a mere one and a half years left to step out of our second homes. Two shabby, squeaking benches, one behind the other, was the space that metamorphosed our experiences from the general to the distinctive. From sharing lunchboxes to sharing lives, all extempores coagulated to form that envious rainbow, which, sadly enough, disappeared once the conducive conditions were lost. Hardly did we realise how time raced us through its course as we shifted from pulling each other’s legs, mimicking teachers, enjoying moments of unadulterated fun to writing absurdities and absolutes in our precious slam books.

Sparks produced sparkles, and once in a while, we paused, pondered and decided to proceed….We ventured to discuss and disclose the quotidian tales of life. Yours …
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Do you know A Mrs Sen?

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With years of roles foisted upon her, she has forgotten what it is to be herself

A certain Mrs Sen was staring hard at life. Four decades of scathing remarks and constant belittling had reduced her to an entity she could hardly recognise as being her true self.


Irritable and lost, all that she could remember of her past was the warmth of her childhood home and the amassing accolades for her performance.

Marriage had bestowed on her, activities and engagements, but untimely and unknowingly, halted the flowering of the self. Doing the chores and tweaking her life in the larger interest of the family soon became her habit and the only way to be.


And then one day, life seemed to have passed by in a whiff. With her fledgelings flying out of the nest, age and ailments catching up on her, the gnawing presence of the spouse and every morning a span of twenty-four long hours hurled at her, she barely knew what to do.


In those yesteryears, she never had the time (though she did nurture a sec…
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