Posts from the family category.
Some books announce themselves loudly. They clear their throat, adjust their spectacles, and declare, “I have something important to say.”The Daughters of Shantiniketan doesn’t do that.It sits beside you quietly, like someone at a café who doesn’t interrupt your thoughts — until, suddenly, you realise they know exactly what you’ve been thinking all along.I began this novel expecting a family saga ...
My fathers shawl. This shawl is more than just a piece of cloth to me; it's a symbol of my father's love. He loved it for its quality and warmth, and it's been with me since I left home for studies and now for marriage. It's my go-to companion during travels and winter days.Whenever my father sees it, he can't help but praise its goodness and reminds him how it kept him warm during his pilgrimage ...
It was during my 10th standard, and tuitions were almost compulsory. It didn't matter even if one was great at studies; one had to attend tuitions. There were three batches: Early Morning, Morning, and Evening batch. The Evening batch wasn't my choice, and I couldn't join the Morning batch – most students of this batch were from my own school. I just wanted to avoid the same group of friends. So, ...
Somedays, I used to ask my father to draw something for me. And he used to. At least, that’s how I remember it . Or, it’s highly likely he might have chosen to try his hand in drawing himself. I don't remember to the point now, but he did draw for sure pretty enthusiastically.When in school, I loved drawing, sketching, painting. The dining table would turn into my art studio, with brushes, pencils...
I launched my first book at 44My daughter launched hers at 11 — published by Pais Friends Library, Dombivli.And somewhere between those two milestones, I discovered that sometimes children don’t just follow our footsteps… they show us new paths.That revelation came to me through The Day I Stopped Watching Reels, the debut story by my daughter, Vira Gudhate. When she handed me the manuscript, I exp...
Meera sat in the seat next to the porthole through which she could look outside the rocket. Everything was grey. The body of the rocket was grey, the back of the seat on which the entertainment display was mounted was grey, the body of the rocket was grey, and the Moon ahead was grey. She was also not entirely certain what she was going to do once she was on the Moon. She just knew she wanted to g...
Told my husband to prepare jira rice as I was still on my way to home. The universe just agreed with it!
I remember the first time I curled up beside my grandmother on a chilly winter evening, the aroma of simmering kahwa filling the room, as she spun tales that danced between the real and the magical. There was always a hush in the air, punctuated by the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional shiver of delight or fear. Opening Dadi, Dantkatha and the Djinns by Avanti Sopory felt like stepping b...
Sameer Gudhate Presents the Book Review of Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati RoyI remember the exact moment I discovered The God of Small Things — the air sticky with monsoon humidity, the smell of old paper, the faint clatter of a train in the distance — and how the world Roy created felt impossibly alive in my hands. Until then, the Booker Prize was just a shiny emblem, a distant flag waving ...
‘Mother Mary Comes to Me’ by Arundhati Roy is one impressive memoir. An honest one, a crazy brutally honest one - about a girl (Arundhati Roy) who has spent her life watching her mother (Mary Roy). Observing her. Loving her. Not hating her. Wanting to leave her. Failing to leave her. It’s all here - every emotion rolled into one 300 pages book….Checkout this week’s book review - https://jaeeblogsc...