Monsoon Memories

There’s a scent I will never forget:

the smell of wet earth,

rising softly with the wind

through the arched window of my little corner room,

upstairs, in our home in Kerala.

It was my sanctuary;

the place where I found a little bit of me,

as I sat with pen and paper,

ready to scribble whatever words found me,

unfiltered and free,

while the monsoon played its lullaby outside.

From that perch, I’d watch

little children wade home from school,

laughing, kicking at puddles,

their umbrellas swaying side to side.

Auto rickshaws with their rain flaps down

would glide past like boats,

curious faces peeking through slits,

eyes wide with wonder.

Coconut palms swayed to the rhythm of the rain,

and Amma’s garden bloomed anew;

roses and hibiscus lifting their faces

to receive their sky-sent blessings.

Sometimes, I’d slip out onto the side terrace,

just to feel the rain on my skin,

arms outstretched,

the world quiet except for the whisper of the drops.

It was bliss in its purest form.

And then came Amma’s call from below..

beckoning us in for tea and banana fritters.

But it wasn’t just a snack;

it was comfort; an emotion altogether.

It was : laughter with cousins, shared stories in candlelight

when power would blink out and leave us

bathed in the amber glow of togetherness.

Even during hostel days,

that last piece of homemade pazhampori

Brought all the way from home

sparked playful fights and homesick joy;

every bite a memory.

Years have passed,

yet the view from that window still holds its magic.

And now, I watch from that same room,

as my little girl runs across the same old yard,

holding her tiny, colorful umbrella.

She jumps, she splashes,

mud and water dancing around her frock,

laughter echoing into the rain-drenched air.

She’s living the monsoon

that once lived in me.

And in these moments,

the seasons loop back on themselves,

folding time into something tender;

a memory reborn.

The monsoons in Kerala are more than a season.

They’re a feeling; a rhythm; a homecoming.

And I carry them in me,

like a secret melody:

soft, familiar, and forever.

The Art of Doing It All

When I was younger, I often heard this proverb: “Jack of all trades, master of none.” 

It lingered in the back of my mind like a quiet warning, whispering that trying too many things might mean excelling at none. At the time, I didn’t question it. But I also didn’t let it stop me.

I was the curious kid - the one who could never stick to just one hobby. I read everything I could get my hands on, doodled endlessly on notebooks in between boring lectures and played with different letterforms before I even knew what calligraphy was. I journaled like my thoughts depended on it. I experimented with makeup - not just on myself, but mostly on my friends. I braided hair, baked cookies and cakes, tried new recipes with whatever was in the kitchen. I simply did everything I could, with whatever I had.

Then came college. In India, career choices are often less about passion and more about pleasing society.. It usually boils down to two “noble” options: medicine or engineering. I wasn’t particularly drawn to either (needles made me squeamish and math stopped being appealing once alphabets took over the numbers), but architecture seemed like a loophole - a way to tick the engineering box while sneaking in some creativity. So, I chose it, hoping it would let me hold on to both logic and art. 

 And as the years passed, my list of interests only grew - photography, cooking, illustrating, storytelling. Each phase of my life brought a new layer, a new skill, a new version of me. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, that old proverb still echoed: Jack of all trades, master of none.

It made me wonder: was I diluting my potential by dabbling in so many things?

But life has a beautiful way of connecting the dots when you least expect it. That eye for detail from drawing served me well in architectural design.. eventually helping me finish third in my class for my thesis. My journaling evolved into storytelling, which later shaped my tone as a brand and artist. My love for fonts and handwriting turned into a career in calligraphy. I now write on paper, glass, metal, leather; anything that tells a story. My love for photography helps me create content for my brand. The hobbies I once considered random have now become the very tools that help me stand out in my work.

I’ve come to realize that every skill I picked up was never a distraction - it was preparation. It was a thread in the tapestry of who I was becoming.

And here’s the best part: the proverb? The full version actually says:

“Jack of all trades, master of none, but oftentimes better than master of one.”

Isn’t that something?

I no longer fear being “too much.” I’ve learned that I don’t need to fit neatly into a box. I’m not just one thing - I’m many.. and I think that fits me perfectly.

The Flicker of Then

Every now and then, in the middle of a busy day, something flickers.

It could be a whiff of something cooking in the air, or the golden warmth of a certain kind of sunlight, and suddenly, I’m not here anymore. For just a second, I’m back there - in a memory, a moment so familiar that I can feel it with all my senses.

The other day, while talking to a friend, we found ourselves stumbling into that shared space of nostalgia. That soft, blurry zone where memories feel more like dreams than facts. We were talking about our college days, and suddenly I was there again. Sitting at that tiny shop called Aklu's, waiting for my aloo paratha. I could hear the laughter of my friends, the clatter of plates, the familiar rhythm of a college afternoon. I could feel the sunshine on my face, the dust in the air, the smell of food that made everything feel okay. It was all so real for a flickering moment. And then it was gone.

Sometimes it’s home that comes back to me. A winter evening, quiet and still. I’m curled up on the old sofa in our living room, a plate of warm French toast in my hands - Amma’s French toast, the kind that made everything better. Scooby-Doo is playing on TV, my brother is next to me, and we’re just… there. No homework, no pressure, nothing to chase. Just the soft hum of comfort and the feeling that life is whole in that very moment. How I wish I could bottle that up. Keep it safe somewhere. Open it up when things get too loud, too fast, too grown-up.

And then there were the school days. The hallways that felt like mazes - long, echoing corridors where we chased each other, ducked behind corners, waved from one floor to another. I still dream about those stairs sometimes. About bunking class and sneaking behind the building with just two parathas shared between six of us. We’d sit in a circle, tearing pieces, dipping them into chana, laughing about our latest crushes, mimicking teachers, giggling over nonsense that felt like everything. We didn’t know it then, but we were living the stories we’d ache for later.

I think what I miss the most is not the moments themselves, but who we were in them. The version of me that didn’t have to plan things, or juggle responsibilities, or reply to emails. The me that just was. In the moment. Fully. Freely.

These memories – they visit quietly. No warning. No announcement. Just a flicker, and suddenly you’re there. And just as quickly, you’re back. Older. Busier. Maybe wiser. 

But always a little homesick for a time that doesn’t exist anymore - except in your heart.

From Daydreams to Downstrokes

I Am a Dreamer

I can’t help it - truly, I can’t.

Even in the middle of something mundane or routine, my mind wanders. Ideas, visions, and daydreams swirl around endlessly. Maybe that’s why boredom is such a stranger to me.

After I got married, especially during that first year, people often asked - “How are you surviving at home all day?”

No job. No office. Just home. “Don’t you get bored?”

It was always asked with a tone of disbelief - like I didn’t seem the type to idle away my time.

And they were right. I don’t idle.

At least not in this magical world I carry inside my head.

My mind is constantly moving - so much so that I often struggle to keep up with myself.

So no, I was never bored. Not once.

In fact, I cherished that time. The freedom of unstructured hours, the quiet joy of being lazy and creative all at once - it was liberating.

Somewhere along that journey, I stumbled upon lettering and calligraphy.

It started with those mesmerizing videos of calligraphers dancing across the page with elegant tools. I was captivated. So I picked up a pen and gave it a try.

And I loved it.

Still do - more with every passing day.

What started with strokes and curves soon expanded into painting, styling, and exploring photography techniques to showcase my work. I unearthed skills I hadn’t touched since school or my early college years - things I’d long forgotten I loved.

Instagram became more than just a platform - it became a community. A space filled with fellow artists who inspire and uplift. And I can’t thank my family enough for cheering me on through every wild idea and creative detour.

I’m grateful I took that first step.

I may still be far from where I dream of being, but I know I’ve climbed a few steps up this tall staircase - and that matters.

If you’re reading this, and there’s something calling out to you - some passion or hobby that lights a tiny spark - please chase it. No matter how impractical or crazy it seems.

Because the rest - it unfolds beautifully along the way.

Yes, I’ve made countless mistakes.

Shredded papers. Wasted efforts. Learned hard lessons.

But not once did I feel like giving up.

There’s still so much to try, so much to explore.

And I can’t wait.

The other life

I feel like I have a parallel life

One which awaits the darkness of the night

For as soon as I’m asleep

It’s the dawn of a new day in my head

The places it takes me to

Or I take myself to

I’ll never know if they are for real or not

For it seems surreal

This life I live

Whereas the dreams

Are too real to be dreams

I wonder what I do

In this parallel world

While I’m awake in the real world

Or what seems like it’s real.

Love is…

Love is what stays in your heart -

what warms you even on the darkest nights

of the coldest winters.

Love is…

The way he holds you,

the sharp little gasp when your frozen feet find his.

The scent of his forehead as you kiss him goodnight.

The laughter at how lame your jokes are - both of yours.

The wake-up calls.

The fights,

and the soft, stumbling apologies that come after.

It’s the arguments over whose turn it is

to turn off the lights,

or pick the movie.

It’s the late-night drives.

The nights that blur into mornings.

The joy, the ache,

the incredible mess of feelings

that can only come

from something so simple and vast:

Love.

Pause

She reached out to the swirling world

from within hers;

arms outstretched,

trying, once again,

to hold on to something

that could slow it all down.

She had grown tired..

of the blurry faces,

the hushed voices,

the laughter,

the colours,

the noise that rose and folded into itself.

It was all right there,

so vividly alive,

but she couldn’t quite step into it.

Not yet.

All she wanted

was to stop time;

just for a little while..

long enough

to be still,

to be quiet,

to have enough

for herself.

Through their Eyes

Do you ever wonder

if all we know

is all there is?

Do you ever ask yourself

if you’re missing out

on something else?

Are we truly alone..

or are we being watched?

Are footsteps following us,

or are our thoughts not ours at all?

What if there’s something

beyond this world..

beings aware of us,

watching everything we do?

Do you think they wonder

what we’re doing with our lives?

Do you think they pity us;

seeing how we live?

Waging wars.

Killing children.

Oppressing. Tormenting.

Polluting, warming,

destructing, depleting.

Do you wonder

why they fear

showing themselves to us?

Maybe we should see ourselves

from a different view:

a little farther away,

a little more honest.

Then maybe we’ll see

who we really are:

beastly, inconsiderate,

lacking compassion,

lacking love.

So look in the mirror.

See yourself.

And ask:

when you leave this world,

what do you wish

to leave behind?

Awakening.

Lost myself, somewhere along the way..
Don't know how, don't know why.
When did you touch my soul; when did you look beyond?

Amidst all the chaos, I stand still
Unmoving, unfaltering,  unwithering.
Under all the supervision
And all the noisy chattering

It drives me crazy, makes me burn
From deep within the depths of my soul.
Yet I show it not on the outside
I will stay strong, I will not hide.

My ink dries up, my words disappearing
My mind goes blank, as I stand here shivering.
I wonder what its come down to..
The story of my life and the reason for this struggling

Pages are turning and chapters ending
But I push through them all, unrelenting
Lost in the madness of this addictive craze
I lose sight of my surroundings,  of Your protective gaze

Why should I rush, or hurry it up?
Wht should I even think, of giving it up?
I stand for truth, I stand for love.
I stand for God, in heaven above.

I slip back to reality,  make a fall
But the landing unexpectedly isn't hard at all
I feel the comfort in the arms of God
I'm not alone, and so I'll stand tall.

Forgive me my lord, for my moment of doubt
Forgive me, for my unnecessary thoughts.

I drift back to sleep, this time in peace.
Touched by a mysterious warm kiss, in the gentle of the breeze.

Thinking, I sat
Lost within myself
Thoughts pull me in
Deeper and deeper
As I delve into
Complete ignorance
Of everything and
Everyone around me
Faces fade
Eyes grow tired
Of the same old scenes
And I wonder
How long will this last?
I wish to return
To my familiar places
Where I'll find
The ones that I love..
I want to fall asleep
Into eternal bliss
Of not knowing,
Not being aware.
I try to catch myself
Before it all disappears
But somehow I awaken
From my land of dreams.
(I wrote this many years ago.. Found a crumpled piece of paper in an old file today and this is what it contained.)

A day in the life of an Architect

These sharp lines
Start to get fuzzy..
The plans and elevations
Are all getting messy.

My mind drifts,
From thought to thought..
Concentration level
Has reached a naught.

All the targets
I hoped to achieve,
By the end of today
Yet again deceive..

Printed sheets
Pile up higher and higher,
Hopes to leave on time
Vaporize into thin air..

Surroundings have become
Nothing but a blur.
Quickly check the time
Wondering 'how much longer?'

Fifth cup of coffee
Fifteen drawings done;
I finally wrap up,
And decide to shut down.

Just as I close
Imagine my horror
As the words appear
'FATAL ERROR'.

I don't know how many times I will keep making and breaking this promise to myself to at least try and make an effort to contribute more often to my blog. What I do know is that I'm lazy. And that's one of the reasons why I don't:

a) bother picking up a pen to scribble down random thoughts in my diary.. or
b) get my bottom off of my bed (which I spend most of my time in these days during the hours that I'm not stuck to an office desk with my eyes glued to the screen) to take my laptop, switch it on and start typing.. or even
c) do nothing other than log on to my blog and start typing from my phone!

Ever since I've started working life has been so monotonous, the same old things everyday.. there are good times and then.. there's AutoCAD. What could I possibly even write about? The most blogging  I've done in the past nine (..or has it been ten?) months would've been the conversations I have. With myself. In my head.
I keep dreaming of the day when technology would be so far advanced that while I think my thoughts, they get typed automatically and stored in some tiny point-sized chip embedded in my brain, and I can revisit them as I please. Trust me, the world is missing out on so much right now.. how many such meaningful conversations have been lost. Sigh.

This isn't really anything. But its a start. And this time my mom was responsible for reminding me to write again. Love you mom. And also an unexpected reader. :) Well, I thought readers of this blog were virtually nonexistent because I'd managed to bury it pretty deep. Thanks for digging it up. Means a lot.

New year.. New beginnings..

I hope to begin this year not with a bunch of resolutions which I can never keep up to (hence the reason why I never bothered to make any new years resolutions whatsoever until now)..but with a heart full of hope, positivity and good thoughts to mark the end of one wonderful year and to freshly start another with renewed energy and enthusiasm.
Last year marked the end of not just 2013 but also my academic life. As of now I have decided to not take up studies for a long long time (the last semester in architecture contributed a LOT to that decision-making process) and now its time to move on to bigger and (hopefully) better things.
I wish to end this year with fond memories of all the wonderful bygone times and raise my glass for even better adventures ahead, God willing.

So cheers to 2014 and adieu 2013!

Slipping

Ever experienced that feeling when you're falling asleep and you slip back into reality and you feel like you jumped off a cliff to land on another one, but the earth moved beneath you, making you fall? A little like when you climb down the stairs and you imagine there to be a step, but there wasn't one so you reach the landing, which is a level higher than you expect it to be.
Slipping between reality and dreams..I feel it's in a way sort of like life. Got to be careful when you slip though, cos you never know what you may fall onto when you reach the bottom..
Also like love, a leap of faith can either be a breath of fresh air, or the end of you.

Done at last!

I've reached yet another milestone in life. One I've always longed to reach, one I've always dreamt of achieving. The only thing I didn't put much thought into, though, was what would it be like once it was all over? What would I feel? Excitement? Happiness? Sadness?
I don't know. I didn't know then and I don't really know now. It seems as if I've reached some sort of crossroads. And I don't know which turn to take next.
I do feel one emotion though: Relief. I've successfully completed my 5 years of architecture, and I guess the ending was pretty good too. And really, the relief is indeed overwhelming.
Something makes me feel a little unsettled though. I don't quite know what it is yet, and I don't really want to bother about it.
I want to believe I have time as of now. I want to believe I can do all I've wanted to do all this time. I want to believe I've broken free from whatever was keeping me chained (to my laptop I should say)..
And with that positive (sort of) thought, I try to get some sleep tonight.
Adieu, architecture student life! Adieu, USD!

Reading my old posts, I can't wait to start writing again. It's been so long! And I feel like something inside me is struggling to get out.. (no, not in a gory way). Just waiting to get over and done with my Final Thesis and then to return to being a dedicated writer at my blog (something I have never been able to keep up to, ever).
Keeping fingers crossed for the jury to go fine..

Have you ever thought of how, sometimes you see something so often that you cease to see it anymore? You look at it over and over and over again, for so many weeks or months or years that you forget what it actually looks like.. It may be years later that you suddenly realize something like 'Oh wow, this bedspread is such a pretty shade of green'.
It could be anything that you stop noticing... maybe a picture, maybe the sticky note on your desktop, maybe the wall clock in your bedroom.. and maybe, just maybe... even people.

On architecture...

"Architecture is a journey. It has a beginning.. but it never ends." - Aditya Chandrasekhar, USD batch 2008


The beginning of every college life is similar, the joy of meeting new people, being in a new place, knowing what being independent really is like. Especially in my case - being someone brought up in Saudi Arabia - a very strict country with even stricter rules for women - there were many reasons to celebrate the beginning of my college life.

Studying architecture was not at all what I'd imagined it would be like. Actually, I hadn't really imagined much as to what was to come. But when it did, I loved it.

USD was soon my home. The space-framed studio with no barriers between classes and the mezzanine from which you can gleefully observe the entire college and its activities, the computer labs, the library… all became points of meeting new people, learning new things, exploring the world of architecture every day. Everyone knew everyone else here. The lack of walls or separations or boundaries also helped everyone with socializing and getting to know each other better. Seniors, juniors, super-seniors, all ate under one roof in the workshop area below where Chandru anna would serve hot coffees and delicious open masala dosas every noon.

We shared our thoughts, opinions and our lunches here. We talked about architecture; we gossiped, had fiery debates, laughed and suggested books and movies to each other here.

The space-framed studio would serve us as our classrooms, exhibition hall, display area, jury room and during NASA or on final jury eves as even our homes, for we have spent nights working here together, we have stayed up all night and not even realized that the sun had risen, together.

The first 2 years were the most informal or 'relaxed' study semesters. We enjoyed the most in these semesters, making models, doing slideshow presentations, sculpture classes, and sketching live objects and even people. We went on trips every year, we saw new things, we learnt even more.

One thing about architecture is that it’s not like any other course where you learn from text books or lab experiments with a fixed syllabus and you score the highest in class if you adhere to them. No, in architecture there is no end to how much you can learn and from whatever sources you can learn. It’s been five years since I have been in this field, and yet sometimes I wonder, how much have I really learnt? Learning architecture is an endless process, where you learn more from the talks in the corridors, canteens, libraries etc. with your seniors or juniors or teachers or just about anybody else, more than you would in a theory or lecture room.

I have always wished that our college would have had more open spaces where we could go sit to take a break from the work or deadline stress and just relax our minds and help regain our creativity level to a normal, when we have reached the saturation point.  Or that the small canteen downstairs wouldn't have closed down and it would've been like the good old days in first year.

And yet, I still find my college close to perfect in terms of how it does not restrict you, because architecture requires creativity, and it does not come from being pressurized or restricted. One needs to be able to work with an open mind.

In an architecture school, you may not learn a lot about technicality, or even come close to really understanding what architecture is all about. You learn through a series of failed or successful experiments which you perform, ultimately producing something amazing, something you created, something which reflects you in so many ways… and you proudly realize: your journey in Architecture has begun.

Nostalgia...

Being in a field that requires a lot of travelling, you come across a lot of things passing you by. The scenes you see from a moving bus, the pastures and fields from a moving train, flashing by, the people doing different things, children playing, cattle mooing; The various faces of India, whether urban or rural, nothing goes unnoticed if you're travelling. Especially if you're a budding photographer (or at least that's what I think of myself), and you have an eye for these kind of things, something or the other is bound to be catchy sometime. Well except if you're sleeping in the bus, which is what I often end up doing although I would love to enjoy the sceneries.

Just the other day, I was on a bus journey and my eyes spotted these colourful flags on small straws. Nothing like the one in the picture, that's just there 'cause.. well, what's a post without a picture? Anyway so these flags, they were much more awesome (I may be biased here). They were plain‐coloured and of shiny glittery paper and as a child, glitter was totally my thing! I loved anything blingy and bright. And these were the epitome of my desires as a child. It had in it everything I ever wanted.

Seeing them fluttering so carelessly in the breeze in front of that dingy shop somehow awakened something inside me. Something that had been long‐forgotten.. Sudden waves of nostalgia washed me over and over until I realised how blissful childhood really was. Sometimes just a simple flag or a colourful pin‐wheel were enough to make the day, but now the grown‐ups that we are, nothing is sufficient. Nothing is ever enough to satisfy our never‐ending wants (wants, not needs) and we are all carried away with the materialism in this world. No matter what it may be, we never get enough. Enough love, or care, or clothing, or things to fill our houses and shelves with.. what went wrong?

We are never happy with the relationships we are in, or the amount of money we make, the appreciation we get, or the families we are born into. When children are born they are the biggest source of happiness for anyone around them: little bundles of joy. As we grow older the innocence fades, and that complicates things. The more knowledge we seem to gain, the lesser we seem to know to put it to use.

Maybe its time we stopped complaining and whining and find peace and happiness with whatever we have. We were all born with perfect minds, humble, modest and full of enthusiasm. I feel that sometimes all the world really needs is a little more childishness and a little less maturity, and everything will fall into place.