Skip to main content

Of collecting and collating memories

We shopped for hours, M and I. I intended buying gifts for family and close friends. In between shopping for others, I browsed and picked up junk jewelry and clothes for myself. Flitting from one shop to another in the row of several tiny shops lined next to each other, we enjoyed the art of shopping as only women can. Despite not being the quintessential shoppers. We realized that we are quite similar in our shopping habits. Focusing on things that we had in mind and not lingering around shops we have no intention of buying from.

We came back satiated to join the men and kids at a beach that's just across M's house. The evening was cool with a light breeze. The clean sand glistened against the dark evening sky. The sea glittered with the lights cast into the waters by a fleet of ships lined up in neat rows farther down the shore. The kids were making merry building sand castles and running about unfettered. As we adults huddled together in the open seating area of the adjacent food court, a heady mix of different food smells wafted across. Just the perfect evening one could have. Food, drinks, and friendly banter with some occasional food for thought thrown in.

We left for Bali the next day afternoon. The flight was a bit delayed and as is wont with the smartphone and wi-fi era, the extra time was duly spent clicking and posting selfies. We caught up with some sleep on the flight. Just before we began our descent, we woke up to a beautiful sight of the bright setting sun casting a radiant yellow and crimson glow on the sky on one side while the cool white moon shimmered pleasantly on the other.



We met D, our warm and courteous chauffeur, at the airport who'd also be our tour guide for the next three days. On the way to our hotel, we passed by a lot of  life-size statues at road junctures depicting scenes from mythology, particularly the Ramayana and even the Mahabharata. It was not surprising considering the fact that the island is named after the mighty king Bali in Ramayana. Over the next three days, we were to discover a beautiful land; one that was similar to India in many ways, yet one that retained a distinct, unique culture of its own.


Comments

  1. Ah such a relaxing account of the experience. I still cannot shop, by the way, although junk jewelry does have a certain charm about it, I must admit. Looking forward to the Bali series now :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. True. I keep second guessing my purchases, although I'd like to believe I've gotten better over time :-p Yes, I prefer junk jewelry to the costlier metals. Of course, I have my share of cravings for them too. Cannot please a woman, no? ;-)

      Delete

Post a Comment

Would love to hear from you :-)
Also, please click the subscribe by Email link below the comment form to get follow-up comments to your inbox..

Popular posts from this blog

Awaiting colours of change

It's the morning rush hour. In between flipping the dosa on the steaming pan, I scurry towards the bathroom door, impatiently asking R to hurry up and finish his bath. I scamper back to the kitchen to finish packing the lunch boxes, feeling the pressure of the husband's temporary absence which would have otherwise let me concentrate on just one part of the early-hour circus at home.

"Amma, I'm done. Please get the towel," screamed R into the empty room. Finally, I mutter and stride back to help him get dressed for school. My hands work quickly in tandem, patting him dry and squeezing the moisturizer into my palms when I notice R's. They have a flaky white colour to them, the one that comes with the skin being in contact with excessive foam and water. I apply a generous dose of the creamy lotion over them as I gently rebuke R for using so much soap.

"But, I want my skin to be light. I like light skin not dark" he quips, in almost a matter-of-fact to…

Rotting humanity

Doc, there's an emergency!

The breaking news flashes the brutal carnage. Images and voices float in my mind as I drive in manic speed to the hospital.

Of sirens blazing. Of toys and limbs lying scattered on a carpet of red and brown.

Oxygen! I scream. Pump, harder.

Doc, there's no pulse.

Shoulders slump.

I witness grief fuse into flames that rise up collectively at the mass funeral. The ashes fall lightly on me.

Will the stench of hate ever recede?

*** Written for a prompt at

The wedding

Holding hands under the inky blue bejeweled canopy, they swore allegiance to each other. Bedecked in a brown shimmery, the translucent veil flowing away from her coy face, she looked up nervously at him. He replied with an imperceptible nod that spoke volumes of quiet reassurance.

Family and friends had gathered for the ceremony that would bind the two lovers for life. The atmosphere was electrifying and the air abuzz with each of them signaling to the other in a frenzy of activity. A huddle in here, a huddle there, some grouping for a light tete-a-tete, some to discuss an important ritual.

The younger lot broke away from the crowd, not entirely connecting with the significance of the gathering, their individual frames dotting the arena like lost stars.

At the precise moment that would signify the sacred union, the chief called for everyone's unwavering attention. The scattered swarm, even the ones that had strayed, converged obediently towards the altar. Each member of the audie…