Some Sanguinity with Sahana

Glass half full, means more room for vodka! Ironic, coming from a teetotaller. But how did I get here? One wrong boy, one too many sob fests, a dating app, some upsetting health diagnosis and an internship later, here I am. I wouldn't say I'm a complete misbeliever in optimism but when life starts to feel like a BMTC bus, all you wish is to get off at your stop in one piece. For the sake of the metaphor, let's call all my failed relationships, aunties that elbow and stomp you. Their deceiving smiles, what feels like a breath of fresh air is just a mirage to occupy your seat. But once they get off, you've got yourself all the extra space. As the cool breeze hits your face, you look forward to the comfortable journey ahead of you on your warm, window seat. And dating apps, the BMTC way, are stolen glances from a cute boy in the men's section. The butterflies in your stomach coupled with a wandering thought of him being a creep, keeps you distracted and hopeful. A swip...

Exhaling soft sighs after what was his last sip of Filter Kaapi , his wrinkled, yet warm hands held her untired, soft hands laden with heirloom bracelets. Tender exchanges of reassurance between the old couple, left even their pale skin, glowing. Long before his last breath, she was by his bedside, amidst the deafening beeping of monitors, making her homegrown Filter Kaapi , a ritual never missed in 55 years of their marriage.  With the agony of my grandfather's demise, came shattering the idea of unconditional love among couples for me. Love between them wasn't a feeling, but an enacted emotion.  The anchor to my ajji's ship, was thatha . She humbled the rank holder in him, and he was the pillar to her indigenous talents. From early morning walks, to watching daily soaps, in doing lay their love. To me it was an union of sweet-smelling jasmine gajra and aromatic Filter Kaapi .  It was never the grand, yet shallow proclamations of love.  Reminders to take medicat...

My earliest memory of not being able to handle petty inconveniences, failure or some form punishment was when I was sent out of my fifth grade Kannada class because I tried to police someone else for talking during class. I stood outside class incessantly sobbing with my naughty classmate, who was the one wrong initially, thinking "we're equals and that's such a shame." I know this may come off as privileged because how hard could it be, to be the crème of the class at every stage in your life, to be always picked out as the most responsible or the most academically inclined, liked by all the teachers at school and shown as an example by parents for their children, my peers to learn from and look up to.  But when you grow up thinking you're the jack and master of all trades, adulthood will be a big disappointment.  I broke my leg twice in a year, right before my driver's license tests. At 20, I couldn't clear my CA.  Was it because of the pandemic, was it ...