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| ZUZANA'S OWN GODSSSIPS
The old legend says, that when the forest dwelling Hermit dies a seed is planted in his mouth. He is buried vertically in the earth from where an ancient tree begins its life all over again…But what if the soul of old Hermit reborn in a place, where are no roots?
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| ATHEENA WILSON'S STORIES
I hesitated for publishing this story quite late, but there’s a beauty in rewinding. Makes me appreciate how all those days have become of me. The clever fall of dominoes of life events that led me to still standing. A very happy new year to all!
When I was thirteen never grasp it all. But in time we were learned to sit and listen to the stories of our ancestors, real life stories of hardships and triumph, the abhorrent views of the society, how a family functions.
Growing up with someone brutally honest, I knew she always wanted to teach us beauty lay in how content we were with ourselves not the one that thrived in compliments. Another person’s opinion of how you look never mattered if you don’t know how you look.
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| PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY
Ten years from now, we would remember how we set off to Pondi one summer. Sometime again I suppose, I would be sauntering in eye-clashing clothes in another city, but my first one would always be Pondicherry.
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| PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY
Usually during Onam, I used to see pavements lined with flower markets in Kochi. I grew up hearing tales on how flowers were transported from Tamil Nadu, but this was another world. The stalls were divided by stunning velvety rose garlands.
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| PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY
Even by 6:30 am, to our surprise the market was already on its feet. Women peeling fresh prawns, a lot of them comfortably squatted, and their wringed sarees tied around their waists. There were hints of jasmine among the pungent smells.
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| PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY
On our first day at Pondi, we imagined cycling through Rue Suffren till Paradise Beach, rather we found ourselves going around in circles. Riya and I never got our hands on bicycles, but we had a better experience with the rickshaws.
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| PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY
A flurry of auto drivers rushed to us chattering away in Tamil. Dawn seeped in, the sun rose fairly early at Pondicherry. It was another day of sun, but there was a sweeping wind of laziness that suddenly slowed down time.
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| PERHAPS AT PONDICHERRY
My uncanny taste for flamboyant textiles hailed from a land of curious glances. Markets always stir these peckish desires in you to experiment, it’s the one place where you can tailor your dreams. But that’s not what I loved about markets.
