My mother used to tell me stories from her childhood, how she and her mom, my Grandma, used to play together. Grandma would pretend to be a uber rich mysterious woman staying in some fancy place. My mum would pretend to be a servant with a British accent (Butler, she told me) and they'd play house. Pretending to be from a rich aristocratic family. "Here's your tea Madame, fresh and focused, with just a hint of ginger. The way you like it." The butler would proclaim. "Oh how very well, thank you Roberta, this is absolutely wonderful" grandma would reply. It was a happy little family, in a happy little world, far away in time. I was thinking of this story today, thinking about the turbulent times, the year, the pandemic, the wars, the all around tragedies unfolding in front of us. Write a letter to loneliness, I've been told. And it's one hour before submission and now I've been thinking about this for some time now, about half a month, since t...
The older I am growing, the more fucked up the world seems to get. Not that me growing up has anything to do with it, that's just how world works. And the more the world's getting bad, the more the need for kindness. I remember the time when I was in third grade, with my group of friends each having their own little quirks. We were a carefree group in a carefree class with all the things a class was supposed to have, including a class clown. One time, by a sheer stroke of dumb luck, I managed to get a wooden shard stuck in my thumb. Don't ask how. It hurt, of course it did, but being the big man that I, an 8 year old, thought myself to be, I refused to even acknowledge the pain let alone cry. Of course Prakhar, my best friend, saw straight through me, they all do, don't they? Best friends. Always seem to know us more than we do ourselves. Prakhar took it upon himself to get the shard out, and if any of you ever had the fortune of getting something out of your skin, ...