A Bag of Thoughts

Rishikesh is a rather religious spot and I, being an agnostic, am always am unsure if I want to visit such a place every time I go there. The ride there is unending and it became more so because of the shortage of space in the car and the incessant burping, gossiping and frequent snoring. As we were nearing the ashram we were to stay in, the scenery became painful to look at. I say painful because of its striking resemblance to the Sahyadrian landscape. It hurts to even imagine returning to Sahyadri nearly a month early.   After the aforementioned suffering, we headed to the ashram with the accompaniment of my grandmother forgetting her spectacles (which she eventually found in her purse), her precious water bottle and of course, her mobile. When we finally settled into a room, my cousins pulled out cards and dragged me to play with them. The first day ended in misery with people talking loudly in the dead of the night, commenting about how late it was. Con...

As an eighth grader, it would always thrill me to think about next year, academics aside. This was all because of Ninad, our yearly school magazine. I was scared that I wouldn’t be selected and that I wouldn’t ever get to work on the Ninad and get my picture in it not just once, but twice. But when ninth came, I fell ill and when I returned to Sahyadri, I was a part of the team. There was no real official announcement or a personalized letter, heck, no one even said, “Hey, Prarthana’s part of the Ninad team now!” except once which was why I went to the very first Ninad meeting of my life. And here’s the thing, when a few students are handpicked by a teacher, two conclusions are made by all the other students who were, for some reason, not selected. First, the teacher is accused to be greatly biased and that, “They would never choose me because I am really bad at their subject” but either way, everyone continues whining with the occasional, “Oh, man, even I wan...

There is no sight of light in the firmament and the vista of a dark night is suspended in the seeming stillness of nighttime. But I hear movement outside and for a tick, fear threatens to grapple with me before I realize that it is just my mother, readying herself for the famous “sargi” before she commences the strict fast, celebrating Karwa Chauth. Sargi is basically consuming comestible which ideally is the last food item to be had by the woman before she starts a day without food and water. There are plenty of stories behind Karwa Chauth and if seen from a feminist lens, this festival is a small distance from being completely ridiculous. On this day, all Indian married women are expected to go without food and water for a day so their husbands can live a longer life. Firstly, the obvious problem here is lack of relationship between women not eating and men living longer. But since this is a religious practice, it wouldn’t be right to raise any (sensible) ques...