Shaily Agrawal

An Indian vacation

Posted on Nov 27, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

This post in response to Colin McQueens’s recent post about his past travels (Link). I was replying to him but realised it was long enough to be considered a post 🤣🤣🤣

I had travelled some places in India early in life. Everywhere I found that I could not eat anything because of too much chilli. The water always tasted wrong, whether bottled or otherwise. I was always excited during the day, tired by sun down, slept off five seconds after my head hit the bed (I don’t use a pillow). Here are some different types of travel in India.

Summer travel: As a rule, vacation in India always involves looking for a place less sunny that your hometown. There is no sun bathing involved. We see too much sun all year to crave for it during vacation as well. Most of us are too dark to get a tan that looks pretty. Mostly, it would make us look like burnt chicken. Since no sun means rainy, putting a damper on outdoors program, we look towards hill stations as retreat during summer vacations.

Going to a typical hill station during summers without booking two month in advance means you will enjoy the elements more that you would want to, since you will spend the night outdoors under the stars, without space to pitch a tent.

Every ‘major’ hill station in India offers all kinds of services to you. There will be a super-pricey market attached to it where everything from toothpaste to diamonds is available at three times the cost. I remember having to buy shoes in one such place (shudder). The only thing you can’t get is a view, unless you are a very tall person and can look over the shoulders of a huge crowd around the only roadside left with a view.

I once went to the Gun hill in Mussoorie, having heard a thousand praises about the place and its scenic beauty. I even took the ropeway, even though I am scared of heights. Once I reached there, I searched for the said view. I told myself repeatedly it must be there somewhere, hidden behind the huge rising circle of shops–photo booths and souvenirs. Then giving up, we decided to get our photos taken in the local garb to have a proof that we did visit that place (we can always fake it). We asked a local photographer for his services. He offered us a dress. Once ready, he took us through a maze of shops and told a few people to move aside, and bingo! the view was right there. True that we could see only one side of Gun hill now rather than the 360 degree view it once offered but, at least, there was an unblocked view and we could take pictures before others elbowed us out. ☺️

Going off-season to a quieter hill station would mean that the only meal option would probably be egg and bread, if any. (Been there, eaten that.) But you can have an unobstructed view of the endless mountains, if there hadn’t been any landslides on your way to the place; if you are not stuck indoors due to a snowstorm; and if you can dare to come out of your cave made of blankets. ☺️

The sea coast and desert are considered only during winters when we have nothing to lose. Sun is not quite that burning and we can manage to look not quite that burnt despite being outdoors.

I have never been to a winter vacation spot, which means I haven’t seen the sea. I can only assume there will be a lot of water. I can’t be sure, of course. I have seen pictures, though, of people from foreign countries sun bathing in Goa. Why someone would fly all the way to Goa only to lie down with eyes closed is a mystery to me. The place is supposed to be beautiful. I understand engaging other senses as well, but closing your eyes to so much beauty is beyond me. But then. I haven’t been to a beach so I don’t know the beach-etiquettes.

Desert will probably have sand and sun. Again, I only say that because of photographs people share. I can only assume they are right since they have no clear reason to lie and fake photos (unless their train failed to turn up–which is entirely possible due to winter fog–and they decided to fake it to avoid returning to office).

I once went to Jaipur, assuming it was a desert, considering it is the capital city of Rajasthan–the desert state of India. Boy, was I wrong! There was not a speck of sand though. The whole city was squeaky clean and modern, looking closer to Delhi. I wondered if we were in the correct city until a row of pink houses started flashing past us. (Jaipur is famous for its pink houses.) And later I saw some of the most magnificent architecture ever built, but sadly, no sand dunes. There were no camels to ride and I kept wishing to ride a camel-drawn cart, at least. But it was a no-go.

Religious travel: One more vacation type in India is Teerthyatra (Pilgrimage). Since India has around 33 crore (330 million) deities, we have pilgrimage spots covering half the country allowing us a variety of choices based on the season and our favourite deity.

Our gods sit in large courts among their friends and family. Each major god will have his wife next door and his sons and daughters in separate rooms–sometimes along with their own spouses and children–and most definitely with their rides close by. (Our god’s are inventive and like to ride various animals regardless of their sizes).

Considering each god has several pilgrimages around the country, together with the local gods, the number of pilgrimage sites in India is overwhelming. I have been to several these spots in my early youth, always driven by wanderlust rather than faith. The biggest pilgrimage sites having amazing architecture and are built in exotic locales that most visitors usually fail to look at because they need to stand in 3-hour lines outside these temple for their turn to pay respects to their favoured deity for 5 seconds. Not that we mind it.

Historical travel: India is a country made of too many kingdoms ruled by too many dynasties for more 5 millennia. With each king building there own castle, not ready to share the meagre quarters with their parents, the number of castles is staggering. Ever since kingdoms were banned and ex-kings offered pennies for their ‘services’, most of the castles were abandoned since the cost of keeping them was higher than the kings’ annual salary. Most of them are open to public now as heritage spots or remodeled as hotels.

I have visited some of them and always came to the same conclusion–these people in the castle must have had legs of steel. After walking around the castles for 3 hours, I would wish for my knight in shining armour to pick me up, but my dad would simply smile and tell me to try to keep up.

I love architecture and paintings but I would like them to keep a golf cart for visitors. Unfortunately, golf carts can somehow ruin those precious ancient floors, so humans would have to walk on foot. Or may be simply sit on the floor (furniture is out of bounds) and hope that end of the day, the cleaner would sweep them out. Good luck with that!

General advice:

Well, since India has train and bus service nearly everywhere, travel is not much of a problem. But I would suggest keeping a mosquito-repellant cream and a bottle of Kulzum or Amritdhara for upset stomach, heat stroke and insect-bites.

I would also suggest keeping various anti-venoms, but that would be just out of spite since the world has forever called India the land of snake charmers. In reality, we are the land of temples and castles; and farms and cattles; and forests and deserts; and rolling hills and water falls; and rivers and seas… Snakes just come with the territory.

Considering that I have only visited 5 out of 29 states and 7 Union territories and the number of leaves I get at work each year is limited, I don’t think I will get a chance to peep out of India in this lifetime, unless I live to be 100-years old and healthy enough to travel till then.

Meanwhile, I continue travelling daily in dreams–a hassle-free way of travelling I have created lately. Well, I hope I will see Jaisalmer’s sand dunes tonight. That way I can cross it out from my list.

Wish me luck!

Reblog

Reblog: Sajadah di Pundak Lelaki Senja

Posted on Nov 22, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

Note from Shaily: Here is a piece in Indonesian by a co-blogger, Sunarno. Even though I don’t know that language, I am a fan because the Google translation of his pieces take me to a world made purely of feelings.

Here is the link to the original post: Link

And here is the Google Translation of his piece (I can’t vouch for accuracy of translation but assure you reading it will be worth it.).

Prayer mat on the shoulders of the Dusk Man

The market has shed its frenzy. The old man walked slowly, prayer mat hanging over his shoulders like an unhurried promise. The call to prayer has not yet sounded, but the time has shifted from bargaining to contemplation. The lowing of cattle was the only sound that lingered, filling the space left by conversation and ambition.

The ground was still wet with footprints and dirt that hadn’t been swept away, like a wound that had been left to dry on its own. No one is in a hurry to clean up, because here, chaos is part of everyday life, and everyday life is part of unfinished prayers.

And the man stopped for a moment at the edge of the prayer room, looking at the sky which was slowly turning orange. The prayer mat on his shoulders is not just a piece of cloth, but a path home that he carries wherever he goes. Behind the wrinkles on his face, there is a history of the market, a history of rice fields, a history of loss that he never talks about. Twilight embraced him silently, as if to say: prayer doesn’t need to be rushed, because every remaining second is an opportunity to return.

My life

First steps

Posted on Nov 21, 2025Nov 21, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

My daughter started telling stories when she was three.

Most of it was reused, recycled and repurposed from the stories I had told her or what she saw on You Tube (Link to the proof: Plagiarism with Brains: Reuse, Recycle, Repurpose). She would add or changes animals in my animal stories and replaced mango with pumpkin in fairytales.

Yesterday, she wrote her first piece of poetry–on the fly and in 60-seconds flat. I actually had to ask her if she had taken ‘inspiration’ from someone. She claims she hadn’t.

Here is the piece. Before you ask, I have taken Your Highness’s permission.

Touch the sky,

Touch the sun,

Just go on and have fun.

You don’t know how long it will stay,

Or rather it will just go away.

I haven’t correct anything there. I had just asked her why she wanted to write game score on the diary I had given her to write poetry and stories in. So, she just took a pen and jotted these lines on the first page (rather the cardboard) of blank diary.

Now that she has a foot in the door, I can hope. I know, there is no guarantee that she would want to continue at all. But that’s life of a parent.

Book Review

Book Review: Jane Eyre

Posted on Nov 9, 2025Nov 11, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

Ever since my “book-rehab” started, I have stuck to one book in a month. This is the one I chose this month–Jane Eyre. Being a classic, it needs no introduction, I believe. However, I can’t stop myself from from sharing.

When I had first read an abridged version of the book (part of school studies) as a teenager, I had found it unremarkable. The plot wasn’t grand and could be summed up in 3-4 lines. The abridged version had truly killed the very soul of the book and my teacher never tried to explain the context of the British society in 19th century. She also did not share the finer points of the book that made it a classic.

I am able to understand them now, a bit at least.

And I loved it this time.

This book is the most comprehensive character study I have come across so far. The best part is that it clarifies character through actions devoid of any emotions on the part of the observer. I specially loved the character study of Miss Ingram.

Living in a society which abhors physical imperfections, both the protagonists are unremarkable to look at. The book discusses their different ways to deal with their imperfections–Jane tries to be invisible, while Mr. Rochester tries to cover himself with power and money.

The book also has a religious theme. The book questions several religious rules and discusses the dilemma about things that are ethical but feel unjust. It also talks about religious people and how everyone interprets it differently based on their interests. While Mr. Broklehurst uses it as a tool to reduce expenses at school but not at home, St. John uses it to move people to serve God, whether or not they want to do it. The book also tries to distinguish a good man from a good husband.

The only thing I did not like was how the book presents India and Indians. The author made the heat sound like going to hell. ☺️ But then, I guess, I would consider moving to Britain as equivalent of moving into a refrigerator, so we are even. 🤣🤣🤣

Overall the book is beautiful because it goes against the social norm of that time which involved writing about beautiful heroine meeting a handsome hero. Also, the protagonists here love to get on eachother’s nerves and their love is more intellectual than sensual. This book is meant to be read at leisure, not to win a read-athon but to actually enjoy what you read and savour it daily.

Have you read Jane Eyre yet? What do you think of it?

If not, you can find it on Project Gutenberg website for free: Link

Random Thoughts

My moon and star

Posted on Oct 31, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

I went to the moon to see the noon;

But she wasn’t home;

So I waited and the stars came out;

So sky I plucked them from.

I wove some into a dress and

buttoned the moon tight;

To night I returned the rest and

wore the dream until light.

Author’s note: I wrote this piece for my daughter while I was helping her with a piece of school poetry. I was just trying to teach her how poetry can help us express our desires–an attempt she refuted by reminding me “Who will ever wear a dress made out of stars?”

She watches Doctor Binocs and knows more that she should. Sigh! Knowledge can be so glaring, it is blinding.

Life and After

Glide

Posted on Oct 24, 2025Oct 26, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

I don’t like this whole gliding thing.

It makes me nauseous–

not that I can get sick, mind.

But that’s beside the point.

I have been at it for so many days–

I would rather put my foot down

once and for all–

not that I can do that too.

It is the cost of freedom I pay.

My eyes roam to the horizon,

dizzy already–not that I can fall.

I wonder if I can start wandering now.

No one told me the rules.

My feet itch to move…

well, not literally,

but you know what I mean.

No one told me no.

Used to being told what to do,

the freedom to decide scares me.

My heart soars and dips at the thought

of leaving it all behind.

I think I’ll take baby steps…

Ugh! Not literally, I mean.

I turn to look back at me one last time.

Chest heaving on the bed

with the effort of keeping it all together.

Yes, I think I’d rather leave.

Random Thoughts

Family that sneezes together

Posted on Oct 21, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

If you go looking for the meaning of the word “Joint Family”, you will probably find phrases like, a group of blood-related families that live together 🏠, eat together 🥘 and pray together 🙏. But trust me, a joint family is the one that sneezes together 🤧.

India has an abundance of joint families and not nearly big enough houses.

Even if the house is big enough, no one is content to stay in their portion. They must all converge in one or the other rooms and share gossip 🗨️. The fact that they eat together is not enough. They often have stuff 🔨 strewn 🔧 around 🥻 the 👕 house–with so much of borrowing that just one cellophane tape can do several complete circles of the house, visiting every room on its way, before the actual owner goes and buys another 💵, rather than trying to track 🐾 it down.

And then, there are the kids 👧👦. They are everywhere ⛹️, playing in every room 🤸, strewing their stuff ⚽ in everyone’s 🎾 space 🥍with precise division ⚾, so no one feels left out. They run around the floor 🤾 without shoes and jump on every bed 🛏️.

At night, there is no space 🥎 big ⚽ enough 🏐 where 🏓 you 🏀 wouldn’t 🏈 step ⚾ on a toy 🏉 that doesn’t belong to your own child. So one careless nightly trip from bedroom to bathroom can make you owe all the kids in the house a new toy each.

If you are brave enough to piggyback one, there is an entire line waiting for their turn, regardless of the age and weight.

And when one nose runs…

You can’t keep them away from each other. They will find an excuse to break all the rules you set out about quarantine, go meet their sick cousin and kiss him on the cheek to comfort him. And then you will have your hands full with a whole bunch of kids, all down with fever at the same time. All the while, all the elders will be down with fever too, because who can resist kissing a child who is unwell? Especially if he has walked in every room telling everyone he is unwell and sneezing as a proof.

So, if a joint family is really joint, it is the one that sneezes together.

I would know. I live in just such a family who is sneezing together at the moment. And I wouldn’t trade it for all the gold in the world! 😊

Life and After

The Loop

Posted on Oct 18, 2025Oct 18, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

Did she use this particular song before? It sounds vaguely familiar…

It is so confusing when you have to shoot the video at the perfect angle and in perfect light and add a song to every reel you upload. And make sure you don’t repeat yourself. What if this song was already in one of her reels? She has been posting for good three years now, so it is difficult to remember.

It is midnight. She should probably stop this and go to sleep. But she can’t–she doesn’t have anything to post tomorrow on Insta, and if she doesn’t, her followers will be disappointed.

Or will they be? She hasn’t been getting as much response on her site as she used to–less likes, even lesser comments. Why, when she added her reels of their trip to Goa, her particular video of her close up shot in micro-mini did not get much response–just 23 likes and a couple of comments with oohs and aahs! Nothing on her beauty or amazing body…

Is she getting fat? She must be with all the calories she been intaking…

She looks accusingly at her kale–it hasn’t made much difference in the past couple of months. Her weight has stayed at 47 kg since forever. She looks accusingly at her husband who declined to bring her a weight-reduction formula, calling her crazy for wanting to reduce weight further.

What does he know about social trends? You have to be fit to draw the eyes. And he has a paunch under his night shirt, which is rising and falling as he snores softly.

Loser!

She looks back at her phone. She was tired. It is so much work when you have to hold the camera and make it look like it isn’t you who is making the video; like it is your husband or admirer who can’t stop filming you…

It would be so much easier if her husband agreed to make the videos for her.

Honestly, she doesn’t demand much–just a good location, some good clothes and twenty something pictures to make a reel or, may be, a few short videos. But he is more interested in taking in the sights and enjoying with their child rather than holding the camera for her.

Ugh! She wants to throw the phone at him right now, but, if it cracks, her three-hour work will be wasted. She has filmed herself at the local pool, hair spread out in water perfectly. It took several shots and a couple of hours to get the right shot since her hair was floating in weird directions.

She will post it before risking losing it.

So, what song was it again? Yeah, it sounds vaguely familiar…

Love

The Face in the Mirror

Posted on Oct 11, 2025Oct 12, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

I touch the bedroom mirror groggily, more out of habit than hope. Suddenly, the mirror lights up green with magic, and I can see him. Across the open door of his bathroom, I see him sitting on a couch, reading a book. Which one is it this time—The Edge of Physics? Cosmos? I sigh! But then, I return to my senses and start shouting at him to get his attention. Nothing! Quickly, I turn to my right and grab the placard with my phone number that has been sitting on my bedside table for two months now and turn back to face the mirror again.

All I see is myself reflecting back in the mirror. The connection is already broken. Again…

All I want, all I hope for, all I desire in life has shrunk down into that mirror and that man who doesn’t know I exist.

I really shouldn’t have cooked that dumb cake! Why would anyone want to see their soulmate if they would still have to wait for them anyway? It is so painful to see the man destined to marry me one day go on with his life like I don’t exist.

Cooking a dumb cake on Halloween night is an ancient practice. It was also my last attempt to find my soulmate. With all the potential suitors hiding in the plain sight, it is too difficult to find a male witch now a days. It’s not that we are hiding because people might burn us at stake. It’s just that magic and witches are obsolete. Nobody needs our magical services when weather apps predict weather, daily horoscope apps tell the future, social media finds people, banks hold all the existing treasures, old recordings help commemorate dead people and fertility clinics are go‑to places for begetting children.

Technology has thrown us out of our conventional jobs. Hence, we have reinvented ourselves. Witches now use their superior intellect to secure higher education and obscene amount of salary. But we have to hide the reason for our abnormal level of talent, lest people accuse us of cheating, like sportspersons on drugs.

But because of all the hiding, our chances of meeting another witch are rather dim. Every single male witch I know is already either engaged or married to a prettier witch, while I, being a plain and nerdy scientist, am still single at the age of thirty-five. My family had set me up on dates with several men they know through family connections, but all of them seemed more interested in women with long legs and miniskirts than a woman with brains and an opinion. After I had run through what felt like all the eligible bachelors known to them, my family members stopped badgering me about my non‑existent love life.

But it is becoming difficult to attend family dinners—my brother and cousins bring their spouses and children. You’d think it would be crowded, but my heart never felt so empty before. All I need, if nothing else, is a hope that there is someone for me in the future.

Knowing this, my bestie and flatmate, Bree, keeps throwing around names of eligible bachelors,

“Why don’t you come with me to the party? There is this guy called Hans you would love to meet. He is an engineer.”

“Did you see the hot guy on the fifth floor? He’s a chef!”

“You know, Henry, our new neighbour? He was asking about you—saw you in one of my Facetime pics… Should I tell him you live right next door?”

My first response to all her suggestions is, “Is he a witch?”

I don’t mind marrying a regular guy, but honestly, will a regular guy want to marry a witch? And they will find out soon enough—we may have shunned magic, but magic hasn’t shunned us. We have magic of nature, and it runs in our veins with our blood, making them green. Closer to our heart, we are too green to ignore. We hide it with turtlenecks and dresses with sleeves. The only person outside my family who knows my secret is Bree because I wear tank tops at night.

I’m not ashamed of my colouring. But if a guy sees it, he will take flight. My bestie feels people don’t care anymore but I don’t want the issue to come up later, once I am in too deep.

So, rather than taking a 10 percent chance with a non‑magical person, I resorted to a dumb cake, which was a sure shot in finding a future husband. It is a family tradition that my great‑grandmother had used to meet my great‑grandfather for the first time, just like her mother and grandmother before her.

If a non‑magical woman makes a dumb cake, she dreams about her spouse, but she can’t speak to him. To make the Halloween magic strong enough to make contact at that moment, you require a certain amount of magic yourself—something that witches possess and practice. It felt like a really dumb idea at first but, with nothing to lose, I decided to take the drastic measure.

Well, it wasn’t really drastic, just desperate…

What’s the worst that could happen? Nothing. With no practice in magic whatsoever, there were pretty high chances of me seeing nothing. So, I reminded myself not to put any hopes on a cake even though I was giving it a shot.

On All Hallows eve, when Bree went to the Halloween party in the society’s club house, I cooked the dumb cake. She wanted me to come to meet Henry, but I lied about a headache. She left looking suspicious as if I was hiding a boyfriend in my closet. I wish!

The basic instruction of making a dumb cake is that I must work in complete silence standing on something no one ever stood on before. Well, I am no baking pro, so I asked Alexa for step‑by‑step instructions. As it droned in the background, I worked in complete silence while standing on something no one had ever stood on—my brand new, super‑pricey sofa. As I wobbled in the softness, I was scared I would burn holes in the material. I ground the flour, prepared the batter, shaped the cake, pricked my initials on the top and put it inside my microwave oven. Ideally, it should have been a fireplace instead. But, like witches, fireplaces are obsolete too.

Once the cake was ready, I pulled it out of the oven, trying to balance myself on the sofa. As I continued wobbling, it occurred to me that I could have simply bought a new rug to stand on instead. Stupid me! Then, I took a single bite from the cake, tried to chew it (a painful process) and walked backwards to my room, slid the rest of the cake under my bedding and tried to sleep on the now lumpy bed.

After this whole exercise, a regular girl would dream of her future spouse. She wouldn’t be able to communicate with him though. So, she would still have to wait until this certain person would meet her. Being a witch, my situation could be better. In theory, when I would rise from my bed at midnight, touch the mirror closest to me and chant the magic words, I should seen my future spouse who, of course, would be a male witch. Because who else would want to marry a witch? Then, I would leave a message with him. In theory, at least…

In practice, most witches waking at midnight are so confused that they can barely concentrate on the mirror, let alone remember the magic words to create the highly advanced magic for leaving a message for an unknown entity whose whereabouts are also unknown. With no practice in magic, I knew I was doomed from the moment I started.

So, I woke up at midnight (Phone Alarm), and walked to my bedside mirror, touched it and incantated the magic words (Google Notes). For a minute, nothing happened. So, I tried again, and yet again, willing to reach someone, anyone…

I never realised until that moment how much I wanted this whole thing to work; to have a chance at love just once in my life.

Suddenly, the screen lit up with a green light and there he was, standing in front of the mirror, looking dishevelled, like he had just returned from a party. His eyes were wide in surprise, and I think mine must be too. I fidgeted in my old tank top and shorts, knowing they weren’t really appropriate for the first meeting. I should probably have worn something fancier. Also, I should say something so he would know why we were here but before I could recover, the connection broke and the mirror started reflecting me again.

He was gone, taking with him my only chance at love. He probably mistook me for a trick of light, an alcohol‑induced hallucination or a ghost. But I knew I had seen a ghost—one that would haunt me for the rest of my life. After seeing him, knowing he was meant to be mine someday, I would never be able to love another. Because love it was—at first sight.

He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he had an intelligent and likable face—someone you could strike a conversation with on the subway and exchange numbers with, just to stay in contact. He was a little chubby and he wasn’t hiding six‑pack abs under his shirt for sure, but the crow’s feet around his brown eyes showed his love for laughter. There were marks on his nose where his glasses must have rested on his face, and his cheeks and chin had a one‑day stubble. He was real. And now that I had seen him, I could not un‑see him.

Anxious, I touched the mirror, and it lit up again. But he wasn’t there anymore. I wasn’t sure if my voice will go through, but I gave it a try anyway. “Hello! Anyone there? Hellooooo!” But nothing stirred on his side. I tried several times, but with each subsequent try, I felt increasingly more stupid—because every time I said those words, Alexa asked me what I needed, while rephrasing the question in a different way every time.

When I started feeling like an utter moron, I looked in the room, trying to get a clue regarding his whereabouts. He could be anywhere in the world. I realised I was looking inside his bathroom. The door to the next room was open and its lightest yellow wall was eerily like mine. From what I could see through the opening, the wall on the other side was adorned with a huge wooden shelf decorated with cute little things and sections of it were overflowing with books. Beneath it, a couple of comfortable couches sat behind a small coffee table. The room was meant for quite comfort in books and company.

I looked for something that would clue me in regarding his country. The decoration was regular stuff providing no clue. The lighting seemed low and artificial. And he had looked sleepy, so it was probably night where he was too. So, around the same longitude. Good! That left around one billion people to search from!

Running out of ideas, I wrote my phone number on a huge placard in an overly large handwriting and placed it in front of the screen, hoping he would read it when he returns to the mirror. At that moment, the light in the mirror dimmed and started reflecting me again.

After that, I tried many times, but the screen didn’t light up. I had a restless night, leading to a restless day.

The next few days, Bree kept talking about the Halloween party I had missed, bringing up different guys over and over, “You missed a blast, you know. And there was this very handsome guy who was dressed as a vampire. His canine teeth were so real! By the way, are vampires real?”

“You should have seen Henry’s face when he realised you weren’t coming. He didn’t even dance or drink. In fact, he left before the midnight blast. I really wanted to tell him that he could find you next door!”

“The party anchor was pretty brainy, and he seemed interested in beauty with brains too. Do you want me to set up a ‘chance meeting’ with him?”

But I was only half listening, my mind still on the face in the mirror.

For the coming weeks, I kept touching the mirror every now and then but only succeeded a few times. Once, he was touching the mirror too, looking lost, and twice, he was just fixing his tie. Once, he had looked into the screen with an intensity that gave me hope that he was looking at me. And during these few seconds of contact, I was surprised and unprepared, and before I could gather my wits and try sharing my contact number, the connection broke.

And then, a couple of times, I saw him sitting on his couch reading something. He read The Universe in a Nutshell with a smile that wanted me to tell him that it was my favourite book too. Looking closely, his shelf also had The Theory of Everything and loads of other books about science and stars…

They say you can judge a man by the book he reads. A man who seeks quiet comfort in stars and science on a Saturday is a match made in heaven for me. I can see us sharing books one day or sitting on those couches discussing them or even just sitting together over coffee…

The thought of the future comforts me. I just stand there looking at him, willing him to see me, waiting for him to acknowledge that I exist. But I can never make a contact.

When I finally spoke to my mother about it, needing advice for the first time ever since I moved out, I was sure she would be thrilled that I finally found the man I would love for the rest of my life. But all she said was, “Dumb cake? Well, you probably saw a neighbour.”

“What?”

“When the magic isn’t strong enough and you are desperate to see someone, you end up seeing a neighbour. I once saw Mrs. Briggs flossing her teeth; and on another occasion, Father Mathews washing his hands; and once I even saw somebody’s cat swatting at her reflection in the mirror.”

I hung up feeling crushed. Why would my mother not believe me. I had finally fallen in love, and all my mother had to say is that it is not my soulmate but a clueless neighbour! While I was never a people watcher anyway, I am actively avoiding looking around at my neighbours now, afraid I would see him and know that my mother was right.

Once, Bree cornered me, “Henry was asking about you again. At least let me give him your number…”

She has been talking about this guy non-stop for the past few days. I nearly blurt out to go date him herself. But deep down inside, I know I am being unkind and unreasonable because I am itching to go back to the mirror. “I’m not interested.”

“Look, he doesn’t care if you are a witch.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I told him because I know it is the only thing holding you back. He said he didn’t care as long as you would have him.” Well, at least she is looking properly ashamed.

“He will care once he sees me in a V-neck dress. It is not easy to accept the alienness of our colouring.”

“Is that the only reason here? You have been acting a little odd lately—too lost and too quiet. Is there something you are not telling me?”

Not sure how much I can tell her, I decide on a half‑truth, “I’m seeing someone, but it is too early to talk about it.” It is technically true, but my conscience pricks me. It is as much a lie as anything else. But it makes her happy.

“Is he someone from work? When can I meet him? At least show me a picture.”

“As I said, it is too early to talk about it. But once I am ready, I promise you’ll be the first one to know.”

In the coming month, I wouldn’t go out except for work. And when I do go out, I am not paying attention. I just itch to go back to my mirror. Mom and Dad even tried a locator spell, but the locater kept coming back to our building confirming my mother’s theory. Or maybe, their magic is not strong enough too. At least that is what I am rooting for…

Noticing my absent‑mindedness, my manager has reminded me a couple of times that I have to up my game at work. But I am too obsessed to concede defeat. My life had come to a standstill the day I fell in love with that man who still doesn’t know I exist.

It is weekend and I am home yet again, touching the mirror at regular intervals. Bree is out, trying to give me space, thinking I have a boyfriend I am chatting with. Suddenly, she sends me a text, “I just had a really weird chat. Help me make sense.” There is a screenshot of the conversation.

Henry: Hey! We need to speak.

Bestie: For the nth time, she is seeing someone!

Henry: I know. Can you just tell her that, sometimes, I see her in the mirror too?

Mom was right! I had seen my next‑door neighbour! It was all just an accident! He is not my true love or spouse, just a clueless neighbour.

We were not fated to be together…

All my hopes and dreams had been for nothing…

My mind is reeling. I had been holding on that last straw so tightly that now I am drowning with it. Someone is squeezing my chest! It is difficult to breathe…

I need air…

I walk dazedly out of the door and down the building corridor. Tears are blinding me. I can’t see the next door open and slam into someone’s chest.

“Hey, are you alright?” A familiar face gazes at me with concern; his expressions quickly turning into recognition and then delight. “It’s you! Bree just told me where to find you!”

I am both too glad and too sad to find him. While my skin still tingles where I slammed into him, I know it is just stupid, misdirected magic. “Henry…Uh…You are Henry, right? I need to apologize. I had cooked a Halloween cake, you know, to see my future spouse in the mirror…and something went wrong. We are not fated together,” I finish lamely.

There is a stunned silence at his end while he processes what he heard. When I am sure he would turn around and walk away from my life, he just smiles, “And how would you know that until you give us a chance?”

His eyes are understanding, but they also hold something close to adoration. I’m speechless. “At least, let me take you out on a couple of dates before you reject me?” He smiles and his eyes crinkle the way I love.

He still wants to go out with me, and I have to turn him down, “I’m a witch.”

“I know. Saw your green skin in the mirror the first time. It looks cool on you. Can you turn me into a frog?”

“What? No!” I choke out, horrified that he would think so.

“Good. In that case, are you free for dinner tonight?” He gives me a sunny smile and hope returns to the world.

Author’s note: This story comes from my new short stories collection, The Bracelet and other short stories (available for free on the Free Books page: https://fishinthetrees.home.blog/free-books/)

Picture credits: Photo by Julia on Unsplash

Life and After, Nature

Breaking the Ice

Posted on Oct 5, 2025Oct 12, 2025 by Shaily Agrawal

For months, she hadn’t been stirred.

Suddenly, the ice broke with the unexpected weight and she screamed for help. Melting with the sun as spring approached was something a part of frozen river would accepted as fate. She would have lived a complete life by then. But breaking down early because someone mercilessly stepped on her weakness…that hurt.

So, she screamed for help. But all of them were on their own now as more cracks kept appearing–the stag that had stepped on her continued jumping neatly on the now-broken ice and crossed the river.

The river was now a jumble of fast moving pieces of ice running forward to meet the sea.

Most of them were simply resigned. She struggled against the flow, trying to return to her calm and composed existence, but there was nothing to hold on to.

Her fight was desperate and fruitless. Her screams were drowned in the gurgle of the river just like the few woohoos from others…

Woohoos?!

She turned around and saw another part of the river, clearly enjoying the ride. He had always been far away, closer to the bank. But now he was pushing her, shining with a twinkle. His playful smile dared her to try beating him at the game.

She pushed back and he laughed, pushing her again, tickling where they touched. Soon, they were both laughing as they pushed and touched and tickled and woohoo-ed down the river.

Not sure how far they reached before they melted but they certainly never stopped to notice.