Posted in Random Thoughts

Being a Father

Love of a father is special.

It doesn’t come naturally

from bringing a life into this world

from one’s own body.

It comes from the realisation

that this smelly little critter is

his to protect and nurture;

his to discipline;

his to work hard and earn for;

his to offer piggyback rides on muddy days;

his to carry on shoulders during parades and carnivals;

his to tickle for rewarding giggles…

Father’s love is a testimony of

human capacity to feel…

and love…

without reason.


Author’s note: Dedicated to Papa, Wasil and Bhaiya

Father’s love is usually quiet. He is just not raised to say it out loud. As a proof, watch this scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where Willy Wonka meets his dentist father after many years of leaving house as a child: Video Link

Posted in Fiction

Tiny Story: Heaven

In front of their old rundown family farmhouse

9-year old son (incredulously): This is your ‘heaven’?

Father (in a conspiratorial tone): Did you ever jump over a fence, climb a tree, bathe in the river, play in a cave or own a real tree house?

Son (grinning ear-to-ear): When are we moving in?

Posted in Fiction

Winging It

ABCD in Wingdings 27 font, it seems
ABCD in Winging font

I am a mother of a genius. If only someone could decipher her script…

I bought a Maths notebook for my 2-year old in an attempt to teach writing numbers. Two days later, it was full of these weird symbols that she wrote with the flourish of a professional while singing the ABCD song alongside.

Can someone un-encrypt it please?

Posted in Fiction

Tiny Story: The Miracle Cure

I had a frustrating day at work. I was worried about timelines, office politics and impending performance appraisal.

When I returned home, my tiny daughter ran up to greet me. Once in my arms, she cupped my cheeks in her little palms. Looking in my eyes, she said, “Mommy! I love you!” She kissed me and ran back to her dolls.

She left me smiling from ear to ear…

Posted in Fiction

Tiny Story: Kidnap

She trembled with fear as she hid behind the tree, her face covered with a ‘dupatta’. If only one of her children would come out…

Her youngest saw her and, before she could stop him, cried with delight, “Amma!” Knowing that she only had a few seconds, she snatched him and ran away from their tormentor… again.

Rest of her brood would have to wait until the next time.