Klishmaklaver

Some souls were blessed to have a higher sense of purpose in life. I simply had a heightened sense of smell. The citrus aroma wafting in from our yard that morning, was so strong that it worked like an instant pick-me-up. I’d rushed out through the back door, and plonked myself down in front of my lemon tree. Sitting there in the Padmasana , my humble Gandharaj Lebu appeared like the Bodhi tree to me . I listened intently to all that it had to teach me. I felt one with my sunlight-loving citrus. Watering the soil to keep it moist, and pruning the bush was an act of love, never a mundane chore. Sometimes I’d be sitting so still before it, undistracted, besotted by its yellow-green colour palette, interspersed by the white of the fragrant blossoms. At other times, I would hum a song to it. That day too, I could have continued sitting there for hours on end, wet earth or not! If it wasn’t for Granny Mori, off to Sunday Church, dressed in black. Ever since the demise

This post comes a little late to make it a Mother's Day post but for me, storytelling and my mother are two very closely linked memories of childhood. My mother was a great storyteller. I have beautiful memories of her telling me bedtime stories, which eventually metamorphosed into her telling me real life experiences at bed time, as I grew older.  She introduced me to the world of books by subscribing to a local library when I was just a preschooler. I remember the very first book that I could actually read on my own was Thumbelina. I have always loved to listen to stories, and my favourite pastime on those lazy afternoons of my Summer holidays was to lose myself in the fantastic world of stories. So when my own little babies came along, I always wanted them to grow up in a similar book-loving manner. And I also wanted to see them grow into good listeners. I slowly inculcated the love for bedtime stories in them, but my only grievance was not having access to a great