Sangeetha Kamath

The jewel studded tapestry puts on a show of icy spangles on the winter sky grand The chiffon bathed dunes of porcelain snow, shimmer under the rime spires of willow wands Wild winter rasp strips down the trees to their gnarly bones With eyes of steel she glares at you from her icy throne From pale cornsilk dusking skies float powdery snowdrops  Crisp, quivering wind glides over a silver laminated pond Through the hawthorn and the aspen, on the frost tipped swards  In the gentle ivory light, the firs and cypress are sheathed in blankets of ice On a primrose sky, December sings her soothing lullabies The moon is a burgeoning opal rose rising with a sizzling sigh The shadows are long and the silence is deep Not a footfall of a nuthatch or a chirp of a wren through the eaves does seep Bending pines and crackling birches,  Hickory logs burn in fireplaces Fragrance of cinnamon and wood-smoke… and cocoa…and cedar! Midnight suppers of Hazelnut coffee, apple strudels and coconut ...

The mid-morning January sun was bearing down on Jemma. It was unusually warm today and her summer hat couldn't help the beads of perspiration from dripping down into the garden bed she was furiously jabbing at with a trowel. She tried to keep her mind off things, trying not to look at the house across the street.  Why me? Why Jacob? Why not… She put an end to her thoughts abruptly and continued raking the soil to plant Gerberas.The Buttercups were blooming and were Jacob's favorite. He and his friend Brian had planted these last spring for a school project. She ran her fingertips wistfully across each bloom as though caressing her dear boy. Olivia had told her they would be arriving around noon. She abandoned the half dug trench, gathered the tools and walked hurriedly to the shed. With moist eyes, she entered the cool confines of her kitchen and sat at the table, sipping an iced lemonade. It calmed her nerves. She saw Olivia's car pulling into their driveway. Brian got out...

Enid Blyton, she evokes my childhood memories like none other. Friendships, picnic baskets, pet parrots, pet dogs, mystery, secrets and adventures. I'd read them all and at one point of time even longed to go to school at St. Clare's or Malory Towers.  I would snub anyone who told me that these were fictional places. Such was my devotion to the goddess of children's story books. Over my school going years I collected a few, and read almost all from the local library.    Decades later, I would read them anytime when I needed another world to escape into, from the harsh reality of this one. And time itself would rewind back to my own childhood when I thought that everything was 'Sunshine and Roses'. So excessive was my fondness for Enid Blyton stories, that, during the pandemic I went around looking for books which wanted a new home. And I found plenty during my search. There were an abundance of enthusiasts like myself who had grown their collection over the years. T...

The day ushered in a flood of memories and along with it, waves upon waves of pleasant nostalgia from decades back. The earliest clear memories I have of childhood are since age 4.  Brought up in a household where we were taught never to fear God, but to love him because he loved us too, no matter what, prayers and devotion didn't come from a place of discipline, but as a way of life which blended into every sphere of activity.  Every morning, my father, a staunch devotee of Lord Rama, would recite the Rama Raksha Stotra and I would listen to him intently. As every intonation embedded deeply in my subconscious, today I would like to believe that it did provide me with an invisible shield, protecting me all times just as a Suraksha Kavach would.  What greater gift could a father give his child? Such was the pious ambience in the house that I chose to be in this lifetime. As time went by, the first book which I held close to my heart was this very book. The book which was d...