Sangeetha Kamath

  Ok! So Babylou was so flustered after the hoodie fiasco when we arrived home, that for a couple of days she trailed behind her a chain reaction of an awfully mentally drained me–upon seeing her tireless emotional highs and lows, day in and day out. Clutching at the last straws of my already depleting sanity with the incessant grousing, I told her that I would ask AI to do a tarot card reading for the hoodie and its unfortunate pilfer ( to humor her, to close and seal this annoying chapter for good!) My ability to reason with her had explored all avenues and had horribly crashed to a naught. However, AI did a fab job ! It told me that the petty thief would soon get her karma !  How ? Pat came the 'bot'ic response. She will trip and fall face down in a puddle of muddy water... Harmless. Not a tit for tat but was enough to make me go into fits of uncontrollable laughter.  My next obvious question--- How will I know when that happens? I won't  be around to watch that ...

  #ButterflyEffectSpanning25Years #AllsWellThatEndsWell #DiamondsAreForever #WhereTheresAWill The pivotal phrase from “Kafka and the Doll” by Franz Kafka which says that ‘Loss isn't final but love is transformed and restored to you in ways that you never envisioned; it's all about growth and adaptation—plays a huge part in my new year.  The Franz Kafka of my life is a girl called ‘ Charrzzx’. In retrospect, this story was in all probability conceived in 2001 as a miniscule bubble, but nevertheless a significant ripple which would impact my life 25 years later in 2026.  **** Year 2001: The landmark year when I migrated to and made my base in Singapore was also a memorable one for another reason that it was my parents’ first visit to my place. The days ran into each other with visits to tourist spots and rounds of shopping sprees.  On a very fine day, Daddy and I had passed by a Giordano showroom in a mall which I would generally walk past without a second glance other...

   There used to be a golden age of annual vacations once upon a long forgotten time. These school holidays would invariably arrive after the first mid-week of November until school reopened on the first Monday of January in the coming year. Diwali that would have just gone by would be only a cozy affair with family and a few good friends at whose homes invitations would be extended for lunch or dinner with potluck themes.  But the real deal was the treat that was waiting for us back home. My parents, empty nesters would eagerly await the arrival of Babylou as soon as November arrived.  “There's a surprise for you later,” my father would chime as soon as she crossed the threshold. He thoughtfully bought a packet each of the various firecrackers available during the festive season and kept those aside.  These would be spread out in the morning sun until high noon everyday for a week before our arrival until they were fried to a crisp-- ready to crackle and spa...

The sleek steel grey landline with it's cordless handset gleams in the mid morning sunlight. It's only a fixture on the tabletop these past several years yet loved and flaunted for old times sake. Also, for the numerous times the handset had nestled in our palms. The vintage feel of it and the stronghold of memories I associate it with beats the smartphone by miles.  It has in turn been a confidante of our precious moments, some idling talk, some annoyance oh yes ! and all before Whatsapp made an entry into our lives and the poor dear was no longer in demand. The world was at our fingertips. It doesn't complain, doesn't whimper, not even a sigh, murmur or a slightest hint at a whisper of life for the past decade and more! Except… On Thursday the daylights were socked out of me! Lost in mundane chores, I had my gloved hands deep in a pile of soapy water scrubbing away at the breakfast dishes. The usual swell of silence was harshly rend by the landline from the livin...

August , just as its name, is so regal. This year it hits quite differently as it stumbles along heavy-footed and highly lethargic. August this year is an excruciating dead weight sandbag. Peppering the phases of sleepless nights and restless days are moments of regrets---unspoken words, words that could have been paused, things that could have played out differently, moments that could have been lived more deeply...  What once was a month which gifted colour back to the dawns and dusk as the shy, mellow sunshine breathed a golden glow in the air after the dense and gloomy monsoons bid a goodbye, August this year is a frosty overcast of a grey, damp July chill. My dad's birthday falls in this month and if he had just made it four months longer, he would've been 80 years old on the 22nd. He had held with the last ounce of his laboured breaths to see this milestone which was not to be. A final wish in his every delirium moment that would shatter my heart every time he expressed i...