A box on the dining table has been piquing the entire household’s curiosity as it catches each one’s eye. A return gift from a recent wedding, a akhand jyoti diya. Having shifted through quite a few Delhi markets last month, I estimate the hosts probably paid around 200 rupees for it (approx. FJD$6 – even less in bulk buy) so I am not too impressed with it. Neither is Suruj (considering the extravagant kind of money she blew on presents for this wedding). The only person in the household dazzled by this exchange is the head of the household who feels Continue reading
Insert pitaji, daddy, baba, abbu, bauji, appa – whatever your term of reference. “Yes, father” is a fundamental code of conformity drilled to desi children as their unquestionable submission to the patriarchal head of the household. Right from the Vedic era some 1600 BCE, desi parents have been revered as Gods living on this planet demanding a worship-like devotion from their offsprings.
My adolescent years could be divided into episodes of me and Suruj battling Continue reading
A cousin once came to stay with us for an year to complete her studies. She was doing a unit on politics in the Pacific, took Japanese language classes in the evenings and wrote poetry. To the 13-year old me, she was the coolest person I knew. Her poetry had rubbed off on me and I would spend hours at night reading my dabbling out loud to her. An year later, she moved back home and the last I heard of her was that she got married to a fellow in the interiors of Tavua, couple of months after moving back. Continue reading