interlude

Two tiny toes, Hopping, hoping to find respite... Puddle to the left, puddle to the right, Two tiny toes, look for respite... Muffled bundles of joy, Twitching, tip toeing, shaken... Rejoicing with the splashes of water, Two tiny toes, look for respite... Hiding under pink shades of silk, Treading in middle of puddles, Scared to disturb either side, Two tiny toes, look for respite... Pink silk cannot contain the storm, And sound from the rails, fails to cover blank noise... Two tiny toes walk alone, Two tiny toes, scared, look for respite... source

A week ago, I decided to take a small trip back home... It is always a planned trip with calendar marked with all the things to do in those 3-5 days.. It is march, the time of the year when the Northern part of this country play colours, every household is busy making sweet delicacies and air is filled with folk songs and spiritual music. You can see laughing kids on streets, running around with colors in hands, looking for their next prey...no one gets upset or angry and almost everyone has only the set of teeth visible as rest of their face is either pink or blue or a weird shade of green. Every soul on the streets breathe of spirit of this festival, called Holi. Celebrated on the day of full moon this festival calls for wilderness in each being. The nights are usually reserved for post celebration talks, multiple rounds of chai, special food and while staring at a mysterious creature in the mirror the struggle of recalling, what one must have looked like on the same morning... ...

On a sun-kissed March afternoon, as the city worked its way towards monotony, blissfully ignorant of the life passing by, I along with the other souls adopted by this city, was happily keying in my life into random wastefulness of this orchestrated motion. It was just another Thursday morning...twenty minutes spent checking on notes that have arrived from the parallel world over the time when this city sleeps...five minutes in getting the cup of tea to my desk, some ten seconds for plugging my ear-phones and most importantly ten patient minutes spent on picking the right tune for the day...Today, Beethoven is out to set the mood, playing Moonlight Sonata and I am scribbling as the monotony was broken by a visual from the past... ... a vague visual of folksy girl sitting under a tree, reading though the struggles of Bernini, hardships of Michelangelo, creation of David and his intense gaze on her as if he is standing right there mystified by her as she reads through him...

i lost my way... gladly, it led me to you...

I want to do with you, what spring does to cherry trees... ~Pablo Neruda love for words, temple flowers, pen, ink and you...

in the secret abode of fireflies...far away waiting with defiant calm and muffled desires are the evasive conversations... muted chirps of the birds on the tree, tell me to walk away, silently observing, pulling every bit of my existence... where each of my move is ticking off a stir... deliberate quietness, a blur... an orchestrated symphony of calculated notes, of stories, of hummed tunes and of rustled leaves, fierce, sterile and obscure... this untold story is my a mirage, it is my oasis.

I have an obsession for breakfast foods and on lazy weekends it extends to brunch. And it goes without saying that perfect setting plays a key role in making the experience extraordinary. Like That Only  is a beauteous neighborhood diner that has defined a creative way to be refreshing and charming with an experiential, comfortable yet exciting food. This place has many connotations and stands firm in the lexicon as an apt descriptor 'for lack of better word s' ~ Quoted by Like that only  Here food goes beyond daily routine. It is a piece of art, just like the parakeet door handles,  filigree  fireflies caressing chandeliers, green & yellow walls standing alongside antique cabinets adorned with fragrant herbs, passion fruit creepers and hints of bitter sweet aroma of spices and whimsical spring! it truly is wonderland setting!