Wednesday, December 29, 2010


Sometimes, it's the unasked questions that rankle unexpectedly. The other day, I decided to restart a knitting project I had, in my usual way, abandoned seven years ago. But my fingers no longer remembered the pattern. I'd almost picked up the phone to call and ask before I realized that it was no longer an option. Over the last nine years, there have been so many things to ask, so many conversations to have, which will never be.

What was that pesky knitting pattern? How do you make your patented dry fish curry? Do you really like him, or are you just saying so 'cause I do? How do both the ends of your Mughlai paratha join so seamlessly? Can you believe I have to wear sarees to work now? Can I just drop everything and come home?

Most days, I'm at peace with life, mostly because I've never expected it to be fair. But the unguarded moment seems to always be around the corner, waiting to undo me again. But you did a good job of teaching how to pick up the pieces, every time.