imperfect orange

an indian culture collective. 💌@imperfectorange on Instagram.

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National Girl Child Day

For centuries in India, daughters have been worshiped as forms of the goddess Laxmi, while ironically, it is sons who have been regarded as a guarantee for economic security- the source of wealth and prosperity for the family. They are considered the ideal inheritors of one’s accumulated capital. Sons are expected to take care of their aging parents, and carry forward family businesses. Meanwhile parents start preparing for their daughter's 'vidhai' from the moment she is born, concerned about paying dowries, and expecting to ship her off to another home where she will take care of someone else's family. Due to this, many families have not wanted to invest in the care and keeping of a girl child, leading to historically high rates of female infanticide in the Indian subcontinent. With the onset of modern technology, such as ultrasounds, there has also been an increase in female foeticide.

Gender screenings and sex-based abortions have led to unnatural selection through social factors as opposed to physical ones. Generations of these practices have led to an incredibly skewed sex ratio in the country- as per the 2011 census the figures stood at 943 women per 1000 men, reaching as low as 800 in some states. Although a law was put in place to prevent female infanticide in 1870, under British India, it didn’t do much to curtail the practice. An act prohibiting pre-natal sex determination was passed in 1994, which has criminalized this process and helped reduce it to some extent. This has led to the strange concept of reproductive tourism taking rise in India, as citizens travel to countries where sex screenings are not banned to determine what their future holds.

Similarly, the government has started a lot of schemes such as Beti Bachao Beti Padhao to increase focus and divert funding towards female education. In the modern world, more and more women are leaving the house to work, a result of families that have prioritized their education. The dependency that families feared from their daughters is no longer as great a cause for concern in many families in urban spaces. However, for many rural or poorer families, a girl child is still considered a curse, as funding her marriage becomes a great source for stress. Alternatively, funding her education is not even considered a viable option as they do not expect to see the return on their investment.

Due to this, National Girl Child Day and other recognitions of women are vital in nations like India, to celebrate the achievements of women and show the citizens that they are just as capable as a man, well worth the time and effort it takes to raise them. Especially when women are born into a society that already presents them with a series of obstacles to achieve success based solely on their gender, celebrating and empowering them from birth is vital to their development and that of the nation.

- Shreya, 24th January 2023.

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Pongalo Pongal!

Every January, Tamil people celebrate happy harvests with the festival of Pongal. The festival is an expression of gratitude -- to the Sun God ‘Surya’, to Mother Nature, to various farm animals, to the community, and all the forces that helped with a bountiful harvest.

‘Pongu’ is Tamil for ‘to boil over’. The festival shares its name with the dish made during celebrations – Pongal is prepared from freshly harvested rice and sweet jaggery.  As the Pongal finally boils over the edge of the pot, people yell ‘Pongalo Pongal!’, which means ‘may this rice boil over’.

Pongal is celebrated over multiple days: The first, Bhogi, is celebrated on the last day of the Tamil month of Margazhi. Houses are cleaned, old belongings are discarded and bonfires are lit. People wear new clothes. Prayers are offered to the rain gods, thanking them for a good harvest and praying for the same in the upcoming year. The day focuses on discarding the old and welcoming the new.

The second day, Surya Pongal, is the main festival. Celebrated on the first day of the Tamil month of Thai, the day centres on the Sun God. Pongal is made on this day, to joyous chants of ‘Pongalo Pongal’ and other traditional songs. The pongal is offered to deities, then farm animals, shared by the community.

On Mattu Pongal, the third day, people thank their cows. Mattu means cow or cattle, and these mighty creatures are worshipped and sources of wealth. Cows are decorated with kumkumam, manjal (turmeric) and their horns are painted. On this day, traditional games like Jallikattu take place.

Kanum Pongal is the last day of the festival. Kaanum, here, means ‘to visit’. The day centres on community. Sakkarai Pongal, or sweet Pongal is prepared and distributed amongst the community. Traditional songs and dances are performed. Food and sweets are offered to the birds, placed on a turmeric leaf left out in the open.

- Charu Hari

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Celebrating Makar Sankranti in India

Every year Makar Sankranti falls on the 14th or 15th of January, and there’s a good reason for that too. The term “Sankranti” refers to the movement of the Sun from one Zodiac to another, so there are a grand total of 12 Sankrantis. What makes Makar Sankranti special? During Makar Sankranti, the Sun moves from Sagittarius or Dhanu Rashi to Capricorn or Makar Rashi, in numerous ways this signifies a new beginning. The Sun which moves into the Northern Hemisphere leads to longer days and the end of the Indian Winter. It falls during the harvest season, with freshly cut crops offered to gods and subsequently eaten. The period signifies “fertility” and bursting into action after the slow and delirious winter season. It ushers in the “auspicious” part of the year which lasts until Karkata Sankranti which falls somewhere in July. It is also the only festival celebrated going by the solar calendar. The contrast between the cozy western holiday season and the vibrant onset of Hindu fertility is an abrupt transition but goes perfectly with the hopeful nature of the new year. 

All over India, Makar Sankranti is celebrated in different ways with each one doing their own thing. 14th/15th January signifies not one or two but many festivals.

In Tamil Nadu, the festival is known as Pongal, which translates to “to boil, overflow” and freshly cut rice is cooked with milk and jaggery. The Tamil version can be traced back to the Chola empire, so roughly around the 9th to 13th century. Spread over three days (and a lesser-known fourth day), each day has its own significance. The first day is known as Bhogi Pongal or Indran and focuses on cleaning the house, as each member dusts and scrubs until every surface is squeaky clean. The second day is called Thai Pongal or Surya Pongal and is the most important day, the Pongal is made and first offered to the gods, then the cattle, and only after that are the family members allowed to have it. The third day is spent grooming and worshipping the cattle.

Uttayaran in Gujarat can only be defined by one word, “vibrant”. Strewn across skies are kites that made for a tapestry. There is an industry revolving around this particular time of the year, as kite sales skyrocket (pun intended) and officials from different countries come to participate in kite competitions. The reason behind flying kites is that being out in the Sun after the winter helps kill germs and be more exposed to Vitamin D. Dishes like Undhiyo that are nearing the end of their season are relished for the last time.

If we go farther North, we come across Lohri, the Punjabi variant of Makar Sankranti. The folklore attached to Lohri is of a man known as Dulla Bhat, who lived during the reign of Emperor Akbar. He used to steal from the rich and distribute it among the poor. In his honor, people sing “Sundar Mundriye” during Lohri. This story is different than the religious and godly myths surrounding the other festivals, and it’s fascinating how a festival honors a man who worked for the needy. Punjab is a largely agrarian state, so the festivities are rooted in harvesting crops. People get together around huge bonfires and eat everything from Chikki to Saro ka Saag. 

There are tons of other festivals on this day, in Assam it's called Magh Bihu with games like tekeli-bhonga (pot-breaking) and buffalo fighting taking place. In Bihar, locals have chuda-dahi (beaten rice and yogurt) and a portion of gur (jaggery), and in Bengal, it’s called Poush Sankranti and have sweets like pithe, patishapta, etc. with rice and palm jaggery.

- Priyanshu

Painting Credits: Ladies on a Terrace Kite-fighting, circa 1775.

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The Magic of Lohri

Growing up in North India, it has been a childhood practice to observe that on an arbitrary day in January, the people in my society would gather around a bonfire singing, going around in circles, chanting and putting in peanuts, rewri, and popcorn. Of course, you must've realised that I'm talking about Lohri. Finding its roots in the areas of Punjab and Haryana, this festival marks the harvest of the crops, successively the new year for a lot of communities in these regions.

Whilst there's the idea of new year, it also acts as a day of union for friends, family or even coworkers. Marking the winter solstice, the agelong practices of having roasted peanuts, rewri (an amalgamation of gud-jaggery and til-sesame seeds) and popcorn, also keeps you warm on a cold, wintery night. As far as anecdotal accounts extend, Lohri has always been a chilly night with nuts and seeds that keep one warm accompanied by cups of tea served by my father whilst my grandmother and brother would be working on keeping the fire going along with kapoor, wood and oil. Meanwhile I'd be on the duty of procuring food, and documenting the entire thing and working on music.

This festival, to a lot of people, involves acts of service towards the underprivileged and finding happiness in togetherness as opposed to being consumed by their workaholic, daily lives. In lots of parts of India, Lohri, often, involves a grand celebration to mark the birth of a child, bringing, even the extended family together. Thus, whether or not you belong to the community that celebrates the historical significance of the fête, it still brings about togetherness across boundaries and obliterating the evils of human in the auspicious fire. Oh my, it's already time?! I better go get my popcorn and peanuts! Have fun!

- Gehna

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Ornaments of Hindi

I think I’ve known Hindi ever since I could talk. That sounds so sensible that it almost doesn’t. I say that not only because it is my mother tongue but also because I’ve lived with Hindi; with Champak and Bal Bhaskar in the morning and because I’ve ended my days with Dinkar wishing for a jhingola.

Hindi poetry has its roots in the rasas of Sanskrit and in the wit of Śaursenī Prākrit’s jesters. Somewhere along the way it met with Apabhraṃśa to become what it is today.

It is hard to define poetry. It is even harder to put it in a box of an “ism”. It is everywhere; in a way that you cannot live without it and in another where it consumes you.

On a personal level, I think it was Muktibodh whose mark on Hindi poetry is incomparable.

Gajanan Madhav ‘Muktibodh’ understood melancholy like no other Hindi poet.

One of the pioneers of the Nayi Kavita, Muktibodh was born in present-day Chambal, Madhya Pradesh.

Apart from being a poet and an essayist, he was also a literary and political critic.

I believe, where prayogvad or experimentalism meets nihilism, Muktibodh resides there.

सचमुच मुझे दण्ड दो कि भूलूँ मैं भूलूँ मैं

तुम्हें भूल जाने की

दक्षिण ध्रुवी अंधकार-अमावस्या

शरीर पर,चेहरे पर, अंतर में पा लूँ मैं

झेलूँ मै, उसी में नहा लूँ मैं

इसलिए कि तुमसे ही परिवेष्टित आच्छादित

रहने का रमणीय यह उजेला अब

सहा नहीं जाता है।

नहीं सहा जाता है।

ममता के बादल की मँडराती कोमलता--

भीतर पिराती है

कमज़ोर और अक्षम अब हो गयी है आत्मा यह

छटपटाती छाती को भवितव्यता डराती है

बहलाती सहलाती आत्मीयता बरदाश्त नही होती है !

punish me, make me forget it

make me forget that i ever existed

make me wear

this dark night of the abyss

that our separation is

on my body, my face

make me

live with it

make me

bathe in it

because

i can’t bear with

being surrounded by you

or being smothered

with your love

this grace of your being,

your embrace

leaves me weak

your love scares me

your gentle caress

leaves me gasping for air

The above stanza is from Muktibodh’s poem ‘Saharsh Sweekara Hai’. Here, Muktibodh’s fear of losing his beloved has grown so strong that he only feels safe in her arms. Realising that he has this parasitic relationship with his beloved, he asks her to leave him because now the love he shares with her has started to consume him. The poet feels that he cannot function without her and wants to escape this all-consuming dependence.

The poem is a journey of the poet’s acceptance. As the name suggests and also the first few lines of the poem say, he has accepted everything in life with open arms. As the poem progresses, the poet comes to terms with the love that is consuming him. He tries not to fight it.

We’ve known Subhadra Kumari Chauhan with her poems like ‘Jhansi Ki Rani’ and ‘Jallianwala Bagh Mein Basant’ to have been written primarily in veer rasa, but a large number of her poems have been for children and probably for herself too.

Born on 16th of August 1904 in Prayagraj, Subhadra had started spending time with the likes of Mahadevi Varma early on in her life at school. As her junior at the Crosthwaite Girls' School, Mahadevi too looks back at her time with Subhadra fondly in one of her writings.

‘Kadamb ka Ped’ is one of Subhadra Kumari Chauhan’s

children’s poems.

What separates Hindi children’s literature from the others is its simplicity. It is devoid of references related to outside of the world of its own, like Alice’s isn’t. It is pure.

यह कदंब का पेड़ अगर माँ होता यमुना तीरे।

मैं भी उस पर बैठ कन्हैया बनता धीरे-धीरे॥

on the banks of yamuna, had been this kadamba tree

i could have been krishna, climbing it without a worry

The poem talks about a child’s wish to be like Krishna, teasing and hiding from his mother and finding joys in little things.

The Kadamba tree near Yamuna takes the reader back to the legend of Krishna and Yashoda sitting near the Kadamba tree and her witnessing the cosmos in Krishna’s mouth.

- Trishala

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Paranthe and Punjabis: the brewing breakfast conversations.

Time and again, I've denied the dollops of ghee that are shoved on my paranthas ever since I was a child. Yet, my grandmother, always, somehow, has the upper hand. Her puppy eyes, pleas, and “kasmein” (oaths) have always melted my resolve in a moment's time. Ironic, how I always have found myself making oats, pancakes, and different types of sandwiches in my aesthetic fervor of matching Pinterest standards, yet, somehow, always come home to food,my grandmother makes on days I'm exhausted.

It goes without saying that every Sunday in a busy and bustling Punjabi household would always have an assortment of different kinds of stuffed breads, or paranthe. Especially when the entire family was home during summer vacations the kitchen would be crowded with ladies around the stove and the gents around the other one. While bade papa would make different kinds of omelettes, the ladies would work on the breads and the youngsters would always be going to and fro with teacups,serving food to others in shifts. Conversations would brew over green tea, tea and coffee about a bazillion things ranging from politics to annual family trips to careers, and to that one time someone got lost in Haridwar.

As I grow older, I reminisce and cherish these memories a little extra, as I see the elders falling prey to age and getting slower. A wistfulness of sort seeps in, but I know that every annual summer and winter meet up, something won't change, and those will be our beloved paranthe with the same people going about the same conversations. Nor would any of us refuse that extra spoon of ghee, kyuki bade kehte hain sehat banti hai. (The elders say it's good for your health)

Aloo, gobhi, gajar, muli, besan, pyaaz. The list may go on and on.

- Gehna.

Picture Credits : Playful Cooking on Pinterest.

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Diwali: Pan-Indian in its Truest Sense!

One of the biggest festivals in India, Diwali knows no foundation of the North and South as it is celebrated with great zeal across the country. Diwali falls on the 15th day in the month of Kartik according to the Hindu calendar. Celebrated as a cumulation of various festivals spread over a period of five days, the rituals of Diwali take place on the third day.

The first day of the festivities is celebrated as Dhanteras. It is believed that on this day Lord Dhanwantari came out of the ocean and bestowed Ayurveda to mankind. The second day is celebrated as Choti Diwali/Narak Chaturdasi, the day when Lord Krishna killed the demon Narakasur. On the third day, Diwali rituals are fulfilled and Lakshmi Puja takes place. The puja is done to seek blessings for wealth and prosperity. The fourth day is celebrated as Govardhan puja, attributed to Lord Krishna. The fifth day is dedicated to all sisters as it is Bhai Dooj. It is believed that Lord Yama visited his sister Yamuna on this day and granted her a boon that whosoever visits her banks on this day will be liberated from all of their sins.

The legend behind the culmination of the festival is well-known in the entire region of India. Diwali is associated with the return of Lord Ram to Ayodhya after vanquishing the demon king, Raavan. It is said that the entire city of Ayodhya was lit up with candles and diyas, so much so that the night appeared to be as bright as day. The tradition of lighting diyas roots in the same legend. The festival is also associated with Goddess Lakshmi’s marriage to Lord Vishnu and also Lakshmi’s birth. Diwali also signifies the harvest festival. As it occurs at the end of a cropping season, it is also believed that Diwali originated as a harvest festival. Following the same notion, many households in urban and rural areas prepare the dish of Poha from freshly cropped rice.

Although the zest of Diwali is unsurmountable and is perhaps one of the most awaited festivals in the country, the rituals differ from region to region. While gurudwaras in Punjab are lit up with candles and fairy lights even though Sikhs are not directly a part of this festival, Goddess Kali is worshipped in Bengal. In Eastern India, in addition to diya and candle lighting, doors are kept open by people to allow entry to Goddess Lakshmi. Western Indian regions mainly associate Diwali with business and trade and the time is considered auspicious to invest in new ventures, land and businesses. In Gujarat, a diya is left burning for the entire night and in the morning the residual material is collected to make kajal and is used by women, which signifies prosperity for a whole year. In Tamil Nadu, Naraka Chaturdasi is the main day of celebration, where the oven is cleaned, smeared with lime, and religious symbols are drawn on it, filled with water, and used on the main day for an oil bath. There is a musical act of Hari performed in Andhra Pradesh where there is a common belief that Krishna’s spouse, Satyabhama actually killed Narakasur.

The varied interpretation of the same festival across different states provides a detailed insight into the diversity contained in India. People from different regions, communities, religions, and classes celebrate this festival to the best of their abilities is further proof that Diwali is not restricted to one section of society. The handicraft market booms around this time as diyas, decorative items, and firecrackers (although hazardous) sell like hotcakes, providing employment and some financial stability to the families involved in the same.

- Ananya.

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The Language of Flowers

Ever since the Victorian era, the language of lovers has been hand-written letters, long sonnets, and of course fresh scented flowers. From spirituality to cultural festivals, flowers have been withholding a lot of hidden meanings and ideas behind the gifts. Mythologies, folklore, and plays of the Hindus, Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, and Chinese are peppered with flower and plant symbolism. It is now used to express deep emotional values from the giver to the receiver.

This botanical language of flowers can be traced as long back as the 17th century when they were like a silent dialogue between people. Small messages of agreement were shown by taking the bouquet from the right hand and rejecting the proposal with the left hand. This sweetly scented language of flowers is personalized yet universal. From freshly-picked red roses that denote love to orchids expressing thoughtfulness, from daisies showing innocence to a bunch of hydrangeas announcing the givers' gratitude for understanding them, these perfumed words have spoken nuances that words could never.

Birthdays, anniversaries, marriage ceremonies, and rituals are incomplete without these floral beauties. The color of the flowers and the number of flowers in the bouquet also assist in exclaiming what the person wants to tell. On one hand, the red carnation means deep love but the yellow carnation stands for disdain and rejection. This is the reason the art of flower giving is considered one of the most thoughtful acts because the giver contemplates the idea behind the gift and truly wants the receiver to know what they want to convey.

So the next time if you want to express how much you adore a person, gift them with sunflowers or white camellia and let them know how of a phool you are for them.

- Kanan

Pictures from Pinterest.

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The Opulence of Kerala's Biggest Festival, Onam

Happy Onam! Today marks the end of the ten-day festival of Onam. Here's everything you need to know about the festival!

The grand and auspicious ten-day festival of Onam is the biggest celebration in the state of Kerala. It falls in August and September (Chingam) according to the Malayali calendar. Onam is deemed the harvest festival of the state and also signifies the return of legendary King Mahabali to his home, thus presenting an amalgamation of economic growth and mythological grandeur. This festival brings out the color and culture of the state in abundance.

Onam celebrations take place while nature is in its splendour, with pleasantly sunny days and fields that are ready to be harvested. The fairs are highly anticipated by people from every generation. The festival is a cultural extravaganza where people engage in games and dances.

Besides being a harvest festival, the legend of King Mahabali is also associated with Onam. It is believed that Kerala was once ruled by the Asura king, Mahabali. He was famous among the people for he was kind, judicious, and benevolent. Under his reign, the state was nothing short of a utopia. However, the gods grew increasingly jealous of Mahabali’s popularity and sought Lord Vishnu’s help. Vishnu, in the guise of a poor Brahmin, asked Mahabali for a piece of land that could be covered by his three steps. When the time came to measure the land, Vishnu grew in size and covered the earth and the skies in two steps. Fearful that Vishnu’s third foot might destroy the earth, Mahabali offered his head to Vishnu to place his foot on, and as a result, got himself thrown to Paatal. Pleased by his character and sacrifice, Vishnu granted the Asura king a boon. Mahabali, being attached to his kingdom, requested to be allowed to visit Kerala once a year. Hence, Onam celebrates the sacrifice of King Mahabali and his advent on earth every year.

The cultural activities of Onam range from games to dancing to delicious recipes. Kummattikali is a colorful mask dance, popular around the South Malabar region, where dancers go around houses, entertaining people and collecting gifts. Kathakali, the impeccable amalgamation of dance and drama is a major attraction of the festival with shows being held in different parts of the state. Another interesting form of dance associated with Onam is the Thumbi Thullal, which is an all-women singing and dance event.

The grandest and the most elaborate feast called the Onasadhya is prepared during Onam. It is believed to be the biggest of its kind in the whole world. Other attractions include the Pookalam, an intricate flower arrangement laid out on the floor which can be found in every household during the festivities, the snake boat race, an annual event that attracts tens of thousands of tourists, local and international and the elephant procession at Thrissur, where the animals are decked in gold and paraded around.

All in all, the ten-day festivities of Onam are majestic and of an impressive scale. The festival is heavily promoted by the government and provides a huge boost to tourism in the state. More so than that, the very atmosphere is electrifying as the festival approaches, guaranteeing a breathtaking and resplendent experience of the rich culture and heritage of God’s own country.

- Ananya.

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The Tradition and History of the Ganesha Festival

Ganesh Chaturthi, also known as Vinayaka Chaturthi, is the celebration of the birth of Lord Ganesha, who is one of the most important Hindu Gods. Celebrated on the fourth (Chaturtha) day of Shukla Paksha or the lunar month’s brightest day, the ten-day-long festival celebration begins with bringing the idol with a boisterous procession and ends with the immersion of the idol in the water.

Ganesha, the elephant-headed God is considered to be the son of Shiva and Parvati, has his origins in the 1st and 2nd century BCE, and was later popularised during the time of the Gupta Period. Important texts on Lord Ganesha include the Ganapati Atharvasirsha, Ganesha Purana, and the Mudgala Purana.

Ganesh Chaturthi was initially celebrated as a homely affair. However, it became a significant part of the tradition in Maharashtra after Bal Gangadhar Tilak revolutionized the celebrations as a means of resistance towards the British Raj during the Independence Movement. Tilak nationalized the Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations in 1893, thereby making the festival a marker of national unity.

The first day is observed by chanting Ganpati Bappa Morya. During Prana Pratishtha, the deity is installed, mantras are chanted and sweets are offered along with rice, flowers, durva, and jaggery. The idol is adorned with red sandalwood or chandan. Throughout the celebration of ten days, Lord Ganesha is worshipped with utmost devotion, and aarti is performed in the evenings.

The extravaganza of this festival is observed by offerings of modaks, laddoos, mithai and barfis. The bhod or the meal that is offered to Lord Ganesha is also offered as prasad to all those who visit to worship the deity. Bananas are offered too besides everything, as it is considered to be His favorite fruit. Also referred to as Modakpriya, Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations are incomplete without the offering of modaks. There are varieties of modak that can be offered including steamed, chocolate, dry fruit and fried modak. Like modaks, the puja is incomplete without the offering of motichoor laddoos, which is an important sweet for this puja, as we can see all the idols holding the same in the right hand. Til and coconut laddoos are also offered. Satori, or the sweet flat bread of Maharashtra, made from mawa, ghee, milk, and besan is also offered. Coconut rice, Puran Poli, banana sheera, and shrikhand are among the other essential food items without which the puja traditions are incomplete.

On the eleventh day of Ananth Chaturdashi, the idols are immersed in water for visarjan which signifies the philosophy of the universe being in a constant state of change. The destruction of the statue is a signifier of formlessness, denoting the circle of life.

- Olivia.

painting 'Ganesh' by Ajay Ghose.

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Places to Visit during the Indian Monsoons

Monsoons in India start from June and last till September. After the Indian summers, that leave us desperately praying for some breezy lamentations on the balcony, June blesses us with overcast skies, and the sweet scent of moist earth lurks around. It is during these times an intense urge to leave aside everything arises just to sit and read while sipping from a cup of adrak chai. Or, if you are a wanderer, you might want to go away for a long drive or maybe pack your bags to where you are a little closer to the aesthetics of monsoons.

Here are five places that are best suited to visit during the Indian monsoons :

Daringbadi, Odisha

Located in the district of Kandhamal in Odisha, Daringbadi is a sleepy hill station of not more than 3000ft. Also known as Odisha’s Kashmir, Daringbadi breathes amidst the beauty of pine forests, velvety valleys, and plateaus to explore through trekking and paradisical waterfalls. The monsoons paint the place in layers of greenery and you would just want to take time off the cacophony of the city and sip from a hot cup of coffee.

Pakur, Jharkhand

Situated in the range of Rajmahal Hills, Pakur is a small town tucked amidst ponds and orchards and has witnessed some of the brutal revolts during the British Raj including the Santhal Hul of 1855. If you are an enthusiast of history, you might want to visit the remnants of Martello Tower which once saw the oppression of Santhal warriors being defeated by the Englishmen, aggressive zamindars, and tyrannical money lenders. The architectural landscape of Pakur is something to be seen and the town is an exceptional destination for visiting the ruins of Devinagar, Birkitti fort, and a thrilling experience of hiking, rock climbing, and trekking during the monsoons.

Coorg, Karnataka

Resting in the landlocked district of Kodagu in Karnataka, Coorg is a hill station sporadically spotted with coffee plantations, hills, and valleys. Brahmagiri Pushpagiri and Talakavery Wildlife Sanctuaries are some of the major tourist attraction spots. Apart from that, the Kotebetta hike and Joga Falls visit just add to the thrill of the whole experience. A visit to the historical venue of Raja’s Seat in Madikeri for an exhilarating view of valleys and toy train rides is also something to remember during the trip.

Alleppey, Kerala

Kerala, popularly known as God’s own country, is tranquil and idyllic during the rain-soaked days. Allepey is just the right destination for canoeing through the backwaters, while Thrissur Pooram plays in your air pods. Sometimes taking time off the kayak might find you relaxing from the work-induced stress by taking a dig at the amazing seafood cuisine and mind-calming Ayurvedic treatments.

Kutch, Gujarat

Kutch in Gujarat wakes up to the aura of monsoon’s liveliness and it is just the right time to beat the unbearable heat and visit the place at its best during this time. Visiting the Black Hills or Kalo Dungar to know more about the story of Lord Dattatreya feeding his own body to jackals and also the temple dedicated to him, might be exciting. Among other important tourist attractions are the Aina Mahal, Rann of Kutch, Dholavira ruins, and Hamisar Lake.

- Olivia.

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Monsoon at the End of a School Day.

As I make my way past the creaking metal gate painted black, the most dreaded part of my day lies ahead. The clouds have been crying all day and the sun has been hiding which meant the road was a muddy mess. It didn't always look like this, it had once been prim and proper. The tar that was now uneven and cracked was once laid out with the intent to be even, but our attempts to tame nature were never permanent or successful. At the end of the path stood the bus that took me home. It was the common faded yellow with worn cross-printed seats. as I was submerged in my meaningless annoyance in regards to the state of my paths, the sky was showing signs of another breakdown.

I prepared myself to move forward when the strong wind passed by, scattering my hair that was left loose. As I reached to push the hair away from my eyes and fix it behind my ears, goosebumps rose along my hand and I felt the world grow colder.

Suddenly the day’s fatigue has worn off and the veil of exhaustion disappears and I am alive again as the sweet smell of mud invades my nose. I know it will rain again.

The rain was an obstacle, halting some half of human movement and forcing us to stop and break out of the daily monotony of routine. It is a reminder to live in the moment and accept what life offers. It is the downpour of elixir, as the world grows alive again as the rains leave. People come out of their shelters as do animals and the world looks brighter than it did before.

The color of plants that surround the path seems to have grown saturated and they all seem to stand up a little bit straighter. I feel a water drop fall on my shoulder and then another and once more again. It touches my body in a single place as it seeps through the cloth that covers my shoulder and I look up to see that I am standing underneath a tree; the water collected upon its leaves all collects at the tip of the leaves before they fall to the ground.

It created a repetitive sound, soothing to my ear when combined with the sound of trees rustling to the strong wind. I hug my jacket closer to my body and a feeling of longing washes over me, to feel the warmth and comfort of being held by another body. The yearning to subdued quickly as the ground beneath my feet is no longer flat and solid. Each step I take creates a depression in the mud and leaves behind a mark. My whole body can feel the difference.

With each step I take, I feel my senses become more active as they take in every little detail, from the patterns in the soil to the buzzing of insects near my left ear while trying to gauge which animal grazes in a field that I can see from the side of my eyes.

After an eternity I reach the bus and sit by the window. Nostalgia washes over me I see the windows have a layer of fog on them- I would draw on them when I was younger. My inner child is satisfied when I let my fingers wander over the cool glass and create aimless patterns. I can peek through clear parts and see the wetlands beside my school.

As I stare at the grass swaying in the wind, my vision is disrupted by water droplets falling on the window. It creates an incessant rhythm and my mind grows hazy. I lean back into my seat and feel my eyelids grow heavy. I am comfortable, wrapped in my huge jacket with my hood up.

As the bus starters to move, waves of exhaustion come my way, pulling me into a deep slumber.

- Avani.

Painting - After the Rain in Kolkata, Shubhashis Mandal.

[imperfectorange]

Koohoo

to the coel bird that sings to unrequited trees

do you know that we hear you

or like a sore throat in a shower

do you find solace in your blind isolation

do you understand the warmth your melodies bring

or like a quivering young girl with a microphone

are you bashful

i’m sorry if the eyes that bright up at your calls

are seen as intrusions

i’m sorry

that the woman breathing in your sounds from her balcony

is an imposter

i’m sorry that the child needs to hear your songs to go to sleep

because if your art wasn’t made for us

then what was it made for

if your performance has no audience then is it even a performance?

if your canvas has no admirers then isn’t it empty?

to be loved is to be remembered

but if you wish to hide away your heart

how will anyone ever value your love

know that no amount of viridescent leaves

can border my love and your song

my admiration transcends your coyness

my tenderness finds it way

between the twigs and leaves

my devotion gently flaps its wings to you

to listen to your “koohoo”

one last time

- Nandini Bhattacharya (n5ndini on Instagram)

miniature painting of a koel.

[imperfectorange]

Summer Fashion in India.

Summer in Mumbai arrives in a hot whiff of wind and it is always accompanied by dread. The so-called ‘winters’ that no one but Mumbaikars call ‘winter’ is over in one cute little sweater, a bout of the flu and one ‘kitni thand hai yaar’ as soon as the temperature touches an even 18-degree celsius. We like to fool ourselves into thinking that spring exists but you step out of the house one day wearing your cute sweater and come back home looking like you just stepped out of a rainshower because you’re soaking wet and you know summer is here. Sweaters or full-sleeved tops (that’s what we call sweaters) are shoved at the back of the closet after their short-lived days of glory. Light-colored, cotton Chikankari kurtis adorn university campuses with their staple jhumkas and bright bindis. Older women are seen wiping everything from their brows to their children’s foreheads with that same pallu. Long floral skirts are going on vacations to Goa dreaming of a bikini. Shirtless, sweaty men in dhotis are eyed with some envy and a lot of disgust by their female counterparts. Street markets start to overflow with ganjis that have palm trees, the beach, and ‘Hawaii’ printed on them. Scarves and dupattas are wrapped tightly around heads like armor before stepping out in the sun, ready for war. There is a strange kind of hope the whites and yellows of the flowy fabric bring with them, like a band-aid for the blues and grays of the months that went by. A promise of warmth and sanctuary from the heat, all at once.

- Vaidehi

painting by Mukul Dey.

[imperfectorange]

A Cruel Summer

Summertime sadness was never a genuine concept for me before. I wouldn't even dare categorize it as an emotion. How could someone not find joy in juice trickling down the webs of sun loved hands, eating mangoes ripe from the stem. The time of bliss where the days seem longer than they are and the immortality of it all excuses the sweaty exhaustion. The three months of zero responsibilities pass by in secret romances, art camps, swimming lessons, and starry daydreams. After the harsh winter corrodes dreams and hopes, summer laps in with pompous steps pumping life into the dead souls of foliage. 

However, this summer leaves me gasping, with blurry vision, trying to collect fragments of memory scattered in the yard of my childhood. I crave a feeling so full of warmth from my Nani's home, but it now lays buried under the veranda. I don’t exist in the eternal state of summer anymore, the feeling stays, an overgrown monster under my bed, ready to consume me with its fiery waves until it shreds me to nothing but arms and limbs. 

As a child with tender skin, the heat never existed when I was scaling 12-foot trees with naked burnt soles drenched in mud, the blues of the ocean reflecting my mood as I take slow steps to feel the sand seep between my toes. The things you love the most take up spaces on the planes of your body. The scars on my knees remind me of my childhood summers. 

Perhaps this is the only time searing pain could be taken away with a kiss and words of reassurance. As March dawns on me, the temporal feeling is reignited and I once again crave the wings of freedom that have now morphed into forlorn feelings of despair. I think of a dreamy youth that makes it to novellas, and I think of the one I wrote in my journals. The words might differ but I was never one to live out my fantasies.

I was one of those who lived between the lines.

- Nityashree B.

Picture Credits - Pinterest (Mona Baloch)

[imperfectorange]

Tis’ the damned season

It's the time of the year when the days are shorter, but your coats are not. The aftermath of Christmas settles heavily on cold hearts, but the anticipation of a new year keeps the clock ticking. No one knows what's happening around them, life seemingly pauses for a few deep breaths, and thoughts are as numb as your brittle fingers after shoveling the snow from your porch. It's a fitting mood for some Kafka, evermore by t.swift and rose-infused baths.

The winter chill isn't a stranger from its precursor, the autumn heat, for they both walk us through changes. The crushed icicles replace the crunch of dried maple leaves on the sidewalk. Pumpkin spiced lattes go out of season for good old hot chocolates. The trees sing in the gloom, and the flower buds shrivel in agony. Autumnal change is sublime, transient, and ironically the season of coming of age and death. 

But December witnesses the force of metamorphosis inching slowly into hustling feet, asking them to slow down in mourn of the passage of another year of their lives. It has feeble hands jotting down the resolutions for the new celestial dawn in a journal nearing its end. It's a bystander to the sad farewell of peppermint and coconut from cookie fillings. It is the customer of a store selling out the last of their Christmas-themed merchandise. 

The six-day limbo sways by while you lounge on couches huddled up with your family bingeing holiday specials on the TV. You feel it during the quiet evening walks with hands trapped in the pockets of your sweater and the distant murmur of the last train for the day. It passes through when you lay awake at midnight with reflections of the past year flitting through your mind like an endless supercut.

These days after Christmas nurse a silent trepidation filled with confusion at how time sways and vulnerability for the forthcoming change. But you cast a glance at the fireworks lighting up the sky, the shadow of the new calendar on your wall, the freshly bought planner for the year, and then the clock strikes 12. A' happy new year' text on your phone lights up your face shroud in the darkness, and for a fleeting moment, you can see the light. You lay in your bed, wrapped in your comforter, and breathe in with the night with a ghost of a smile on your face, a head full of dreams, and the imprint of a kiss on your forehead. 

- Nitya

[imperfectorange]

Down the Lane - A New Year Diary Entry

Dear Diary,

Another day, another month, another year, it’s all colliding with January, again! Isn’t it strange as while rummaging through slides of life somehow it is painstakingly slow and a small glance back, time flies? I guess that’s what a year does to you. The afterglow of Christmas still lights the night sky, the chilly December wind smeared with wine flew all over me before stepping into the metro where after slow melody seeped its way through my ears, red and mufflers covered everywhere, going home was different this time, however home sounded a lot the same. Some things don’t change easily, neither philosophy nor romanticizing changes it, some just stays and that’s what I call home, just like my home. 

It’s strange as we grow up all we want to do is run away from home, explore the world, feel the rush, only to have at it and come back running to the very place we learned to run away from to realize, this is what I yearned from the beginning. It was always there, I just had to realize it and maybe running far from it helped me to come back, a bit earlier.

A million sneezes, tons of meds, virtual reels went real for a brief time, and everything we never thought would happen did occur and it was different. Losing friends wasn’t. However the pain was different, not sleeping enough was different, staring at a screen the whole day was different, yearning for touch was certainly different. Everyone around me is busy editing their 2021 recap reel and all I can sense is loneliness and disappointment for the larger part of the year. Prisoned in an apartment, I struggled to call home and friends who left the city did no good. So I flew down, this time away, to home, to one place that lasted. My chai cup is almost over and the train is about to reach the station, home calls!

It smelled the same too, didi’s cardamom tea and uncle’s old Hindi melody to which auntie's loud comments were the same. The neighborhood kids grew up, the small ice cream vendor upgraded it into a mini parlor, the church is now decked up by my then friends with whom I shared colored Poppins, the streets are more bright while the sky is a bit dim. The family tradition of cousins hanging out at the biggest home of the family remained intact, just that mother wasn’t here to make them pakoras or dad to buy them ice cream. 

Down the lane, I wish to say that it’s not foreign to me now but the pang in my heart stated the obvious. A smile crept to me thinking about them and I wonder, is this what I missed out and learned this time. That it’s okay to remember, it’s okay to feel pain and happiness over the memories, make new ones, fail at it, try harder, win a few, and at last, you will always end up with a plethora of memories.  It was all about memories actually, raw memories that mattered at the end of a year, looking back, that’s what stays and fuels the coming adventure. 

Now that I am home, with people I call family in the streets I grew up, taking a pause from going around but staying at one, hope suddenly fills the wind in my hair about the coming rollercoaster, celebrating the new beginning with people who stayed, I smile again thinking about the new year.

This time with a handful of hope and family at home!

- Gouri