ChirpyQuill

"Papa, can I have a hug?" The question came from a small, ten-year-old voice. I looked down to see my daughter’s face, a storm cloud of frustration with tears welling in her eyes. I smiled, opened my arms, and pulled her into an embrace. As I held her, I could feel the tension in her small frame melt away. When she pulled back, the storm had passed, replaced by a bright, beaming smile that erased every trace of her anger and sadness. That was my first profound lesson in the power of a simple hug. Now, she is a young woman, and though the reasons for her tears have changed, she still seeks out that same quiet comfort in my arms from time to time. Years later, the roles were reversed, and it was I who was shattered. The day I lost my job, a first in my career, I walked home in a daze of uncertainty and fear. My son, then fifteen, found me. "Dad? You're home early." The simple question broke through my composure. Taking a shaky breath, I told him the truth. "I...

Lately, I've been reflecting on the wave of viral videos that flood our timelines.The Coldplay concert couple, someone dancing,singing, eating with their hands on a subway, someone tossing something in a wooded area. Are these really moments for public consumption? Sure, behaviors can be unusual or inappropriate depending on the setting. But does that give a random bystander the higher moral ground to record and broadcast it to millions? What happens between two individuals,as long as it’s within the confines of law,should remain just that: between them. It reminds me of the time I used to travel to the city for work. Every day on the path there was a man who talked loudly on his phone, clearly annoying everyone. One day, someone finally called him out. Embarassed,he got off at the next station to finish his call. That moment was enough to teach him a lesson . No cameras, hashtags, or public shaming. Imagine if someone had filmed him instead, posted it, and made him a meme. We forg...

Every year since the time my daughter was eight I have been writing a poem for her.  As she was turning 14 this year, I thought she was too old for a poem from her mom. But around 10 days back, she asked me “ Mom. I hope you started writing my poem for my birthday.” “Aren’t you too old? I asked her. Of course, not, she said I do want a poem for my birthday this year too And so I started penning now a poem and gave it to her today … of course with other gifts!! You’re fourteen years today, a milestone so grand You now speak in a language I hardly understand Baffling words like lowkey, skibbidi and sigma Your language for me is truly an enigma Sometimes your room, it makes me pull my hair in despair The clothes on the floor look at me and say “Clean up this room if you dare”  Don’t know when those tiny hands always holding a book are now never seen without a phone  So over the years, how did I change from mama to “mom” to “bro”  Maybe that’s something I’ll never unders...

A remarkably uninteresting looking woman. Grey- ish hair, sharp features, worries and concerns of a life that I will never know about… she sat there across the bar. Neither smiling nor frowning. Slowly eating her grey food, dressed in her grey cardigan. She had braved to sit at a bar by herself, risking attention or, worse still, no attention. She knew the flames of loneliness her life had been consigned to. Others had to catch up, or not.  She moved slowly. Her hands navigating the food, very deliberately. It was in slow motion. Was she sad ? was she lonely? was she content? was she… something. It was hard to know.  It brought me back to some early morning hours at at safari in Africa. An adult lion ambling though the savannah, just as slowly as this woman was eating her food. All other animals were in groups, the Zebras, the Wildebeasts, even birds.. they all had something in common, friends. Not the Lion. Not her across the bar. Not me even, today at-least, I reflected as I...

In October 2023 I had written an article called AAA which was an exploration into well rounded fitness. I termed it, Aesthetically Astute Athleticism. I had felt a need to direct the athletic endeavors that I had seen a lot of us engaging in, towards a more holistic approach. I had felt that looking like a healthy and fit athlete was just as important as being one.  That actually ended up becoming the start of a journey. Since then, we have executed two Boot Camps, engaging a few dozen accomplished runners who doubled down on Strength Training in the winter months. We exchanged experiences, notes, workout videos, dietary ideas, Podcasts and our own reflections. Each one of us involved, went through our own evolution as endurance athletes with an eye towards aesthetics and long term health outcomes. In some way we took the first tentative steps from endurance runners to genuinely fit individuals. Along the way, we learnt a lot as we zeroed in on what ideal fitness was about and the ...

  Everyone has heard of the phrase. It takes a village to raise a kid. However, what does it take for someone to be successful at work?  Long hours at work?  Yes, definitely. Education, Experience, and Expertise in what to do? Yes, for sure. All those are needed to succeed at work. But what about the invisible factors that attribute towards one’s success? What about those unseen never acknowledged people that are the backbone, contributing towards a person‘s success at work?  Recently two famous personalities had become viral when they promoted a 70 and 90 hour a week work culture. While I would reserve my views on that, what about the people who actually want to work to kind of hours? Who takes care of their family while they work those insane hours? Who takes care of stuff at their home? Who takes care of their kids if they do decide to have a family? In most cases, it would perhaps be a housewife or homemaker as I like to call them who takes care of stuff for them...

  You nod, you always says yes You're made to feel guilty if you take some rest  You continue to give, you continue to serve You lift others while you fall All you want is some praise from the ones you love So over the years you give up your dreams You hold your tongue to keep the peace You wear a smile but you're scared of their frown You know there's no one for you when you're feeling down One day you'll realize true love doesn't bind And its not always good to be so kind One day you'll know not every hand deserves your grace And its your OWN dreams that you need to chase                      .........Leena

Trains, Planes, Buses, Car and a Jeep  – Had been wandering through the mountains of Himachal, Uttrakhand and plains of Punjab. Was practically living out of my suitcase with my extemporized travels and then I thought it was time for me to rest my butt, brain and heart for few days somewhere. I was headed for Vipassana meditation course in Jaipur. Though I had to stop the course on the fifth day but what an experience it turned out to be. Day 1. I checked into a peaceful ashram on the outskirts of Jaipur. Surrounded by hillocks, the place was serene with myriad of trees, sounds of birds chirping, peacock calls, friendly Langurs; just what I needed leaving behind my inane life for few days. A gentle cool breeze and warm winter sun made the whole environment very calming. Rules for ten days: Up at 4 AM, light off at 9:30 PM, No screens, no music, no reading material, no looking at other “Sadhaks” , 9 hours of meditation and most importantly no talking… nothing but Quiet… for 10 DAYS...

A friend of mine penned a beautiful obituary for his late mother. He described his deep bond with his "ma," but what has stayed with me since was a heartfelt account of the love story between his late parents. Love Story…just these words invoke great emotion in us all. For me, there was no greater or more impossible love than the one between Catherine and Heathcliff – the protagonists of the novel by Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights -one of the great works of literature.  It also marked how I went through life, imagining what love was like. It seemed like it should be all-consuming, sometimes selfish, felt and given with wild and occasionally erotic abandon, curls flying, eyes flashing in love and anger in equal parts. Love was, in every possible way, this massive mound of explosive dynamite which, once lit, was supposed to consume, obliterate, and elevate or destroy or perhaps both. But what is love  actually supposed to be? Why do we idolize love that comes with unfulfil...