The Delhi Metro was once my literary escape. Crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with commuters, I would steal moments to devour books. The rhythmic rumble of the train, the murmur of conversations, the symphony of the city – it all blended into a comforting background score for my reading sessions. Each stolen page was a victory, a brief immersion into another world amidst the urban chaos. It was a simple pleasure, yet one that resonated deeply.
When I was a kid, April and May fell in the list of my favourite months. Not because it's going to rain and there would be mud all around, but those are the months my cousins would be here at our family house, in our hometown in Kerala. Those are the memories I would cherish forever. My grand-mother has 5 offsprings, 4 boys and a girl. My father is the second eldest of five. Then, he was the only one staying in Kerala and everyone else was in different parts of India, a Pan-India Family one could say. We were all present, it's like Parliament, shouting, laughing, scolding children, people everywhere, busy doing their chores. An outsider entering the home can still go unnoticed. Life was less complicated then. We were just ........just ourselves. Everyone you valued dearly is with you. It's like, the world has shrunken to a square block of bricks and mortar. Now it's all feel like a fairy-tale, one of the best things about joint-family. We are all tired of day's...
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