Sweet Smile...


Nice smile Sweetie Pie....God bless you, whoever you are...

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Hourglass of Memory

In the heat of the summer, when the earth seemed to breathe a collective sigh, Radhika found herself standing in the attic of her grandmother's ancestral home in the small village of Haripad. The house, a crumbling relic of the Travancore architecture, had always been a place of mystery, with its faded wooden floors and peeling walls. It was as though the house itself was a museum of forgotten years, with every object in it holding a story no one dared to tell. Radhika, however, had always been fascinated by those untold stories. Now, at twenty-eight, after years of living in the bustling chaos of Bangalore, she had returned to the house, seeking answers, seeking... something. She didn’t know what. But she felt it, like a whisper in her bones—something pulling her back to this place, to this family, to the legacy that felt incomplete. Her grandmother, whom she called Muthassi , was old. Old in a way that felt eternal, as if she had always existed, perched in her corner of the house...
Read more

Blue Jeans and Yellow Kurta (Top)

This was the year when I had seen the US land, a second time. I came back to Bangalore after a while, went to Jaipur to my parents and came back again to Bangalore. By now, I had a severe urge to go to Kerala, and to see my grand parents and other relatives. So I packed my bag as soon as I got an opportunity to go to Kerala. It had always been an exiting affair for me to go to Kerala (yeah, except only one time at the time of demise of my uncle). There's a train or buses always running to and fro from Kerala to Bangalore; Only during seasonal times (times of festivities like the Onam or X'mas) you won't get any tickets even 2 months before. Anyways, I had the train ticket this time, and I started on a Thursday evening after the office hours. The roads at the BTM Layout were as usual, full of their crowds; bystanders, vehicles, two-wheelers rattling against each other. I put my backpack on my shoulders, as if a kid is going to a school, and started walking to the BTM Bus sta...
Read more

The Case of the Missing Mustache

In the serene village of Karithodi , nestled along the winding backwaters and shaded by swaying coconut trees, life moved at a gentle pace. The villagers in Karithodi knew one another well, and news -whether good, bad, or absurd - traveled quickly. Karithodi was a lush place with canals cutting through its landscape, lined with houseboats and traditional wooden houses painted in bright blues and greens. Fishermen could be seen rowing their narrow canoes at dawn, and the scent of blooming water lilies filled the air. But this morning, an unusual scandal was brewing. Mr. Raghavan, the village barber, opened his tiny shop at the usual time. It was a charming setup on the edge of the canal, with a faded red-and-white barber pole, an old mirror, and a couple of well-worn chairs. Mr. Raghavan, a man of about sixty-five, sported a mustache that was the pride of Karithodi. Thick, dark, and meticulously groomed, the townsfolk often joked that if you were to find Raghavan’s shop closed, just loo...
Read more