When I’m done with my chores, I sit at my window and observe. There’s a lot going on here to keep me busy. I see children growing up, families moving in and moving out. Lives being nurtured and destroyed. The best stories are woven on my street.
Because I need to tell them and I need to hear what others have to say. I need to get out of my little shell and explore. Because my life isn’t your life nor your thoughts mine. You don’t share my experiences, my way of life, or my religion. There are doors I want to open that I never knew existed. I want to hear new voices and opinions, concordant and discordant. Pretty and not so, often downright ugly. So many worlds exist within this world. I love me a good story.
Maybe you’d like to read some of my stories? If so check them out here.
Lost in the streets I’ve known like the back of my hand
Surprising what a few years away can do.
My mind has reset. Everything looks new.
Scars, memories erased
Do I want to go back?
Yes, or maybe no.
I feel most at peace when I am among the trees and shrubs or even the desert, and rocks. Sometimes, vastness is overwhelming but I don’t feel judged. I can just be me. I don’t have to pretend or feel stressed. I can relax. I don’t sense the passage of time, be it minutes or hours. Time just moves.
Travel series by Deepika Pawar
Delhi, the capital of India is fondly called Dilli dilawalon ki, meaning an abode of large hearted people. Growing up in Delhi I have been visiting places of tourist interest since childhood. But now I travel in Delhi as a traveler, exploring and admiring the places and sharing my experiences. Delhi has a lot to offer from the Mughal era buildings to Colonial architecture to the modern day attractions for the travelers.
I thought that my travel blog series should begin from Delhi, the place where I live and where my heart belongs.
Lodhi Art District is India’s First Open Air Art District where 20+ artists from India and overseas have transformed this public space into a beautiful canvas. If you are in Delhi, take a stroll on the streets of Lodhi Colony and get mesmerised by the Art Work. This place reminded me of the East Side Gallery Berlin Wall graffiti in Germany. Wear comfortable footwear since you will walk a lot and don’t forget a water bottle.
How to get there: Lodhi Colony is in South Delhi and is on the metro train route. You can take a private cab or an autorickshaw to reach the place.
Deepika Pawar is a native of New Delhi, India. She is a Counsellor and Family Therapist in private practice. She is ‘a gypsy at heart’, a wanderer and travel enthusiast, who loves to explore new places.
The complaint I often hear from omnivores is that they would like to go meatless but don’t have enough options. Sorry, that is a myth. Infact, there are so many delicious options that you will not crave meat anymore. And many of them are very easy to prepare. Here’s one of them- Mung bean lentil soup. Mung beans are a great source of plant based protein, fiber, B vitamins, minerals, antioxidants plus, they are easy to digest.
Pressure cook split mung bean lentils (without husk) 1-2 cups, add grated ginger and sauteed red onion. Add turmeric, chili powder and salt to taste. Top off with tadka of mustard and cumin seeds in ghee. Garnish with cilantro leaves. It’s absolutely delicious on it own, or as a side dish with chapatis, naan bread or rice. Try it!
I’m not old, I think. Not yet. But I’m getting there. Everyone is getting there. Maybe I’m a little ahead in the line because I’m thinking about it. About getting old.
Am I sad? Not really. Maybe, just a little disappointed. Because I really didn’t have much of a youth. Because I spent most of it preparing for the future– for getting old.
I don’t think I’m old because I’m still a productive member of society. People still seek my opinion and try to take it seriously (I hope). My opinion still counts for something. I’m not just someone to be tolerated. But then what is ‘old’? It is a state of mind. Because there are people who are old in their youth and others who are young when they are old.
I think I’m at the best time of my life. There is still a skip in my step and I’m not preoccupied with the condition of my joints. I still get excited to see new things, experience new places.
I don’t have any regrets. I’ve dealt with them all. In fact, I’ve dealt with them so well I don’t even recall what they were. My desires are limited to traveling, reading, assimilating new ideas, and perhaps guiding others to live a better, more informed life. I’ve reconciled with my ambitions and disappointments.
But a day will come when I won’t matter any more; my opinions will be just that–opinions. So, I’m collecting keepsakes. Little memories– that’ll keep me company and help me pass the time. It could be anything– like the flavor of something delicious– from a long time ago–that perhaps I’d never get the chance to taste again. It could be a bird call; a chance conversation with a stranger; timeless streets through which I walked and walked but wasn’t afraid of getting lost because I had wonderful company. It could be the brilliant blue of the sky, the soothing silence of the forest, the dust on my shoes as I embarked eagerly on a different trail.
I hope that time will be short. I hope I won’t become bitter. I hope when you think of me it’ll be with a smile.
Someone to lead
Someone to follow
Someone to hold my hand
To clear the path
Help me make my way,
through this wide wicked world.
It’s a Sunday. Not just any day. A day of so-called rest or restlessness. Let’s take a trip downtown. The weather is chilly, the sky is grey. The streets are deserted. Parking in the Whole Foods garage will cost you unless you spend $10 on groceries. Two boxes of cereal and some lemonade- $11 and change; not bad at all. Pick up some coffee at Starbucks (there is still no sitting inside) then wander along the streets.
The trees are finally springing leaves- makes for a nice contrast against the blue of the building across.
Walk through the Union Station which happens to the center of action to 17th street. A man wearing a purple cape slips into an alley covered with striking graffiti. Oxford Hotel, the oldest in Denver- had no clue.
Now back to the parking garage. Money well spent.
As she turned the street corner, Ritu stopped to check her profile in the shop window. For a fraction of a second, not more. Guess I look okay, she thought and walked on after giving a brisk downward tug to the form fitting dress that ended just above her knees. It was a pretty dress with a cheery print of yellow and pink roses on an olive green background. “Perfect for the summer!” the salesgirl had assured her with a bright smile.
Ritu hadn’t just bought that two hundred dollar dress. She had splurged– in a way very uncharacteristic of her. She had acted on impulse. The print had caught her eye and the color looked really good on her or so she’d thought at the time. But she hadn’t got around to wearing it. Ever since that day it had hung in her closet to be perused periodically then passed over for something more ordinary and comfortable. Such as the dozen or so pants and blouses that fit her identity of sensible but bland Ritu. But today was different. She wanted to look her best.
The cafe was called Coffee, Tea and Me. The name had evoked a distant memory. It was the title of a book she had read a long time ago. She didn’t recall much of it but the gist had remained with her like some stories have a way of doing. It had something to do with a young woman. Or two young women who were stewardesses and their adventures. She had associated with the book as a young woman; launching herself into an exciting new career, of a stewardess, traveling to new places, meeting people, maybe some romance even. It felt silly now but at the time it had been wonderful. A different life.