Shades of Green

" The earth laughs in flowers" Dear Readers, What do you like to do most when you are alone and bored? Collect stamps? Read something? Go for a walk? Cook something? Meditate? Let me know in the comments section. 😉 I love to read. Reading sometimes takes me to another world where I can sympathize with people. I frequently get chided for reading novels. My parents are of the notion that it wastes time. The time I could have used up to cram some more drug pharmacology. But, novels are really hard to resist. Especially if you are at the zenith of it. When all your dopamine is surging to find out what happens at the close. No reader ever, who has completely bonded with the writer and his characters would ever wish the story ended. Some books I have savored the most have been added in my profile. Books that gave me creeps and made me stand up to say " Wow! " I don't think reading squanders your precious time. It could possibly be one of the bes

Have you ever felt really stressed up and felt the ache hold up in every cell of your body? Your head feeling like a balloon waiting to burst. When all you could think of was, how distressing life is. When your muscles felt tight and you were so vexed up that you could possibly spurt out your frustration on any unlucky chap that would have passed by? And to top it all the realization that nothing helps making you feel terrible? I felt this today. Stuff like being late to college, missing out on stuff, not being replied to, and so many more silly reasons tensing me up. I tried deep breathing. But each breath was fire. I knew I had to think and I decided to. I placed a chair next to the window facing our veranda and thought. I was still angry with everyone. But a little later, things started to change inside me. My perspectives started to realign. I instituted myself, in the place of the one's I had feelings of annoyance about, and considered if I would have been any differ

My parents. They are undoubtedly the pioneers of my existence. So they deserve some attention. Don't they? My father is the second youngest lad born among five siblings. He had a bad start - an authoritarian father, a religious mother and poverty. But he's cool now. His hardships are no more and now all you can see is a really content man with a lot of life principles that evolved out of a book of experiences. My mother a cute little second daughter born to an army officer. Her father passed away of heart attack when she was five and she hardly recalls any memories with him. But she does envy my sister and me for how lucky we are to have a father. Theirs was an arranged marriage. In June 1995, a beautiful princess along with her pot of dreams was married to a young man who had a vision of his future. Yes! They married                                         One year later, I was born.  I didn't like my name pretty much. I used to be asked why I had suc

Dear Readers, This is a picture I took, quite close to my home. Probably you know Kerala for it's richness in coconut trees. We are known for coconuts. Coconut is for almost everything - food, hair oil, medicines, cooking, fertilizer, and so much more. If you've ever been on a flight to Kerala, have a look and all you see are coconut trees. It is truly God's own country for it's beautiful rivers and trees. My name is Sunitha Mathew and my blog is my story. I am a hard-core nature lover and love to relish every bit of it. I love taking pictures of flowers more than of myself. Every flower has a tale to tell. There's a verse that caught my attention on Pininterest (I am a quotes addict by the way) - 'Perhaps the reason we are drawn to flowers is not only because of their outer beauty but because they remind us beautiful things will bloom after the longest seasons of waiting.' 😊😊😊 With my blog, I will take you through my story. It's a bumpy ri

I haven't descried a green flower.  I imagine she exists,  wanting to be seen,  buried somewhere  among the million green leaves.  She understandingly waits  for the promising hues  to dawn upon her.  I wish I could tell her  how beautiful she already is. That her color completes the alluring tree. That she is loved by the branches and roots of the tree that nourishes her. - Sunitha Mathew

‘Grandmother’s tale’ by R.K.Narayan is the story of his great grandmother, who lived in those days of child marriages. The writer’s great grandmother, Balambal, addressed as Bala was only seven when she was married and her husband being just ten years old. On one auspicious day she was clad in a sari, decked in jewellery and taken to the pillared hall of the temple where she was garlanded and made to sit beside a boy whom she was shy to look at. After the marriage, the girl’s life had changed. She could neither go out nor meet her husband except on special occasions. Bala’s husband, Viswa, had finally discovered a way to access her from the backyard of her house where she washed clothes. One fine day he told her that he would be going away. When enquired why and with whom, he had no answer. He only said that he was joining the pilgrims beyond the river. But Viswa’s disappearance had extended for more than a month and had become a sensation in the village. Bala could not go out bec

     When I was small, I had always fantasised myself going to school with a fracture. I know this would seem eerie to normal human intellect, but I had my reasons. When I was in grade three, I had a classmate who fractured her leg in a car crash. I was too obsessed with all that care and attention she was getting to even notice the pain and embarrassment she must had been going through. Every morning when I squirmed my way out of the crowded school van, I would see her getting dropped off right in front of the school gate in a royal car, placed on a wheelchair and rolled all the way to class. The fact that she didn’t even have to make the slightest effort to walk made me admire that whole situation with awe. So there was the inspiration to that weird wish. I had carried that same wish all along with me until that dreadful day when I least expected something like this could happen so easily. I was in Grade six when my parents had brought me and my sister along to visit our uncl

One sister for sale! One sister for sale! One crying and spying young sister for sale! I'm really not kidding, So who'll start the bidding? I just came across this poem and found it hilarious. You would wonder who would ever put their sister for sale! But I can totally relate. There was a certain time in my life where I too found my sister so annoying. Those compromises you have to make for everything you own in life is beyond endurance threshold. Sometimes it made me go nuts. I would be reading my textbook and she just pops into my room randomly, stands near my table and picks up a book she wishes to and then scribbles silly drawings on it. Of course, it's really sweet. Happy Realisation to myself! But back then, at primary school, how could you tolerate your social studies notebook being used for some stick figures? Imagining the teacher walking into the class with her dreaded cane and beating us up for all the silliest reasons she could find would obvio

"Just two weeks and we are done saving money for our brand new house", said Eva as she stacked each note carefully between the pages of her favourite collection of novels. Everyone who knew about the weird way she stored her money wondered why anyone would do this. But that never bothered Eva. For Eva and her mother, that money was the only solace to their dream mansion. Eva wanted her own big home where life would be undemanding and painless. They lived in an old dilapidated two-storey building. Any attempts to make repairs in that house was far-gone. The walls were chipped, ceilings were leaky and most of the pipes to the main drainage were fractured. This led to a lingering foul smell all around and inside the house. Every day in that house was dreadful. The property they dwelled in was an inheritance they received from Eva's grandfather, Joseph when his son died of a degenerative disease he procured in his early thirties shortly after he was married to Eva&#

It's okay! You don't have to love me... The last few pages of Neela's diary was soaked in tears that day. Every tear she shed stung so hard, it sent shudders down her spine. She could smile no more. People came to see her now and then. She didn't want to live. She wondered why that horrible incident didn't take her life away. She could only lay still, immersed in her thoughts, while people took turns to express their sympathy and left. That devastating day remained in her memory like a perfectly captured video.  Two weeks back, it was her last exam at university. She had finished her exam one hour early and was anxiously planning about kinds of stuff to do that vacation. Asher, a boy in her class had feelings for Neela. He had once mentioned this to Neela. However, she denied him. She knew her family well, who was not the kind to accept something like this and she knew that he was clearly having only an infatuation. She guessed that his adrenaline rush would fad