Somewhere in a French Patisserie

At 5:00 AM, the warm yellow lights turn on every day in the back of the bakery. 

Marie gets busy with all the work that lays ahead of her in the day. She prepares herself, dusts her hands with flour and begins to knead the dough. She kneads the dough long and gently though. 

There is flour on her apron, hands, and strands of hair that fall often on her face. From the pantry to the kitchen, she runs around gathering ingredients. 

In a large bowl, she sieves the dry ingredients into the flour. In another bowl, she whisks the wet ingredients. She works with the intensity of a controlled hurricane. 

Now and then, she checks on her pastry and bread dough. Kneading them long and gently though. 

She works on the bread on one side while simultaneously working on a fluffy chocolate mousse. 

She whisks warm whipping cream with cacao powder in a bowl. In another, she mixes milk, sugar, and cornflour. Folding in the batter smoothly until it all comes together.

She pours this mixture into a saucepan and turns on the flame. She adds chunks of dark chocolate into the concoction and starts stirring till it turns into a mini brown whirlpool in the pan. 

She stirs and stirs until it becomes delectably dark and gooey. She pours this into a baking tray for cooling. She drizzles some cocoa powder on the chocolate mousse just before sliding the tray into the refrigerator.

She dusts her apron briefly and goes back to kneading a new dough again. 

Like this, Marie passionately bakes away every single day. Tirelessly, making wonderful pastries in her French patisserie. 

woman in restaurant wearing apron

Photo by Davide Baraldi on Pexels.com

 

 

By the Ocean

An old villa facing the ocean on a summer beach stands still.

Three steps take you into the house through a blue colored two-way door, a string of bells hang above it lightly tingling with the ocean breeze.

A white intricate design of rangoli greets you at the doorstep, you step in and walk on the red floored tiles and enter an authentic South Indian home.

In the open hall area hangs an oonjal wooden swing with iron-link chains anchored to the ceiling. The oonjal is decorated with two maroon bolster pillows on the sides.

The swing directly faces the entrance door, when left open, the door acts as a window to the ocean galore.

Tall pillars standing impressively in the middle of the house holding its weight.

The aroma of ghee from kitchen, freshly prepared vadas, and filter coffee drags you further in. Steamed rice cakes continue to cook in the pressure cooker with the whistle going on and off.

Just by the kitchen is an open area with an open ceiling and right in the center of it is a tulsi plant.

Dressed in a sari with a damp towel wrapped around her wet hair, she waters the tulsi plant and does puja.

Two little girls cheerfully run in the open area holding up their orange-colored lehengas and dropping a few buds of mogra flowers from their hair onto the ground while playing.

There is lively banter and cheerfulness in the air. Grandma talks incessantly with the maid while the maid washes clothes just around the corner of the house on a stone slab.

A stairway leads you to several more rooms, a young fifteen-year old girl walks on the corridor holding a book in her hand and reciting poems in her sing-song voice.

Just when we are about to enter one of the rooms, I wake up with a startle to the sounds of loud impatient honking from vehicles across the street. I look out the window and see streets bustling with people and cars, surrounded by tall blocks of boring concrete buildings. I let out a loud sigh thinking of my heartwarming South Indian dream and get back to living the usual fast-paced city life.

adult book boring face
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

A Day at the Dentist

I lie numb on the chair.

Eyes towards the window on the ceiling wondering, “Who put a window up there?”

Also, being thankful for the wonderful idea.

The clouds were moving unusually fast today.

The weather forecast mentioned that it was going to get windy in the afternoon, and it did.

The dentist and the nurse moved their hands meticulously inside my mouth. I had just one job to do..

I had to lie still with my mouth wide open.

I lay there without flinching, trusting them with their tools inside my mouth.

A swab of cotton goes in, a piercing needle, and a voice above me says, “I am sorry, I know that hurt. Are you okay?”

She must have seen my fingers digging into my thighs. I nod with my mouth wide open and try to relax my hands.

There was an on-going battle inside my mouth while my entire body lay still.

Soon, the drilling and vibrations began.

The dust from the enamel of my tooth blew into the air and onto my face. The nurse wiped my face with a tissue.

A dim light constantly above my head, I lie on the seat with the shades on. 

I hear sounds of a girl crying in pain and wonder what treatment she must be going through? I watch nurses walk in and walk out from the corner of my eye. 

A faint sound of music in the air from the radio, the songs which played I no longer remember. 

A cute guy wearing glasses and headphones sat at the reception area playing games on the Switch, waiting for his wife.

I try to focus on all the things around me so I could take my mind off from the things happening inside my mouth.

A mould of clay goes in, a spray of water, some suction and I feel a bitter tingling sensation on my tongue.

The process repeats and goes on for hours.

Now and then, I hear the dentist say,

“You are a trooper honey.

You are doing good.”

I guess I’m winning the war.

Then again,

There is nothing much for me to do.

As the battle continues,

I lie numb with my mouth open

Looking up at the sky through the window.

blur bristle brush clean
Photo by George Becker on Pexels.com
PS: The cute guy, my husband *_*

 

My Sister, the Serial Killer – Oyinkan Braithwaite

Crime|Dramedy|Unsettling|Family

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My Sister, the Serial Killer, is a story of two sisters, Korede and Ayoola. Ayoola kills and Korede protects. This pretty much sums up the entire story.

What makes it interesting to read is the unique narration by Oyinkan Braithwaite, where a dark theme is narrated with a comic element. Though a short novel, you cannot help but get involved with the characters.

Korede, the elder sister is a nurse by profession. She is reliable, hard-working, and fiercely protective of her younger sister. At the same time she is also resentful of her sister’s flawless beauty.

Ayoola is a carefree, happy-go-lucky soul who always gets what she wants and she is used to men falling in love with her beauty almost instantly. She is extremely close to her sister and shares all her secrets with Korede, including the murders of her boyfriends.

Every time, Ayoola kills a man, she summons her sister by saying, “Korede, I killed him.” As always, Korede goes running to save Ayoola and tries her best to clean up her mess. But, what happens when Korede’s long love interest, Tade, falls for Ayoola’s beauty too? Will she save her sister or Tade?

My Sister, the Serial Killer, is Oyinkan Braithwaite’s debut novel. It is a dark comic fictional story which is easy to read and the story flows really well. At first, you feel the storyline does not progress beyond Ayoola’s beauty, how she is the favorite child, and Korede though being smart always feels worthless. But soon, the story picks up pace, a lot more characters come into the picture and the story evolves.

When Korede finds out that, “More than three murders makes you a serial killer”, she is clearly frightened and worried for her sister. Ayoola’s merry disposition after committing the crimes makes it all the more weird. Introducing another character in the story, Muhtar – a coma patient, who is Korede’s only source of comfort and companion with whom she shares all her secrets and thoughts.

My Sister, the Serial Killer, deals with crime, loyalty, love, an abusive father, and gender roles. This tale also has undertones of self-worth, dependency and frustration with Korede always feeling that she is a step behind Ayoola. It is about family-ties, where both the sisters feed off each other and are equally guilty of their crimes. Ayoola for committing them and Korede for hiding them. Like the author herself says, “They are two sides of the same coin.” This book is a quick, fun, and interesting read.

Tea in Rain

A distant rumbling thunder.

There it comes,

Pitter-pattering rain and with it rises the fresh earthy scent of mud in the air.

Avni goes running out of her mud and straw hut with the pullu of her sari over her head, its tip clenched tightly between her teeth to prevent the pallu from falling.

She hurriedly grabs the washed clothes hanging on the fenced railing and runs back inside the hut.

After a while, white smoke rises from her hut.

Every time it rains, Avni brews tea.

She sits quietly and watches the foamy brown liquid come to a rapid boil.

After a minute, she removes the chai from the fire, pours it over a strainer and into two large mud cups.

She covers the cups with a lid, goes out running again and enters the hut opposite to hers.

Eighty-year old Ajjamma lives here and Avni is very fond of her.

The view from the other side of Ajjamma’s hut is beautiful. It overlooks a large pond with fields of corn surrounding it.

Every time it rains, Avni and Ajjamma sit by the doorstep of the hut in silence and drink chai. 

They watch raindrops splashing and creating bubbles of air in the pond, they watch the field of crops sway gently with the wind and they like the mist softly touching their skin. 

This is happiness to them, in each other’s company and their hot cup of tea.

Little Encounters of Love

At the cafe, we both reached out at once towards the cup of coffee placed at the counter. Our hands stopped midway, she turned and looked at me.

Our eyes locked for.. one second, two seconds, three seconds.. 

She quickly blinked and looked away.

I apologized and said, “Please, go ahead.”

She hesitated while reaching for the coffee.

So I said, “It’s fine, I am in no hurry.”

She lifted the cup, turned towards me again, looked into my eyes and gave me a smile.

I felt my heart stop.

She said, thank you and walked away.

 

I’m a 7-year old.

I picked a book from the library and excitedly ran all the way home.

I locked myself in the tiny closet and sat down on the floor.

Eagerly, I opened the book and the words were waiting for me.

Looking up at me curiously.

Two little strangers would embark on a new journey.

Slowly and patiently from one word to another I rolled.

The words started revealing a story like I hadn’t read before.

This time it took me into a forest dense and green.

I escaped from the reality and lost myself in this picture serene.

I was a Merman and a white-winged divine horse accompanied me.

A heaviness in the air,

An adventure was on its way.

A mystery to reveal.

I got absorbed in it so fast that I had forgotten to eat.

My mind raced..

Word by word, page by page.

I travelled in my mystical world

while being seated in my tiny unkempt home.

And just like this, everyday

I traverse into my world of fantasy

Away from the pain, fear, anger, brutality and poverty. 

I go lands away just by coursing through the page

and I escape my reality.

The Stormlight Archive – Fangirl Alert!

#BookReview

I held the third book of The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson and my hands trembled.

It has been a storming journey these past few months with The Way of Kings and The Words of Radiance. A significant part of me now belongs in the realm of the Shattered Plains with Kaladin, Shallan, Dalinar, Szeth, and Jasnah Kholin. There hasn’t been an idle moment in my regular life because even when I am not reading the books, I am thinking about Shardblades, Highstorms, Chasms, Sprens, Parshendi, and of course Kaladin! Sometimes absent-mindedly when I feel low on energy I take in a deep breath hoping I could suck in some stormlight to come alive.

What can we say about Sanderson’s mastery on Worldbuilding, this imaginary world is tremendous and fantastic. It seems more real to me than my everyday life! Yeah, like summoning a Shardblade in ten seconds, feeling overjoyed when Kaladin learns the Lashings and runs with the winds, or learning how highstorms can infuse dun spheres with stormlight, did not sound surprising to me they are totally believable, and of course the concepts blew my mind.

The personalities of the protagonists are so charismatic and powerful that no amount of praise or superlatives can do them justice. At times when I am sad or in pain, I remember the struggles of Kaladin and I instantly feel better. I seek him for strength and hope. I am a beginner at sketching but every time I sit down to sketch, I feel like Shallan. I would like to believe we have similar personalities, you see! When I come across dishonorable, immoral and sinful humans, I feel hopeful thinking honor might be dead but we still have Dalinar around. I might sound crazy, but this is the kind of influence the characters have upon me. I absolutely love them and adore them. They are mine – Kaladin, Shallan, Szeth, Dalinar, and Jasnah Kholin! ALL MINE, extra love for Kaladin tho.

Now, that I am proceeding on to the next book of the series, I experience an unexplainable fear and hesitation to start. I know that I will not be disappointed by the author but as a reader I hope I continue to be at my imaginary best to thoroughly be consumed by the third book of The Stormlight Archive – The Oathbringer!

I must be truly Stormblessed to have found this epic work of art, a real masterpiece! Thank you Brandon Sanderson! *_*

“Life before Death

Strength before Weakness

Journey before Destination”

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A Storm Within

A red blazing spark of light shot down from the dark clouds that turned up out of nowhere. The sharp crackling sound of thunder got my heart racing. I had never seen anything like this before.

Wait, did I just see two human forms in the clouds with swords? Or were they only birds? The lightning must have blurred my vision!

The red lightning struck again! I quickly roll down the window of my cab to look up at the sky. I see a whirlpool forming. The clouds start drowning into the vast darkness of the whirlpool.

It looks like a portal. I have seen sci-fi films and read many fantasy books, always wishing out-of-ordinary instances like these would occur someday to make life extraordinary. However, this was not fiction, it was happening for real, I could see a portal in the sky!

This cannot be true. I stare at it without blinking my eyes. I can feel my heart sinking, drowning in fear but unable to react.

“Is it only the sky or will we all get absorbed into the darkness of this portal?”, I whisper to myself.

I am not quite sure how I feel at this very moment, I am not crying out in fear neither am I panicking. I guess shock has taken over my emotions and all I can do is gape with my mouth wide open at the flying humans in the sky and the red storm approaching through the open whirlpool.

Inquisitive is probably how I feel. I do not want this storm to consume me neither do I want it to stop, I wonder what this miracle is! How can I say that I want it to stop? Monotony of life has gotten deep into my skin, I shouldn’t be complaining. A supernatural phenomenon like this has never happened before, I should make the most of it!

In a flash, I decide to jump out of the cab to marvel at the rarity of this occurrence. I need to remember this, I need to write it down, sketch it, or wait..the fastest way to capture this moment is to click a photo. So, I look down to hunt for my phone in my bag and I suddenly realize the entire world just stopped.

Feeling dazed, I look around to find myself in the middle of a bustling street. Cars start honking and people step out of their shops and cars to look at me, and then I see my cab driver running in panic towards me. Everyone looks as startled as I am. I look at them and immediately look up at the sky. Nothing. It’s a bright sunny day!

I stand horrified in the middle of the street holding a book in my hand, The Words of Radiance by Brandon Sanderson.

reflection of clouds on body of water
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

*Things Book Lovers DO*