Poems ,Stories and lot more .. By Maneesha Purandare

I heard about Margaret’s passing today, and all my old, unsettled memories came rushing back. I know it’s not right to speak ill of someone who is no more, but I can’t help remembering the past. Margaret was the nurse in charge of ENT. Thanks to her, all the old, lazy, and unmotivated nurses somehow found their way into our department. She made sure they got shifts, almost like a savior to them, but they would always end up working with me! Since they were elderly, I rarely asked them to do much, which meant I ended up running around, doing everything myself. Any patient who was difficult—smelly, drunk, or a gypsy—would be sent straight to me. Margaret, being Irish, had a soft spot for them. I know every patient deserves equal treatment, and I gave them my best. But it wasn’t about my skills—she just wanted to shield her favourite doctors from any trouble. There were so many times she dumped work on me that no one else wanted to do. And she never missed an opportunity to remind me that...

  It’s that time of the year again—the glorious Christmas season, sprinkled with a generous dash of parties! Different venues, diverse themes, eclectic groups of friends—each gathering feels like a new episode in an unending social sitcom. And I, for one, never shy away from my starring role: the dressed-to-the-T attendee. Let’s be honest: dressing up for these events is half the fun. Shopping for the perfect outfit, meticulously following the dress code—its like a big project in itself. I love it when there’s a theme. It gives my mind something to chew on—an opportunity for creativity! For instance, one such party inspired me to go as “Razia Sultana,” but thanks to an untimely illness, I ended up as “Rajaai    ( रजाई)Sultana,” swaddled in a duvet, Netflix remote in hand. Life, they say, has a sense of humour. Before every party, I indulge in a ritual that’s equal parts amusing and strategic: the pre-party revision of current affairs. I skim through headlines with the ser...

  These days, my evenings have a set ritual: plopping on the couch, snuggled under a warm blanket, munching on perfectly spiced snacks, and immersing myself in a thriller on an OTT platform. While horror and gory, gut-wrenching dramas aren’t my cup of tea, thrillers keep me hooked. Most of these stories barely linger in my memory beyond a day or two, but some manage to etch themselves into my mind—and heart. One recent movie took me on a nostalgic ride through the bustling heart of Mumbai—places like Worli, Parel, Byculla, Kalbadevi, and Fort. For someone whose alma mater was in Parel(परळ) these streets are not just locations; they are chapters of my life. Watching them on screen felt like flipping through a photo album of my independent hostel days, where I first tasted freedom and learned life’s ropes. Byculla’s streets still hold vivid memories of bus rides to the ENT hospital in Fort. Oh, the thrill of sitting in a double-decker bus, climbing the Byculla bridge, and catching a...

It was one of those chilly mornings when it was colder than the day before. I had been knowingly avoiding my thick winter coat—not because I thought I was tough, but because putting it on felt like admitting winter had won. And winter comes with all those gloomy thoughts of short days, dark nights, and cold toes. But that day, I gave in. I wore the coat, zipped it up with a sigh, and headed out to work. On my way, I stuffed my hands into the coat pockets to warm them up—because, let’s be honest, gloves are always missing when you need them. That’s when my fingers hit something crinkly. A piece of paper. Curious, I pulled it out. Lo and behold, it was a ticket to the Tate Modern museum! Now, I love art. But not the "paint-a-bowl-of-fruit" kind of art—I mean the kind that makes you go, “What in the world is that?” This ticket brought back memories of my last trip to the museum, a trip I can only describe as… an experience. I remember strolling in, full of enthusiasm, and seeing...

Conversations.... How do conversations even begin? It’s one of life’s delightful mysteries. This festive season, we found ourselves bouncing between parties, pujas, and get-togethers, catching up with friends while basking in the warmth of familiar faces. Sometimes, I’m a silent observer, just soaking it all in, but when I’m in the mood, I contribute my two cents—typically involving Bollywood gossip, a random news bit, or, on rare occasions, something completely offbeat! On this particular evening, a group of us gathered, and the conversation kicked off with travel tales. Our friend, steeping a fragrant masala chai, recalled a unique “special tea” experience at the Khardung La Pass in Leh, brewed by none other than Indian soldiers! Here at 17,600 feet, tourists and soldiers alike share the warm brew before being politely asked to move along, as this is a high-security border area, part of an ancient trade route. The tales of trade caravans and exotic goods—silk, musk, jade cups—sounded...

  When Kiran and I decided to visit Amsterdam, I was excited for tulips, canals, and maybe a bit of Rembrandt. Little did I know I’d end up with more giggles than Gogh and more confusion than Van Gogh’s self-portraits! This bustling hub of history and modernity, commerce and creativity, had a few surprises up its canal-lined sleeves. We checked into this eco-friendly haven called the Conscious Hotel. Right from the funky, upcycled decor to the fact that even the room key felt like it had done a PhD in environmental science, everything screamed “save the planet.” Inspired and guilt-ridden for every plastic bottle I’ve ever used, we set off for a sunny stroll to Dam Square. Now, Dam Square is a people-watcher’s paradise. It was buzzing with both locals and tourists, everyone basking in the crisp autumn sun. As we strolled along the picturesque canals, I noticed an unusual number of folks peering intensely into the water, poles in hand. “Are they fishing for a particular type of fish?...

 In the land of love handles and muffin tops, Where spare tires and beer bellies never stop, Thunder thighs shake, making quite the scene, And double chins wobble, as if in a dream. Cankles merge calves and ankles in one, Bat wings flutter when raising a ton. Chunky cheeks blush with a rosy hue, As bingo wings flap, like they're in a zoo. The FUPA reigns supreme, a king in its court, While pooches and mommy pouches offer their support. Jelly rolls jiggle with every laugh and cheer, Creating a chorus that's music to the ear. So let's embrace each roll, each chin, each thigh, For in this quirky kingdom, our spirits fly high. In the realm of body slangs, we're perfectly free, To chuckle at our quirks and live joyously!

 "Balconies, Buses, and Missed Millions" I was at the hospital, carrying on as usual with my clinical work  when I saw this kid who came in for a hearing test. He wasn't wearing his school uniform like the other kids who come for their hospital appointments on a school day do .So, naturally, I got curious and asked, "Hey buddy, is today a day off for you? What’s your grand plan for the afternoon?" Without missing a beat, the kid shoots back, “I’m gonna play Minecraft on my PlayStation!” PlayStation, huh? Oh boy, did that send me down memory lane. You see, back in my day, if we had an unexpected day off from school, there was no PlayStation to save us. Nope. My 'play station' was my house gallery or balcony. The most action-packed part of my day would be counting the rare yellow cars that drove by. Seriously, they were like unicorns back then. Or I’d watch the queue of people waiting for the famous 257 bus. That bus wasn’t just a bus; to me it was a ship ...

 Alright, folks, gather 'round for the tale of the world's clumsiest human – yours truly! I swear, if there's a way to turn a normal situation into a comedy of errors, I'll find it. It's like I have a PhD in Disaster and a Master's in Mayhem. Picture this: There I was, at a fancy-shmancy restaurant, feeling all posh and sophisticated. I'd just demolished a fabulous biryani and was packing up the leftovers like a responsible adult. Little did I know, I was about to star in my own spicy drama. As I'm tying up the takeaway bag, BAM! Suddenly, my right eye is on fire! I'm standing there, frozen like a statue, wondering if I've been hit by some sort of curry-flavoured lightning. Turns out, I'd somehow managed to flick "mirch ka saalan/  मिर्च mirch का का सालन " right into my eyeball! Who does that? Me, apparently. After what felt like an eternity of eye-rinsing and squinting, I couldn't help but think, "If there's a blunder ...