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Continue reading →: A requiem for DecemberAlmost 2 years ago, I’d written something in a blog post. “I dream of sitting by a fireplace in a small, cosy house with the softest snowfall falling outside. I dream of fluffy socks on hardwood floors, […] I dream of running into old friends who become best friends. I…
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Continue reading →: Love languagesI write this to you on a warm summer evening from a quiet house in Berlin. Our home is not too big, mostly white, and has huge glass windows to let the sun in. It’s 9:30 pm and it’s still bright out. Bees are buzzing around the flowers adorning my…
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Continue reading →: A boxful of hopeWe didn’t bring too many things with us when we moved to Berlin from India. When we landed at the Berlin-Brandenburg airport, all we had were two big suitcases. Two suitcases that somehow managed to hold our entire lives—the life we had left, and the life we were going to…
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Continue reading →: Your elsewhere is within youI ache to write. And yet, words keep their distance. They hesitate to come closer, afraid of being abandoned again. Maybe they’re angry with me; for not inviting them in. For not letting them fly in through the window, as the relentless grey Berlin sky continues to growl and glower. …
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Continue reading →: A Maudlin Short Story“Can you grieve without suffering a tangible loss?” Ann asked, almost to herself, on one of their daily evening walks. Ed looked at her. “What do you mean?” He liked her like that. When they did things where they didn’t have to focus on each other’s faces—like walking or driving—she…
Hello,
I’m Astha
Welcome to my blog. I use this space as a pensieve: a place to store my memories and feelings. It’s a rest house. An easy chair. A watering hole for the soul. I’m glad you’re here. Take a look around, make yourself at home ☕
Butterflies and Hurricanes 