#thepotatocurry project!

I live in a city where good food in a hotel is defined by the quality of filter coffee and masala dosas. They have become an essential part of my palate, and of life. Many a conversation has taken place in humble abodes of masala dosas and chutneys, and are more nostalgic than being only my saviour from hunger.

Soon, my blog will see many chutneys splotch into the life of a little girl whose stories weave through the many holes in the dosas, stringing them together. A humble attempt at bringing together my two most favourite things ♥️

This is #thepotatocurry project!

One Conversation?

It seems one day you disappeared,
I see only a picture today.
Where’s that path you took and walked away?
I see trail-less paths on that mountain,
a wind-less forest,
a wave-less sea;
and so I ask again; how?
I only then set my clock right, y’know?
I only then turned to grab some
papers and pens so we could write
to each other; and giggles galore.
I didn’t quite hasten, I reckon,
for before I turned again,

you disappeared.

Leave me a sign in the sky,
I’ll scour the skies and find
the stars that help you shine.
I’ll burn myself and shower the ashes,
form the paths,
collect you up,
ferry you back to our tables.

One conversation, thatha.
Just one
where my mind submits
to your love and some
quietness engulfs me.
Our smiles warm the skies,
and you’re the sun,
I’m the moon,
and our moments live on
even when we die,
like the stars.


Thatha- an Indian word for grandfather.


What if one day you don’t want to
entwine your fingers with mine,
remember me,
find a ear to cry to, but not mine?

What if one day,
you find another soul while I watch you
walk away in pain I want to heal?

What if a day comes
where all our woven memories
dissolve in her desires
and you drown in them and don’t want to swim to me?

What if?
What if you’re my end,
but she’s your beginning?
Do I let you go, or do I sit and pull you back?

In Omnia Paratus

Latina: Ready for anything


Shobhana Ramesh
7th August, 2017


In misty woods that smelled of fresh water, flowing in simple shreds through rocks, and veins hustled a furry husky. It blended into the fog, in colours that bled from the curtains that clung to the barks of the trees, almost a veil separating dreams and reality from each other.

Stirring in bed, hair in soft tassels as silken as the sheets; a face that wouldn’t breed envy, but bring comfort to the lost and found, she slept through, the husky jumping in and out of the dream bubbles. As he galloped, so did her chest, sweat soaked, yet so calm. Jostling for attention, a whirring alarm, a sparkling ray through the window panes, and sudden thoughts of impending errands to run. The ground found her feet, and moved it along- back and forth, gently through the chores of decency, a peg in the board of society.

Unkempt waves framed shoulders, gently rubbing against a citrus-y fresh shirt, and a spirit far more refreshing as she walked by the hawkers- a song, a tremble, a hush flew by. She stepped into the cold cemented street, splashes from the rain clinging to the very end of her existence; she wondered how just differently she felt about the rain clinging to her shoes, and sliding away, off her umbrella. C’est la vie. Moments cling on to you when you least need them, and other times, when you’re all about holding yourself up to receive it, they fall apart.

Jostling through competing raindrops, and quite triumphant at the coffee shop, while the elixir that is coffee made its way through her, warming her, a familiar stranger spiked a smile. The eyes seemed familiar, so did the crinkles by the eyes. Yet, the heart no longer seemed to jump out, wanting a caress. While threads that were once woven slipped away, they made new friends in tatters together. Marching on, leaving a trail of unspoken, un-uttered words, she hurriedly juggled the keys, a newspaper, and a dream.

The long windows of the store looked intimidating, stroking a sense of wonder, yet doubting the set of steps to the weary threshold.Big eyes glistened in the reflections from the silverware, the foils, the trench coated young man, and of course, the mirrors on display. Hushing her fears, and a few footsteps ahead, seated the young woman; shoes squeaking with the rain, a mind mumbling many a prayer.

Years rolled by the cheeks; the trench coat bore it all. Unsaid words, fears, the impossibility that once swept by, washed away with the showers. Mosaics of thoughts gave way, a sparkly quietness engulfed the air.

Where once stood an argument, now stood lovers. Where once stood dubiousness, now conviction.

Oblique, the swishes from the wand of destiny.

In stores you find love, and in rains the pain.

In minutes, perfection, and in years, doubts.

A glance, a stare, an arrowed meet;

Toasts to rarity, and its permanence;

C’est la vie.


C’est la vie,

In the unexpected, magic,

In wait, a splinter,

In hope, a life.


C’est la vie.




Husky- An animal totem that believes in the importance of the journey, and not the end in itself. Also using instincts to guide you, and to have a sense of being centered to what is home to you.


The Veiled Stranger

Hushing down fears that crop up incessantly,
through shelved desires, pent up in jars with years,
everyday a silent prayer,
heavier in tears, louder in silence.
A heart’s string once broken,
twice hurt,
thrice yearned,
and everyday, mourning a drought;
chiseling dreams,
hoping for the strings to catch.

The bar stool stands still in solidarity,
through bubbling beers and tears;
drinking deep, the charms that went in vain.

Hush, the heart nudges.
Time’s little hands hasten the wrap,
under, over, and through,
tangled with a dream catcher,
tangled in words that flew into a maze,
there emerges, the veiled stranger;
cutting across the silt, rummaging a broken heart.


Lacuna (an unfilled space; a gap)

Stretched out,
a shiver runs in the way of a path into the future.
Gurgling in noises endearing to the unknown,
shuffling cards that know nothing of moves to come.
Spades and diamonds, sharpening edges of the cliff,
off to views, cold, hard.
Scouring for crawlies that can’t be reached,
disintegrating into shambles,
in vacuum you will find.



(Marahuyo- to be enchanted)

Of misty eye glances,
through dewy little happiness in bundles from the sky,
a veiled stranger makes their way;
ins and outs, the chandelier sways in shadows from the moonlit gaze.
Slivers of light shades, luminous as it may seem,
dull throbbing lightning pulling thunders in.
Slithering into channels of dreary nights,
amidst the stars’ prickly lights;
behind the veils a shadow stands,
jabbing into the thick darkness,
all in shambles a little heart in the midst of blades of grass.
Oh veiled stranger, where?
Gingerly up, my little daze.
Pieces together, veil them in.
In bright pink sparks stand and shimmer.
Dissolve thee in the warming heart,
bring the songs, the silly lies;
vigor and life, ever so sheer.
Oh veiled stranger,
never disappear;
awe the bitter, the sorrow, the fear. 


(Onsra: the bittersweet feeling that occurs in those who know their love won’t last)

Where’s my paranoia when I need it?
This little over cautious,
brazen heart of mine,
so consumed in thoughts that challenged impending romance;
it gave way.
Like fluffy clouds that drag against the sky,
trailing in, whipped by the air,
you happened.
I stand here, scrubbing you off of carefully weaved memories,
those that were embellished by every little word you uttered,
glittering once,
blinding me now.
I want the clear skies,
something newer to incoming newer clouds,
to wounds hoping to heal,
to love that emptied its barrels, hoping to be filled again.
Scrubbing off all the remnants that once I hoped would transform us;
those that would never show up again.
To have forecast this is funny,
to have been through it is foolish,
to have to shun it all is numbing.

Tug it tight

Tear apart fears unknown,
Undo the little knots,
The uncertain will always be,
We’re hardly any astrologers,
We only gaze at starry eyes.
Hold on to the healer,
The smile maker who never let go of the curve on your face,
The believer in the good,
The embracer of your insanity,
The fighter, the shimmer,
The child you parent,
The mover of your hills.
Let go of the shackles that hold you off,
Let go of the dangling doubts,
The prickly bit of reality that can be discarded,
Let go of the change your fears Brought in.
Hold on. Hold on to the words that never fail to hold on to you, your gazes, your broken heart.
Hold on to the healer,
Hold on to the dust that holds a little magic,
Only when you see.

Falling harder.

Clinking, a little shushing at the break,
Spiraling silhouettes of succulent dreams…
You’re like the waves of the ocean,
wanting to touch the shores,
pulling away too quickly,
always in a hurry, always milder than the harshest goodbye,
always caressing the Sands of time, always so distant, always so close.
The saltiness in the thoughts, comforting,
slow mists from the waves, from shadowing sun dials,
from Sands we kick whilst we whisper; the subtlety, the sharpest clicks of the eyes, the waves of the ocean, the waves that draw us together.

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