The Rebelle blog

Watercolors are my least preferred medium. I love watercolor art, but since I am not a trained artist I cannot use watercolors to their maximum effect. Recently, I came across a very gifted artist who paints using watercolors and writes for NatGeo Traveller India. His work is so phenomenal, that I took some inspiration and decided to try my hand at watercolors after three years. I kept it simple. Just painted a few paper craft flowers I have made as part of a greeting card. It was all plain white, and I thought of adding some fresh color to the flowers. My hands were wobbly and I couldn't judge how thin the color layer ought to be on the paper, so my first flower got painted with a very watery yellow and it made the flower saggy too. My second attempt was fair and I colored all of them with a very satisfactory even layer. The last time I used these watercolors was while watching a movie at home- 'Wake Up Sid.' Something during the movie made me get my colors an

I am a Bajaj Kid! I belong to that generation of kids who grew up riding on Bajaj Scooters and listening to '....Buland Bharat ki buland tasveer- Hamara Bajaj.' And, what fun memories do I have of our scooter! I distinctly remember the time Dad bought it home. I was Four years old, and stood in the doorway eagerly waiting for my Dad and Uncle. It was getting dark and then, I spotted them. Don't remember much from the night. It is blue-coloured and the number plate is 8847- I remember Dad once told me the trick to remember the number plate. He asked me, What is the height of Mount Everest? It is 8848 m. Isn't it an easy number? he asked. I never once forgot it since. Years later, I however, had some trouble memorising our Car number plate. There was no logic there to help me. I have fond memories of travelling on the scooter with Dad during summer holidays. We would ride outside Nashik and then stop by the roadside under Gulmohar trees. Dad would help me pluck the fla

Happy 118th Birthday to  F.SCOTT FITZGERALD! A beloved author. Oh! How I love thee! “That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.”  I've been swooning over his dishy looks ever since I read him. ;)

Of late, I've realized how grumpy I've become. I crib over petty issues, over the neighbors, over people behaving crassly in public and so many million things. Case in point, this: I was at the post-office yesterday and there was a long queue of bored people awaiting their turn. Some youngsters were idling their time by sitting on motorbikes parked in the vicinity. Its quite a common sight to see young men ganged up in groups playing loud music on their cellphones. One of the young men stood in the queue ahead of me and kept shifting restlessly, breaking the line, yawning, stretching his body- things I consider highly inappropriate in public. He kept fiddling with his phone for a long time and suddenly started playing an audio clip that was so loud that it only invited irritated faces and mean looks from the others in the queue. Nobody, however, said anything so he kept playing more tunes and it was unbearable. This went on for quite sometime and I kept thinking of an approp

Today, I felt the impulse to dance! Somebody in the adjacent building was playing loud music and those were hip-hop beats. I instantly found myself on my feet and got grooving to the music.  I am NOT a dance person. But I do feel beats and rhythm when I hear some. I have never tried myself with dancing.. not even a little. I ran away from my college prom night because I did not want to embarrass myself with all the good dancers that night. I was told later, it was a smashing event. Oh! How I regretted it for a while! For some strange reason, I think I might be a clumsy dancer. Although, it has never been proved simply because I maintain my calm in public places where dancing takes place, like weddings, birthday parties, festivities. But I would love to dance without any inhibitions.. go wild and crazy with the music and good spirits.                                                      Perfection has ruined the joy of so many activities. I wish it were simpler to live than talk

“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”  ― Anaïs Nin Something odd happens around this time every year. If I am not in good spirits and feeling low, I instantly get rejuvenated and a new energy engulfs me. If I am already doing good, then, I become more focussed in whatever task I am accomplishing at that moment. Somehow, September has always been a month of anxiety. And, that oddball song "Wake me up when September ends" finds more relevance each passing year. My mother has been unwell since a week. This is the first time I've ever seen her so weak and sick. Her two older sisters have also been battling health problems, and I only hope she isn't taking too much str