Making Lemons!

When life gives you lemonade, make lemons! And life will be all “whaaat”?!

– Phil Dunphy from Modern Family

As it stands though, any lemonade available has been sucked out of the lemons by life! And any minute reminiscence of life leftover from before the pandemic has been threatened by the social onslaught from Masterchefs of Instagram and Facebook.

Much like Indian cricket is defined pre and post-Ganguly era, we may end up defining life as pre and post-pandemic era.

There used to be a certain joy and sparkle announcing a WFH, now it’s like sentencing someone for rigorous imprisonment. For people working in information technology, though I barely qualify for the same having spent 8 years in pharmaceuticals, working from home is like checking emails. A part of their job. And yet, I am finding it extremely frustrating as the hours get longer and it becomes difficult to take any timeout from work.

But it is not the same for everyone. While there is tremendous hate-building up among people against the Chinese government, over 1 billion people still can’t resist killing time on TikTok. As a drug TikTok seems to be more effective than Salman on Eid or hydroxychloroquine on Corona. For a nation that increases its death count overnight by 50%, China seems to be in complete control of the situation. It’s like watching Dhoni playout 6 overs on a trot knowing he can come out triumphant in the end. Just maybe we get up to a news tomorrow that Chinese scientists save the day with the cure on Covid19! Everything needs to be planned precisely, like Dhoni.

While it’s all depressing on TV, its slightly better being on the phone with friends who don’t understand the cheat codes available in Ludo. Life is always a hack after all. How much do we lose before we are able to hack our way through is the only terrifying question?

And I hope a Phil Dunphy would be able to answer that even if it means making lemons from lemonade.

PS: Phil Dunphy is a character from the Web Series Modern Family, who seems to have all the answers.


Life is, as it pans out.
Controls you, not the other way around.
Fairy tales are for books,
Draped in music, deceiving by looks.

The more you think, dwindles the known.
The more you live, unfurls the unknown.

Your mind continues to play games,
But say no more, hurl no blames.
That which you manifest is before you,
The rest is a dream, more than you can chew.


In those happy moments,
In those sad moments,
There are some weak moments.
Moments we so fear,
they bring out our desires, oh dear!

Our desires are no strangers,
Though ours, are evil ventures.
Those that can bring upon pain,
Lose more than we can gain.

But desires are a matter of heart,
Lost in time, grown apart.
Virtuous unlikely, but not a cuss.
They are still, a part of us. A part of us.


It was winter again. The beautiful red and orange hues of fall had given away for naked brown barks and the whites of the snow. Soon the valley would be painted white, much like her mood.

Her thoughts were wearing her down as she walked through the valley with her red umbrella. It stood out against the dull winter evening, braving her on instead of embracing those dark thoughts.

As the wind rushed past her, swaying her umbrella, she thought about the positives in her life. The image of her ten year old son came to her mind.  He must have returned from school by now and waiting for her at the window, she thought. She recollected how he liked eating snow flakes and sliding down the snow. Winter was his favourite season. For her though, the dry cold and memories of the past left her gasping. Her thoughts turned sour again. She tried to shake them off as she took the last curved stretch before her home.

It was getting dark now with the sun well past the horizon; the silence in the valley dwindled only by a few lanterns. As she reached within sight of her home, she gazed upon one of the mountain peaks that was still visible. Her home had a small porch with couple of chairs overlooking part of the valley as well as the mountain peaks afar. She looked at the window, it was half open and dimly lit. As she reached near, closing her umbrella, she called out for her son but with no response. A creaking sound welcomed her home as she turned the door open, she looked around and called for him again but the silence was deafening.  She shed her belongings and took a few steps inside and towards the stairs to see if he had dozed off on the loft. He had done that before. They had a big loft with a small bed and a table that served as his personal space. A few stairs up, she stared at the empty loft, her heart was now pounding. The dry cold of the winter brought many animals to the valley and she was shaking with fear. As she turned around, she heard a few footsteps from the wooden porch outside. Her blood curdled now, she waited a second before rushing outside. The empty chairs stood witness to the dark silence. Her vision turned blurry looking at the endless stretch of darkness and the mountain peaks barely visible now.

Suddenly, she felt a hug from behind, gripping her legs. She felt the hands of her son, she touched them, turned around and hugged him tight. She cried with joy, with darkness obliterated by his presence. He smiled at her naughtily and wiped her tears. She hugged him again and realised her life had turned a new leaf, a new winter and all that mattered to her now was her son. They sat down on the porch steps looking at the snow capped mountains as snow began to pour again. He stretched his hand out to meet some snow balls. She joined him with a smile.