 By Samir Shukla
I looked around the room in a half-slumber daze, squinted my eyes and made out the time. It was 3:34am. The music from the concert a few hours earlier still playing in my mind. I got up and made the requisite trip to the bathroom. Shuffling in the night, breathing slow, I rolled back into the sheets, a distant streetlight streaming into the room, the band still playing in my head. I dreamt of timelines along with the music, a slideshow of the journeys of my life squeezed into a long dream.  By Samir Shukla
Digging a hole in the ground one day on land we recently acquired, a tree root and a stone blocked the shovel. The root was wrapped around the lodged stone, both relaying an unspoken notice that I would need to work harder with the shovel in hand to finish the needed hole. I dug around the stone and poked away at the root with the tip of the shovel. Sweeping aside the dirt to pick up the rather large stone, the root, a portion of it shredded by the shovel, held its ground. Who knows how far it stretched underground, the nearest large tree was about 20 feet away. The root didn’t want to let go of its buddy, attaching itself to the thinner part of the long stone.  By Samir Shukla
It’s a Wednesday. The record, shiny and black, glistened as I looked at the songs on each side to check what I wanted to play and hear. I placed the vinyl LP on the turntable and put the needle down. I was playing this on a portable turntable, so the sound wasn’t booming, but it felt right. It sounded right. There was a bit of pop and hiss in between the songs, as a record should behave. The room felt happier. I started swaying, moving to the warm sound of analog music, it felt like a summer breeze. Music is meant to be heard in such a manner, analog, old school.  By Samir Shukla
Step aside white fluffy American bread, watch out tortillas and Italian bread. Slide over pita, your cousin from the East is here, and it is staying. Naan is one of the most popular breads that accompanies Indian food. It is that fluffy bread baked in tandoor ovens, served plain or infused with garlic, onions, mint, or other flavors, and it goes with just about anything. It has now made American supermarkets its home.  By Samir Shukla
The late afternoon sun shining through the thin, white curtains exposes blemishes strewn about the fabric. The curtains are parted in the middle, filtering the sun and creating swirling shadows on the wooden floor and the nearest wall. The curtain covers the sliding doors leading to the deck of a third-floor condo overlooking a man-made pond. Standing on that deck, on this bright day, I notice many more shadows, on the brick sidewalks, on the water, in the grass. |
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