The Little Detour

Some evenings begin with a feeling you can't quite explain.

You don't plan anything.
You don't set out with a purpose.
You simply feel like stepping outside.

That evening was one such evening.

The sky had turned a beautiful, deep grey. Dark clouds gathered overhead, quietly hinting that heavier rain was on its way. The breeze had become cooler, the trees were swaying gently, and somewhere around me, birds continued to chirp as though nothing had changed.

I walked down the stairs and stood near the main door.

It was raining.

I paused for a moment.

Should I go?

I went back upstairs.

I grabbed my umbrella from the utility, opened it halfway, and got it ready.

One press, and I'm good to go.

I took it and headed back down. Just as I had imagined, I pressed the unlock button.

Click.

The umbrella opened.

Perfect.

And I started walking.

As I crossed the road, vehicles passed by, their tyres brushing against the wet surface. Honks came from every direction. The rain had made the roads busier and noisier, yet somehow the whole evening still felt calm.

The grey sky, the cool breeze, the sound of birds...

Everything felt strangely beautiful.

Perhaps that is what a rainy evening does to busy streets—it softens them somehow.

And then I reached my little destination.

I call it Coffee Bay.

Not because that is its real name. It's simply what I call my little coffee zone—a place my soul associates with that comforting aroma and the promise of a good cup.

As I approached, I realised it was crowded.

Oh no.

For a moment, I wondered if I would even get what I had come for.

But somehow, I walked in.

I ordered.

One strong filter coffee.

I scanned.

I paid.

And waited.

It was probably only two minutes.

But when you are eagerly waiting for something, two minutes can feel surprisingly long.

I stood there, restless and impatient, watching for my cup.

And finally...

There it was.

My coffee.

Piping hot.

Freshly brewed.

That beautiful creamy layer of milk sitting over a deep, strong decoction.

I took my first sip.

Then added just a few more sugar granules.

That's when the person brewing the coffee asked,

"Is it bitter, ma'am? It's brewed strong."

I smiled.

"Certainly not bitter."

Because strong coffee isn't bitter coffee.

Strong coffee has character. It has depth. It has a life of its own—something words can't quite describe.

It has that unmistakable aroma of freshly roasted beans, the richness of a well-made decoction, and that comforting warmth that spread through me with every sip.

And this one was exactly how I wanted it.

Strong.

Rich.

Roasted.

Aromatic.

Smooth.

Creamy.

Fresh.

Perfect.

I loved the fact that it had been brewed especially strong for me.

I stood there with that warm cup in my hands, looking out at the grey sky and the rain outside.

The crowd didn't bother me anymore.

Neither did the traffic.

Neither did the fact that I had walked out in the rain just for this one cup.

Because sometimes, the little effort we make to satisfy a simple craving is what makes the moment memorable.

Neither extravagant nor complicated.

Just strong filter coffee on a beautiful rainy evening.

And perhaps that is the magic of coffee.

It doesn't always need a grand occasion.

Sometimes, all it needs is rain, grey clouds overhead, the sound of birds, a cool breeze, and a cup brewed exactly the way you like it.

So, to every coffee lover reading this - let the rain set the mood, let the aroma rise, and brew yourself a piping-hot cup of strong filter coffee. Take that first sip slowly, and let the coffee tell you its own story.

And if you're wondering where my little Coffee Bay is—the coffee zone nestled below a huge banyan tree—leave a comment.

Maybe I'll tell you where to find it. ☕️ 

Until then...

Stay strong.
Stay rich.
Stay roasted.
Stay aromatic.
Stay caffeinated.☕️

Because sometimes, all you need is a little detour and a really good cup of filter coffee.☕️

Rise Like a Lotus!

 

From silent waters blooms the Padma,

Bathed in the warmth of morning's gold;

Rising above the depths below,

A timeless story softly told.

It wears the sunlight with quiet grace,

Yet draws its strength from hidden ground;

A reminder that true Bhakti lives

Where faith, patience, and peace are found.

The lotus never forgets its source,

Though crowned by beauty, light, and sky;

So may my soul, through every blessing,

Hold fast to truth as years pass by.

From sacred mud its roots arise,

Transforming struggle into art;

Just so, the Divine reveals itself

To a devoted, seeking heart.

O blessed Padma, teach me... 

To rise with gratitude, not pride;

To bloom in peace, with patient soul,

And keep devotion deep inside.

Betrayal Was God’s Blessing

 

The pain of betrayal opened my eyes,
Like dark clouds parting from the skies.
I kept on chasing fading love,
While praying for signs from God above.

I begged for care, for warmth, for truth,
Holding tightly to broken roots.
But slowly hearts I called my own,
Turned cold as ice, like hearts of stone.

The smiles they wore were never real,
Hidden wounds I could not heal.
The souls once close, so dear to me,
Became like shadows I couldn’t see.

Then God arrived with silent light,
To pull me out from endless night.
He showed me pain was not the end,
But a lesson meant to help me mend.

Now I no longer chase what’s fake,
Or lose myself for someone’s sake.
For every goodbye that made me cry,
Was God protecting me nearby.

Some people leave, some colors fade,
Some bonds were never meant to stay.
And every betrayal helped me see,
My worth, my strength, and set me free.

The Bird That Makes My Every Morning Special!

Cool breeze and golden rays,
Birds are singing cheerful lays,
Flowers spread their sweet perfume,
Chasing every trace of gloom.

Then my eyes begin to search,
For my little friend to perch.
Every beat within my heart
Waits for him to make his start.

Suddenly I hear the sound
Of tiny wings that fly around.
The moment he sees my cup of tea,
He quickly flies and sits near me.

Softly landing on my shoulder,
Making my happy mornings brighter.
From my palm he eats his channa grain,
Like a friend who comes again.

After that he spreads his wings,
Flying off while sweetly singing,
Joining all his friends in play,
To welcome yet another day.

Every morning starts with him,
Filling my heart up to the brim.
Oh, how beautiful life can be,
Starting each day so peacefully.

Echoes of Pain!

Like leeches that cling, sucking life away

Some partners drain, with hearts of disarray

Their love, a facade, a mask to conceal

The sadistic pleasure in another's reveal

Their grip, like leeches, tight and cold

Leaving scars, a story untold

The joy they take, a twisted delight

In another's pain, their darkest night

The leech's bite, a wound that won't heal

A constant reminder of love that's unreal

The sadistic partner's heart, a void so dark

Where empathy's lost, and distorted love embarks.

A dance of pain, a waltz of despair

Where one partner's joy, is the other's snare

The leech and the sadist, a twisted pair

Leaving destruction, without a care.