Sonia Kuncalienker

And unto each house, hangs a tale , that makes it a home Some modern tales are full of microwave dinners And every tale (And of this I am really sure) has cured sinners.  A new tale unfolds at every room Tales of gloom. Tales of doom . But still each tale is a tale […]

This is what I did most Sunday mornings, growing up in Vasco. Any sort of tonak (prefer chanyache , green peas) with lots (and i mean real lots of raw onion) , unne (bread) and Anton Chekhov. Pickle is a grown-up addition to Sonya, Ilya Sergeich Peplov, Pyotr Petrovich Strizhin, Mme. Ivanova……and so many others,

Dear Ms. Kapoor,  If I may take a few liberties, I wish to call you Eden-searcher. And on that note, let me write a little adieu note to you, dear Ms. Kapoor , who is choosing to leave Goa (cue the tears?) I am besides myself, to understand why you chose , no not to

Faith. Deep, Unwavering. Uncomprising. Un-understandable.  Pass onto me all that you have – strong and concrete. All that is full of courage; open as well as discreet Wish me ; because I can’t buy it I can’t search it. I have tried Wandering and musing around. Today, gift me faith. Gift me the courage To

It’s often said a happy mother creates a happy family. And many, many happy families will create a happy Nation. And guess what creates a happy mother – finding the correct matched socks for the correct kid for the correct activity on the correct day. Socks have taken over my home. They are everywhere, and

How glad am I? Now that they are selling sensitivity by the jar. And the customers are flocking from near and far I need to stock up too To sprinkle over a conversation or two Much prefer the bottled variety The home-made type will just not do. So I stand in line And know I

They say , I am so much of a Drama Queen that even my silence has histrionics That my silent sobs make the loudest noises That I jazz up my choices. And when clearly I am not yet done in my mind Some more drama, I vow to find One day, they will look up

I don’t drink I don’t smoke I don’t do the weed I have my own fix, I know how I get my kick Boy, oh, boy – I do the think I can think on both sides of every issue Create some more, and still have some leftover thinking yet to do I am not

Did you get up this morning On the wrong side of the bed? Or just plain grumpy or really sad? Are you feeling down and low? Then, wipe off that fake smile Let the world know Your grumpiness , let it show Enough of smiley-smileys,  Upto my gills with whatsapp happinesses. Glorious good is all

Your definition of ‘all’ is very different from my definition of ‘all’. In my mind, you already have it all – the cushy corner job, the supportive husband, the awards, the globe-trotting, the unlimited access to soda at all times (ok, scratch that – that comes with the job, right?) Ms. Nooyi, you very definitely