Amidst the hot and humid afternoons, the lunch was still a To-do Task on a festive day. Half of the neighbourhood was almost asleep after a mouthful gourmet and I was busy thinking what to cook. I scanned the entire kitchen and apart from noodles, there was nothing interesting I could have made. So, I got Dal Khichdi from a restobar nearby that looked dreadfully empty. When I reached home, I had a strange visitor who also happened to be my friend. “Weren’t you supposed to be at your place?” I asked with a reluctantly unwelcoming tone. He didn’t say anything, but he snatched the parcel from my hands and started distributing the food. “Hey!” I yelled while he continued to divide the food into three plates. “Is there anyone else coming?” I asked with a furious voice. Ravi entered the room with another bag of parcel and it was another batch of food. I was hungry like a dog anyway and we all started gobbling. I went into the kitchen to get a water bottle, but instead I found ...
Seasons turn, yet their rhythm never falters. The rains arrive when they must, the sun blazes in its time, and winter winds whisper their quiet chill. So too with this blog—its name carries a deliberate flaw, a gentle reminder that mistakes are part of us, often unnoticed, sometimes beautiful. Let this one be the sweetest slip of all: where Ameet becomes a myth, and myths find their faith. That's "Ameethyst"—born of imperfection, yet gleaming all the more for it.