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28-06-2025
- General
- Scroll.in
‘White Lillies': An intimate chronicle of a woman through terrains of loss, grief, and enduring pain
What happens when you lose the one through whom you learned love? And what if you lose not one, but two such anchors? What do you do when you are left with holes of their shape in your heart? How do you move forward when the only desire left in you is the longing to have loved them just a little harder, held them a little longer? White Lilies: An Essay on Grief by Vidya Krishnan is a tender yet aching meditation on these questions – an intimate chronicle of her journey through the terrain of loss, grief, and enduring pain. An unending loss In August, when the marigolds were in full bloom, Krishnan did not return to Delhi. Instead, she flew to Chennai to be with her dying grandmother – the woman who had raised her, fed her, and loved her with the quiet fierceness only grandmothers know. As she watched her haemorrhage before her eyes, Krishnan could do nothing but hold her wrinkled hand, the same hand that once comforted her in childhood. They cremated her on a Sunday afternoon. By Monday morning, Krishnan was back in Delhi. Grief-stricken and trying to move on, though barely. Her partner, Ali, had dinner plans that evening. He offered to cancel them, but she asked him to go, gently reminding him to bring soup on his way back. He never returned. A car hit him. And then another. In the span of a single weekend, Krishnan lost two of the greatest loves of her life – her grandmother to time, and her partner to a random, fatal accident. For years, she reeled from the double blow – mourning, disbelieving, grappling with the sheer absurdity and finality of death. A seasoned journalist long accustomed to reporting on illness, accidents, and loss, Krishnan found herself unarmed when death arrived at her doorstep. 'The thing about death,' she writes, 'is that the loss you feel the day a person dies is simply an inciting event. If you live long enough, you lose them repeatedly, for as long as you live and they do not.' In White Lilies, Krishnan brings forth a searing anatomy of grief, laying bare its raw, unyielding presence in the body. She writes about how grief is not simply an abstract emotion, but a physical invader; how it takes root in your memory and personal space, burrowing itself into the very fabric of your existence. It lives in you like a parasite, gnaws at your stomach, and refuses to be sated. The smallest reminders about those now gone only deepen that pit, transforming every corner of life into a shadow of loss. 'No one ever warns you about days like these,' Krishnan writes, 'when hell resides in the pit of your stomach, when you must breathe through a bottomless black hole.' Grief, in her telling, is as real as the teeth in your mouth, as tangible and inescapable as the air you breathe. It is not a metaphor, but a relentless force that takes hold of the body, creating a space where memory and suffering converge. Delhi, the city of Death She tries to make sense of it in every way she knows – in science, in religion, in recurring patterns, in the minutiae of daily life, in the mysteries of the afterlife – until she finds someone to blame: Delhi. Krishnan writes the city from the vantage point of the inevitable – Death. She lends material weight to the spectral cityscapes of Anisha Lalvani's Girls Who Stray and Ranbir Sidhu's Night in Delhi, both of which render Delhi as a city simmering with pain, silent suffering, insecurities, stark inequalities, and a brutal power imbalance – where the rich rule over the poor, and people can die arbitrarily, abruptly. She does all this while grieving. White Lilies offers a succinct and devastating commentary on the classist nature of Delhi, as seen through its roads, its traffic, and the reckless rhythms of driving. The traffic in Delhi, as Krishnan astutely observes, is not simply a logistical challenge. It is governed by the petty yet insidious dynamics of power. The streets unfold as an intricate 'dance of dominance,' where hierarchy hums in every revving engine and screeches through every abrupt brake. This relentless choreography of movement, filled with anger and disregard for life, reflects the unspoken 'class warfare' that defines the city. The powerful navigate the roads with impunity, their status allowing them to bypass the rules, while the powerless cling to fragile aspirations of breaking the rules, crossing lines, in a desperate attempt to taste power, even if just for a fleeting moment. It is in these small, everyday (mis)adventures that the stark inequalities of Delhi's social fabric are most acutely felt, where the struggle for power plays out on the most ordinary of stages – the road. Delhi, with its heartlessness, its endless history of death and renewal, stood as the perfect mirror to her mourning. But in this unforgiving metropolis, she also found a companion – a voice that could speak to her grief with a language both bitter and beautiful: Mirza Ghalib. In the midst of her own sorrow, Krishnan found solace in the city's echoes of Ghalib's ghazals, as if his poetic legacy held a secret truth she had been searching for. 'In his lifetime, grief did not diminish him. It expanded his capacity to hold infinite beauty.' Krishnan brings Delhi to life through the dead – those who have passed, but whose presence continues to haunt the city's streets. She traces a historical narrative of Delhi's own suffering, its cycles of destruction and rebirth. From the Mughals to the East India Company to the British colonial period, and then swiftly to the present, she paints a poetic yet painful account of how much the city, and more so its residents, have endured. Through these centuries of ruin and renewal, Krishnan evokes the city not just as a geographical space, but as a living entity – one that has absorbed and reflected the endless pains of its people, yet has always, relentlessly, risen again. White Lilies is a devastatingly honest meditation on the unyielding finality of death, written by someone who has spent years trying to make sense of its silences. Krishnan's exploration of grief is anything but abstract; it is raw, lived, and searing. She meets loss not from a distance, but up close – touching its jagged edges, tracing its contours through memory, regret, and the stubborn persistence of love. Grief, in her hands, is not a solid entity but a mosaic that is fragile, luminous, and alive. This is not merely a book about death, but about surviving its aftermath, about learning to live alongside absence, and about discovering what it means to live with life, with tenderness, with regard, for oneself and for others. It is an invocation of how to carry the dead within us as quiet companions on the road ahead. Powerful and quietly shattering, White Lilies does not offer closure – it offers companionship. And in doing so, it gently, insistently asks: how do we grieve, how do we remember, and how do we begin again?
The Hindu
21-05-2025
- The Hindu
Vidya Krishnan's book White Lilies deals with Delhi's road rage
In her new book White Lilies published by Westland, author Vidya Krishnan chronicles her grief of losing her husband in a road accident in Delhi and urges people to fact-check myths about the cities they live in. . The book, born from the pain of losing her spouse in a tragic accident, is less of a memoir and more meditative in quality. The author tries to make sense of a life turned upside down. During a chat with filmmaker Shaunak Sen at The Bookshop in Delhi recently, Vidya highlighted how road rage in Delhi is intrinsically connected to every individual's repressed feelings and emotions. The duo discussed death and trauma, and how we as a society fail to implement solutions that could minimise road accidents. 'We are constantly feeding lies to ourselves,' she says, adding that the book took shape as she began writing as a way to cope with grief. 'Writing did not reduce my grief per se but helped me make sense of the emotion. I was actually rage-typing, pouring out my feelings on an empty paper.' Shaunak Sen describes Vidya's book as a 'trans-historical rant of the city' that weaves itself around Mirza Ghalib's misery, something that the author totally identifies with. Vidya seeks refuge in Ghalib's poems; it works as an antidote to her own pain. Her book interweaves the city and the poet as Vidya visualises Ghalib as someone who is a 'broken' man. 'The halo around Ghalib doesn't mask his flaws. Delhi as a city hurt Ghalib and he took to poetry,' she says. Talking of Delhi normalising accidents, Vidya said the problem is in the citizens' refusal to acknowledge it. 'Dilli dilwalon ki is a myth. In every city, peoplelive in their own bubble; be it Mumbai's delusional story of resilience, Bengaluru's traffic, or Delhi's toxic positivity and pride. None of it makes sense as they do not address the core issues of our shared reality; how people try to escape the trauma of crimes. 'You truly belong to a place if you have buried someone there,' says Vidya, underlining her grief. Her book mentions the unsafe roads and how run-of-the-mill it is to die on the city's roads and how pedestrians are always at the receiving end. Vidya grapples not just with sorrow, but anger too, which is not explosive but slow-burning, reflective and deeply human. 'Without rage there cannot be change,' she says. 'I hope the book will make people talk about their feelings, rather than being repressed,' she adds. White Lilies is not a book about healing in the conventional sense. It is about carrying grief with grace, about learning to speak in a world that often tells us to be quiet. Rounak Khare and Seelva Mohanty
Mint
17-05-2025
- Climate
- Mint
Book excerpt: An army general looks back on the Indo-Pak conflict of 1948
Early in May 1948, the Jammu and Kashmir Force was divided into two. One was located in the Southern Sector and the other in the Valley. Sporadic fighting continued for some time, without tangible results on either side. In order to regain the initiative, Lt Gen. (later Gen.) K.M. Cariappa, who had taken over as army commander, Western Command, felt it necessary, because of the larger forces involved, to put these two sectors under one commander, responsible to him directly. In September 1948, I was selected for this task and named corps commander, V Corps, which consisted of 26 Infantry Division under late Maj. Gen. Atma Singh with headquarters at Jammu, 19th Infantry Division under Maj. Gen (the late Gen.) K.S. Thimayya with headquarters at Srinagar and an independent sub-area under Brig. (later Maj. Gen.) Jai Singh for securing the Lines of Communication (L of C). Also read: 'White Lilies': Life and death on the mean roads of Delhi These areas provided a wide variety of terrain and climate, including arctic conditions in the mountainous areas of Zoji La and Gurais, hilly terrain in Uri, jungles in Jhangar and plains in Jammu. They also contained the 260-mile-long Pathankot–Jammu–Srinagar Road, which was the lifeline of the troops, as well as of the civilian population. This lifeline was a hazardous route, crossing the Banihal pass at 9000 ft, which in winter was blocked by heavy snow. The Himalayan areas were also snow-clad and troops who had never before seen snow had to operate there. The military situation in Jammu and Kashmir early in September 1948, when the command was unified, was far from satisfactory. Our garrisons at Leh and Poonch were isolated, and Pakistan was increasing her pressure. Our L of C Jammu-Srinagar was threatened by infiltrations both from the east and from the west. Although Pakistan had launched no major attacks, our L of C Jammu-Naushehra was also very vulnerable. The threat to Jammu lay in its proximity to the Pakistan border, and to Naushera in the strong Pakistan build-up in the area of Bhimber-Sadabad. Fighting around Jhangar, Uri and Tithwal had been stabilized, and Pakistan had committed her regular troops in these areas supported by mountain and field guns. In the case of Uri, they had also brought up medium guns. For India, the military situation in Kashmir had been adversely influenced by political considerations. Pakistan had no legal or moral right, in view of the expressed wishes of the people and its ruler, to operate with its army in Kashmir, whereas India did. India referred the matter to the UN, which set up the UN Commission on India and Pakistan (UNCIP), before which both parties came to an agreement to refrain from offensive action which was likely to aggravate the situation. Because of its strict adherence to this agreement, India was unable to use her air force in its primary role of isolating the battlefield by attacking Pakistan's supply and communications bases, or to attack Pakistan's installations on the Indian side of the border, inside Kashmir, such as Muzaffarabad and Mirpur, because of possible escalation. On the other hand, Pakistan made full use of the lull caused by the agreement to build its strength and supplement its forces in J&K territory, in such a manner that Poonch and Leh were systematically encircled. For Leh, we had an alternative means of communication via Manali but the route was long and costly and only usable between June and October. Poonch, however, was so closely invested that our supply planes could not land there, while Pakistan constantly used artillery, shells often falling amongst the refugees whom we had been giving shelter. The general situation in September 1948, with Leh and Poonch in danger, was, therefore, militarily unsound but was forced upon us—an example that arms are the servants of political policy. Pakistan continued to aggravate the situation, mustering greater strength against the two isolated garrisons, preparing to defeat them, failing which, starving them into submission. The problem was whether we should evacuate these two garrisons or force a link-up. Also read: Upamanyu Chatterjee is master of the absurd in his new collection The gaps in our line were from Baltal via Kargil to Leh and from Rajori to Poonch. Pram Baltal to Kargil (50 miles), the track was snowbound throughout winter, whereas from Kargil to Leh (150 miles), it was open throughout the year. Rajori to Poonch was only a distance of 50 miles, but this route ran over a series of high ranges and deep valleys with no tracks across them. If Kashmir was not allowed to be captured by Pakistan, we had to close these two gaps and link up these garrisons. To achieve this end, we carried out two relief operations. Excerpted from 'Commanded by Destiny: A General's Rise From Soldier to Statesman' with permission from Penguin Random House India.
Time Business News
24-04-2025
- General
- Time Business News
Saying Goodbye Beautifully: Flowers in Singapore Funerals and Funeral Wreaths
In Singapore, flowers hold a special significance during times of grief and loss. They offer a beautiful way to express condolences, honor the memory of the departed, and provide comfort to those who are grieving. When it comes to funerals, funeral wreaths and condolence flower stands are a timeless tradition that continues to be cherished. The best thing about florists in Singapore, is that most of them offer same-day delivery. This eases out the worry that may come from having to pick, arrange, and deliver the flower themselves for the ones ordering the funeral wreaths. But what makes flowers and floral arrangements so important in funerals? Flowers have long been associated with funerals and mourning. They symbolize the beauty and fragility of life, reminding us of the preciousness of each moment. Flowers in Singapore are considered to have specific meanings especially when they are presented in funerals by family, friends, and loved ones of the bereaved and the person who passed away. Here are some flowers that are most commonly used in funeral setups: Chrysanthemums: These flowers are often used in funeral arrangements and are considered a symbol of mourning and respect. Their white color signifies purity and innocence. These flowers are often used in funeral arrangements and are considered a symbol of mourning and respect. Their white color signifies purity and innocence. White Lilies: These elegant flowers represent purity, innocence, and the soul of the departed. They are often chosen for their delicate beauty and fragrance. These elegant flowers represent purity, innocence, and the soul of the departed. They are often chosen for their delicate beauty and fragrance. Roses: White roses are a traditional symbol of sympathy and love. They express deep sorrow and offer comfort to those who are grieving. Florists in Singapore offer a wide range of condolence flower wreaths, each crafted with care and attention to detail. Their wreaths are designed to be both beautiful and meaningful, providing a lasting tribute to the deceased. Variety of Designs: They offer a wide selection of wreaths, from classic circular designs to more contemporary arrangements. They offer a wide selection of wreaths, from classic circular designs to more contemporary arrangements. Meaningful Symbolism: Each wreath is carefully crafted with flowers that hold specific meanings, ensuring that your condolences are expressed in a meaningful way. Each wreath is carefully crafted with flowers that hold specific meanings, ensuring that your condolences are expressed in a meaningful way. High-Quality Flowers: Using only the freshest and highest quality flowers to create their wreaths, florists in Singapore ensure that they remain beautiful and vibrant for as long as possible. Using only the freshest and highest quality flowers to create their wreaths, florists in Singapore ensure that they remain beautiful and vibrant for as long as possible. Convenient Delivery: They offer same-day delivery options, making it easy to send condolences quickly and efficiently. Sending a funeral wreath or a condolence flower stand is a thoughtful and compassionate gesture that can provide comfort to grieving families. By choosing flowers that hold special meaning and working with a reputable florist like Joaquim Florist, you can ensure that your condolences are expressed beautifully and respectfully. TIME BUSINESS NEWS
