Droplet’s Adventure in Quantumland

Note: This post is an attempt at describing part of my PhD work to the public. Now that I am close to finishing my PhD, I think such a post was long due. This essay was also my submission to 'AWSAR 2019'.

Pitter patter, pitter patter, listen to the rain.
Pitter patter, pitter patter, on the window pane.

Oh, you’ve all seen the beautiful raindrops sliding against the glass window panes and, out comes the mobile phones from our pockets! Click-click, from this angle; snap-snap, this one will go to Instagram; and definitely don’t forget the lone droplet about to fall from the window frame. Increase the brightness, tweak the contrast and voila! ‘50 likes’ and ’10 comments’ later, soon forgotten are the droplets and cursed is the rain for daring to trap us indoors.

But scientists can’t forget. We fixate, dissect, calculate until everything there is to be known are known and then some! Those beautiful and round rain droplets are no exception. So next time your nerdy little cousin catches you off-guard asking, ‘How do the droplets form?’, you can be ready.

Let’s take a single water droplet. It obviously has more molecules in it than a number you can imagine[1]. These water molecules like to remain closer to other water molecules or in other words, they attract each other. Most of them are surrounded by each other, cocooned in their watery environment. But there’re those water molecules which are at the surface of the droplets, always being touched by the air or precisely, the air molecules. Even the air molecules and water molecules would like to remain close. There emerges a continuous tug-of-war between the inner water molecules and the outer air molecules to attract the surface water molecule towards them. Nonetheless, there’s the one winner- the inner water molecules, which hold its surface brethren with much more strength and love than the foreign air molecules. So, the surface water molecules behave as if a thin elastic cover holding together the water droplet, accurately playing out the motto ‘United we stand, divided we fall’.

But wait, why are you only talking about water drops?
I am sure you have seen oil drops sticking to the cooking pan too.

What about the drop of blood oozing out on your finger after the pinch of a doctor’s needle?
Gory, but yes, they work the same way too.

How small can a drop become[2]?
How large[3]?
Are all drops liquid?
Can we have droplets of anything else?

Hold your horses!

Take a deep breath and prepare your mind to be blown away. Yes, there exists droplets of gas too! What? Yes. How? Strongly dipolar bosonic gases in ultracold temperature can form quantum droplets. Wow. I didn’t understand anything but it sounds ultra-cool!

Don’t worry, we shall decipher the complex sentence word by word. Before we do that, you pause and think, why formation of a gas droplet is surprising at all. Imagine a liquid droplet vs a gas droplet. Left alone, the liquid droplet- which has to be a denser object- will remain a droplet because of its surface tension, while the gas atoms- with its lower density- will simply disperse away. This is the key point, how to balance this dispersion of the gas so that the gas droplet continues to remain as a droplet, especially without any container to hold it?

Let’s start simple. Stripping the already mentioned complicated statement of all adjectives we have:

“Gases in ultracold temperature can form droplets.”
Ultracold temperature is range of temperature below tens of micro-Kelvin. It’s barely short of -273 degrees Celsius. For comparison the coldest recorded natural temperature on Earth is approximately -90 degree Celsius. But after rapid technical advancements in cooling methods during the 19080s, in several laboratories, including some in our country, it has become possible to cool gases of atoms to such ultra-low temperatures. What it really means is that the atoms become awfully slow, because more jittering around represents more energy and thereby higher temperature. Unsurprisingly, it has opened a whole new world for scientists to fixate on. And one such fixation has led to the discovery of droplets of gas. But there’re a lot of nuances to it; let’s dig in.

“Bosonic gases in ultracold temperature can form quantum droplets.”
The water droplets we talked about earlier were large in size with unimaginably high number of molecules. These are classical droplets that we encounter with naked eyes. In contrast, the quantum droplets are microscopically tiny consisting of a few thousand atoms in it. Anything ‘quantum’ in physics is often accompanied by tiny substances and this intriguing phenomenon where it becomes extremely hard to identify between whether it is a wave or a particle. An atom becomes a fuzzy combination of a particle[4] and also a wave[5] carrying both of their nature. The atoms no more resemble point like particles but become more expanded like waves. The cooler they are, the larger is their expansion and soon all atoms are overlapping each other. Despite it being a gas[6] of atoms, none of them can be distinguished separately inside this blob of gas and they all have the same energy. Whatever behaviour we see now becomes a collective property of this blob. In scientific community we call the blob a ‘condensation’. Particles which can undergo such condensation are ‘bosons.’ So far, we understand, the condensation of bosonic particles can behave like a quantum droplet under certain conditions. What are they?

“Strongly dipolar bosonic gases in ultracold temperature can form quantum droplets.”
Unlike the water molecules in the classical gas, one would assume the gas atoms do not like to remain close because we know that they disperse. But in special types of atoms such as Erbium and Dysprosium, physicists have managed to find strong attractions between atoms. This attraction stems from the nature of some atoms to behave like tiny magnets. Such atoms are termed as dipolar atoms and a gas of such atoms is a dipolar gas. If this attraction is strong enough it can pull the atoms together against dispersion, which may be caused by other repulsive forces between atoms, quantum fluctuations due to slightly energetic atoms[7] and slow motion of the atoms in the gas.

There now, we have a quantum droplet of dipolar gas. The crucial factor is at ultralow temperature, the atoms are slow and less energetic enough for the dipolar attraction to hold them together which would not have been possible in a classical gas with huge number of energetic atoms.

In our group as well as with collaborators from Germany, we have theoretically studied the properties of quantum droplets of dipolar bosonic gases. This novel phenomenon is a newly emerged breakthrough in the field of ultracold gases, discovered in the ultracold experimental lab in Stuttgart. One quirky detail regarding these droplets are that, unlike classical liquid droplets, they are not spherical. They are often elongated like a cylinder. It is because of the way the atoms attract each other is asymmetric in all direction, just like how tiny magnets attract each other only one side. In our recent work we showed how to change the droplets from cigar shaped to pancake shaped simply by tweaking the way the atoms attract. That’s right, we can control how atoms attract or repel by applying electric or magnetic fields, similar to how you can control magnets using magnetic fields.

Just when you think we know everything about the fundamentals of Physics, discoveries like these have surprised us to our core. It goes to remind us why to never stop questioning and to always rage against the darkness of ignorance.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Reference: Self-bound Doubly-dipolar Bose-Einstein Condensate

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[1] Fun fact: There are approximately more than 1 sextillion water molecules in a single droplet. Guess what, it is still less than the number of drops in the oceans on our planet!

[2] Droplets can be as small as micrometres.

[3] Water drops bigger than a few millimetres will break apart into smaller drops.

[4] We can exactly know the location of a particle but not its momentum

[5] We can know the momentum of a wave very precisely but lose out on pinpointing its location

[6] A gas is much less dense than a liquid

[7] These atoms are not at the lowest energy possible.

Markus

Had she not always craved to travel alone? To dare the weather and laugh at storms? To risk into the unknown and make friends with strangers from strange lands? Sitting by the window in a superfast train, cutting across the cold countryside in Czech, Heeya let out a suppressed sigh. Her spirit of adventure had lost it- to the cold.

As she blew her nose on her ever dwindling supply of tissue papers, she looked down at her freezing feet in the pair of grey canvas shoes- ugly among neatly polished boots of other passengers. Surreptitiously, she dragged her feet inwards under her seat. The train’s dismal heating system did little to aid her. Her only jacket that was good enough against the temperature, the one she was wearing, stood out in bright shades of blue against the suave backdrop of beige, brown and black jackets of sophistication. Her backpack had seen better days and so had her hair. She was supposed to be the quintessential traveller, but it rankled her ego that she was bothered by the queer looks cast at her by her fellow passengers.

She was visiting Prague, the beautiful city of a hundred spires. But the excitement that had propelled her to book the tickets two months before had departed along with the last day of summer. Yet practical girls like Heeya could not allow the money to go to waste. One day, she swore, one day she would have just enough money to waste. But not that day. She had a hundred euros in her wallet and they would cover exactly the accommodation, food, transportation and the emergency needs she might have on her stay at Prague. If she were careful she might spend a little something on a good souvenir. Her lips twitched, pleased with the thought.

She furtively scanned the passengers to see if anyone noticed her involuntary smile out of the blue and her eyes came across a pair of light brown eyes locked to hers. It was a shade that reminded her of peanut butter. She quickly disengaged. But not before she discovered that the eyes also belonged to a well sculptured face. For the first time that day, she felt a welcome warmth. She smiled inwardly thinking about the wonders a little attention from a beautiful man could do. She wanted to steal another glance but she decide to bide her time. Beauty is a joy to behold no matter from where it arose- a mountain or a man- it beckoned your eyes to go back to it again and again until familiarity manages to weaken the charm.

The train stopped at Ústí nad Labem and passengers in her compartment rose to get down. Heeya turned and looked at the man with brown eyes. He did not get up but turned away from her to allow another passenger to go. He had wide shoulders underneath the coffee brown jacket, long legs that disappeared into black leather boots crossed under his seat and strong fingers, clasped confidently in his lap. His face was covered in well-groomed beard long enough to give character to his face without marring the beauty. Heeya wondered if he was trying to hide a weak chin underneath and then discarded the thought. She realised she was trying to find a flaw. This was a man utterly comfortable in his own skin. She silently admired him, allowed her to be entranced and looked away a split second before his eyes caught her again. The train started to move with just the two of them in the compartment. Heeya wondered if he would welcome a conversation. Her cold feet forgotten, Heeya was momentarily surprised to find her disposition marginally improved. She huffed mentally for acting the young adolescent girl, the girl she had left behind years ago in places where the sun always shined bright.

The beautiful stranger slid into the seat directly in front of her and Heeya looked at him to find him smiling at her. She returned his smile with a greeting, unsuccessfully trying to finger-comb her hair into some semblance of order. She snatched her hand back down when she remembered the tiny hole in her jacket seam she had not bothered to stitch for this short trip.

“Are you travelling to Prague?” His voice was deep but smooth. The volume was not high but she heard him clearly. Was she allowing herself to favour him just because of his beauty? She nodded to him in answer but otherwise remained quiet in indecision.
“May I persuade you to talk with me” he asked with a raised eyebrow, “to pass the time?” Heeya let out a nervous chuckle at his directness but she admitted it was only a virtue.
“Yes”, she nodded again and asked, “Are you also going to Prague?”
His shoulders relaxed and he stretched his legs. Heeya had not realised he was bracing himself for her answer. She allowed herself to relax too.
“I am. I have only a short work there for a couple of hours before I take to train again. I go to Frankfurt after that.” He smiled again showing perfectly aligned teeth. Was he one of those perfect people that everyone disliked? Maybe Heeya needed to look for a flaw.
“Oh, you are on a tight schedule. You will not be travelling in Prague then.”
“Would you like me to?” he asked softly.
Heeya was taken aback, not knowing what to think. Was this harmless flirting? Was this considered forward in their culture? Did she need to be wary? It must have shown on her face because he leaned back to a nonthreatening posture and murmured,
“I see I have managed to scare you. Forgive me, I was but trying to tease you.” He paused to look out at the rain pelting the countryside through the window and turned to her again, “I have travelled Prague many times. It is Frankfurt I will be new to.” He fell silent after that.

Minutes passed before Heeya felt the last jolt in her die. It was part thrill and part caution with which she decided to tread forward, “So, you are from Czech?”
He glanced up happy that Heeya decided to forgive him, “Yes. I am sure you will like Czech. Especially Prague. It is beautiful. Even now, when it is cold and raining. Are you travelling in Czech for the first time?”
“I am sure I will like it and yes I am here for the first time. ” Heeya assured him.
“Are you coming from Germany?”
“Yes.”
“Most tourists in Prague are probably Germans.”
“That might be true but I am not a German.”
“Oh? Are you travelling our continent then?” He asked with a raised eye brow again.
“When I have time.” Heeya grinned at him, relaxed in his presence and happy to continue conversation, “But I am in Germany for my work for a few months.”
“Any chance you are staying in Frankfurt?” He asked with his eyes twinkling.
Heeya laughed this time, caught and delighted by his words.
“Are you flirting with me, Mr- ?”
“I am Markus. Call me Markus.” He leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees, “And what may your name be?”
“Heeya” she said and asked on a note of mischief, “You think you can pronounce it?”
“Hee-a?” He said tentatively examining her name slowly, “Is that an Indian name?”
“Do I look Indian?” Heeya asked on a curious note and he suddenly became serious.
“I am sorry I presumed so! I did not mean to –“
“Oh no, it is alright. I am Indian and so is my name. You guessed right.” Heeya waved her hands dismissively. He relaxed and murmured his apology again before continuing,
“Are you travelling alone then? Or do you have friends waiting for you in Prague?”
“I am travelling solo.” He nodded gravely to that and Heeya did not have to hear anything about how travelling solo was not very fun. She was searching for a flaw in him, she reminded herself belatedly.
“I also like travelling and India is in my list.” He declared with proud boyish smile. How old must he be? Oh it was difficult to guess but was he 25 or 30?
“That’s great. India will not disappoint you once you overcome the sight of poverty.” Heeya said. Her voice had become subdued and a frown marred her forehead as she was reminded of India. India, where it would be still warm, where her feet would never grow cold, where she never travelled alone and where she was dying to go back to. Home was, indeed, where the heart was, she mused.
“Tell me about it.” He probed, sensing her mood.

Heeya looked at him, wondering how a man could be so perceptive. He had cocked his head slightly to his left, ready to listen if she so decided to share. His hair fell on his forehead and in that moment he looked like a picture of a man with his attention held by something intensely puzzling. Heeya shook her head slightly.
“About the poverty? Or about India?” She enquired.
“Whatever it is that made you sad.” He said gently. A man who listened.
“I am not sad. I guess I just miss home.” And to lighten the mood she added, “At least I have been missing home since the day I stopped seeing the sun here.”
“Then you have set upon yourself the task of missing home through the winter, Hee-a.” he smirked.
“Oh but I will leave before the snow comes.” Heeya said, seeing that they were close to their destination, “Oh the rain has stopped!”
“This is good indeed! Even for my work.” Markus whistled slowly.

Heeya gathered her phone, scarf and gloves from the nearby seat she had thrown them into. For a last time she checked her wallet. Her 100 Euros were tucked safely in. She quickly closed it, not wanting to flaunt her lack of funds. But she tensed when Markus ask her to stop.
“I am sorry but I noticed you have only a 100 Euro with you.” He sounded concerned, “No Czech currency!”
“Ah,” Heeya said relaxing, “I will exchange at the station if there is need. But I was led to believe the shops accept Euros as well!”
“Not unless they are big. Small restaurants, tourism counters and souvenir shops do not.” And then he pressed his lips disapprovingly, “You need to exchange them.”
“I did not know!” Heeya said somewhat defensively, “I will try to find an exchange counter at the station.”
Markus frowned again and took out his own wallet. He took a 500 denominated note and shoved it into her palms, “Here, keep this 500 krona, this will do until you find an exchange counter.”
Heeya was shocked and agitated to see the money in her hands. This was approximately 20 Euros according to her calculations and she could not possibly take the money from him. She was shaking her head vigorously and crying her denial but he refused to take the money back.
“This was not fair at all! I cannot possibly take your money! At least allow me to repay you in Euros!” Heeya said frustrated. Was there no end to how good people could be? It was exactly as she suspected, she supposed. He was one of those good people everyone hated. She took out her wallet again but remembered she just had a single 100 Euro note. She tried to shove the 500 Kronas back into his hands but he laughed and said, “Trust me it is no big favour I am doing you. You need the Kronas. And after getting down, you need to go straight to the exchange counter Hee-a.”
“Exactly why I do not need the Kronas urgently!” Heeya reminded him after having looked at his wallet, “And won’t you need to exchange your Kronas for Euros too?”
She saw his face light up with a smile and he said, “Oh you’re right I do need to exchange. But I will get down before the main station because my work is elsewhere. I will exchange while going back, after two hours.” And added, “But let me warn you, the exchange here will cost you high in commission.”

Heeya knew the commissions were high and she worried over it awhile when Markus looked at her and frowned again. It was almost as if he did not like to see her worried. Heeya noticed this and smiled. She smiled because Markus was not only beautiful to look at but was beautiful inside. She smiled because it was such a rare treat to meet people who were generous without knowing it. So when after a while he suggested that he give her 3000 Kronas for her 100 Euros she found herself agreeing.
“Please look up today’s exchange rate online. Usually it is 1 to 27.” Markus pointed his chin at Heeya’s phone asking her to check the values for her satisfaction. She smiled in exasperation and refused to take anything above 2100 Kronas- excluding the 500 Kronas he gave earlier- more from him for her 100 Euros.

Markus gave a painful sigh and while shaking his head said, “You are not an easy girl, Hee-a.”
Heeya laughed and said, “And you’re too easy with others, Markus.” And this evoked a smile from him. It only made her happier. To have made him smile. They both drifted into a companionable silence until the train started to decelerate and Markus suddenly stood up. Startled, Heeya looked up at him to see he was preparing to take out his luggage from the shelf above.
“Oh, are we at your station already?” She asked wishing they had a little more time.
“Yes.” He took out the luggage and placed in down and looked at her, “I hope you will have an adventurous trip!” He knew exactly what to say to encourage her!

His eyes were clear and face content. He looked so serene Heeya doubted a person could be so at peace with themselves. She looked at him curiously as he opened his bag and took out his gloves. His movements were sure and graceful. Heeya felt a pang in her chest wishing she could come across men like him more often. The train ground to a halt. Markus gave her a huge grin, again looking boyish and full of mischief, and said, “Hee-a! It was a pleasure to meet you. I wish you an adventure!”
Caught on his thrilled voice wishing her adventure Heeya threw back her head and laughed and bid him adieu saying she intended to enjoy herself.
On a whim she bellowed, “I wish you all the best as well, Markus!” when he had already left the compartment. Then she laughed to herself for her foolishness. She had met him in a gloomy mood and left him excited, how many people on earth could do that to a stranger? She hummed an old tune in her mother tongue until the main station of Prague came, thinking if anyone ever had sung it in this far distant cold land while missing home.

When she got down, she had a spring to her step despite the burden of the backpack when her eyes were fell on the food counter. As if on a cue her stomach grumbled in protest for being ignored so long. Chiding herself again for being distracted by beautiful men, she went to the shop and asked for Pretzels. When it cost her a 100 Kronas she extended the 500 denominated note to the shop owner and got a blank stare before the man blustered and said, “This doesn’t work here! Only Kronas or Euros!”
Heeya was shocked speechless. It couldn’t be! Markus gave her the money. She had exchanged it with Euros.
“Sir, please check again. If this is not Kronas then what is it?!”
“I do not know, lady, the fonts look like some Russian script. I do not accept!” He snapped.
Heeya put the pretzel back in its place and hurried away, her head blank, seeing nothing while her feet took her to the currency exchange counter. When the lady at the counter greeted her- already numb- she shakenly extended the money she had and asked for Kronas. She looked at the currency as if she did not recognise it until her face cleared and her face became pinched. On a clipped voice she said, “Ma’am, this is an invalid currency from Belarus! We cannot exchange this!”

Belarus! She did not know what Belarus currency looked like. She did not know what Kronas looked like either! But Markus had given her the money! Markus, the beautiful. Markus, the generous soul, the man with reliable brown eyes. Markus, who was displeased at her inconveniences. Markus, who had wished her an adventure! Dazedly, she looked at the swarming crowd of travellers in this foreign land, everyone wearing a harried or an impregnable expression and not a smile to spare. A self-berating laugh escaped her lips as she sat penniless among forbidding strangers. She had found Markus’ flaw after all. He was a con artist.

Mughlai Affairs

Now that the concrete footpaths have taken over the city, Dushka foolishly started missing the dew dropped grass paths. It was rainy season again but there was no mud anywhere. The sky was covered in nimbostratus and the sun had not shown up since last afternoon. It was drizzling since morning. Sitting on the old woven chair- one of those worn out furnitures you couldn't get rid of because they carry a lot of memories- she looked on through the glass pane towards the potted plants and the endless city buildings until they got lost in the gray of the rain. The gloominess had seeped into her skin while she was caged inside home for another day.

Memories of the two-room house, where she grew up as a child, flashed in her mind. It had a tin roof. Rainy days used to be so noisy that the TV's sound used to get drowned. Her father didn't use to like TV noise. But he liked the noisy raindrops splattering on the tin roof because, he used to say, he was a poet at heart. Sometimes, she'd sit on her mother's lap quietly counting the frogs' croaks. Sometimes she'd make a huge fuss over the power cuts during the rains. But she never got wet. Her mother told she caught cold very easily. That's why.

A heavy sigh escaped her while she raged a futile war against her inertia to get up and feel the rain. She reasoned with herself that she'd catch a cold.

“Are you bored already?” her mother who was sitting close by asked.

“I wanted to go out, explore the city again before I have to leave. Did it have to rain?” Dushka caught a vehemence in her tone.
“It will stop soon. For now, look at the rain. Isn't it beautiful?”

Dushka thought to herself, “Another day, another time I might have enjoyed it. But today's not the one for her. Maybe for her mother though.”

“One gets used to these walls and balconies and stops wondering what more worthy can lay outside for exploring.” Mother seemed to empathise with Dushka, “I have not been anywhere outside except for the journey to workplace and back.” Dushka felt a pang inside her, the usual guilt an independent child feels for the woman who sacrificed her life to motherhood. The guilt that nags at you when you are ready to spread your wings to reach the sky leaving everything behind but the mother- whose sole life revolved around you- has not found a new purpose in life yet. Mother continued, “There was a time I was young and newly wed to your father. I used to walk through the whole of this old town merrily enjoying evenings at street shops. Lack of means didn't put a single scar on my will to be happy. I thought, my spirit was invincible.” Dushka shivered looking at her mother's current mechanical life, the life she did not want for herself, the life she wished her mother didn't have. It was flat. But what is life if sadness doesn't make you cry and joy doesn't wrinkle your eyes? Dushka wished otherwise. And 'otherwise' things hardly happen.

Evenings after rain used to be cold earlier. If mother used to be free, she used to take Dushka for a walk down to the Golei Square. Often Dushka would demand for a sweet and mother used to relent in a few minutes. But she hardly ever took for herself. There used to be money enough only for one. Those days Dushka hadn't learnt to share. Empathy doesn't come naturally to children. On the way to the square was this beautiful restaurant they never dared venture into. Dushka's family never went to any restaurants. Father said it was for people who did not have a mother in their family, hence nobody to cook for them. But this restaurant had been different. It was painted scarlet outside. In the dull evening light, the red used to attract and hold Dushka's attention from a long distance for a long time. She'd tug at her mother's scarf and whisper, “Can't we go inside and not tell them that you know how to cook?”

“Do you remember the restaurant on the way to Golei Square?” Dushka asked suddenly.

“The cosy little red one whose lights attracted you?” mother enquired understandingly.
“Yes. The same!”

“I haven't been to that side of the city since we moved here. It's been what? A decade?”

Dushka nodded, “Probably more.”

The restaurant was called 'Mughlai Affairs'. It sounded exotic to Dushka's uninitiated ears at that time. It had stained glasses through which orange light shot outside and used to fall on the alley. The stained glasses' patterns only made it look even more beautiful. While Dushka passed by the Mughlai Affairs, her pace used to slow down so as to bask in the lights a little longer. A hushed murmur also used to escape through those windows that contained words from people who did not have a mother who knew how to cook. They were different.

“Mughlai Affairs- wasn't that the name?” mother intervened her thoughts.

Dushka smiled and said, “You remember.” It was not a question, just a memorable shared pleasure.

“I'd try to take you to the park, where other kids played; it was the opposite way. But you insisted to walk always to the Golei Square, along the restaurant.”
“I never liked the park. The kids' mothers stood guard there. There was no freedom. Who plays on a see-saw and a swing standing on a queue?”

“Is that why you'd come back crying? I never understood why you didn't like other children.”
“It's not the children. It's the mothers. And you are different. You never came to my rescue.” Dushka continued in the same breath lest her mother felt accused, “Not that you should have. But other mothers also should not have.”

“They fear for their children.” Mother almost always never failed to look from the other's point of view.

It was not long before Dushka realised they weren't rich enough to afford visiting Mughlai Affairs. But the restaurant only grew prettier and beckoned her more and more. But with their steps always moved past the inviting lights, never stopping. Sometimes Dushka would look back and mistakenly catch the eyes of the security guard cum valet standing in front of the restaurant with elaborate costume. She'd turn back quickly feeling like a culprit. The guard wore a feathered hat which sat askew on his head. Dushka feared for the hat lest it got blown away by the wind. But unfailingly, it always was there perched on the guard's head. He never laughed at Dushka. “Do you think the guard eats at the restaurant after everyone has left?” Dushka's mother replied, “I do not know. It'd be a sorry thing if he didn't though.” Dushka would nod her head. She sometimes caught her mother looking with the same wistfulness at the restaurant as hers. But they had reached the silent agreement to never talk about going inside. It was an uncomfortable question.

“Ah, the drizzle has died down!” mother's exclaimed.

Dushka got up from the chair to the balcony and stretched out her hand to feel if the rain had stopped. Indeed it had. She put her hands in her hair and revelled in the coldness. A sudden excitement aroused her senses. “Let's go to Mughlai Affairs!”

“What?” her mother cried “Now?”

“Yes! Why not?” Dushka ran to her and started pulling her up from the chair.

“It might rain again!”
“I'll book a cab! And we have umbrella!”
“I have to cook for your grand mother, she will not eat outside.”
“Let father cook for once!”
“Rubbish! You go ahead with your friends if you want. I will not come.”

“I have been to numerous restaurants with my friends.” said Dushka. What she didn't say was, “Nobody will appreciate Mughlai Affairs like you will. With me.”

Dushka's mother relented. And the excitement seemed to slowly build up in her too. When she got up from the chair, her feet had caught on a merry tune.

The cab was about to arrive in fifteen minutes. Dushka's mother had taken time wearing the peacock blue sari with golden embroidery. Dushka had helped her with it. The post-shower wind had not stopped and it gushed through the balcony trying to make the sari folds awry. It also nestled in Dushka's short hair and danced with the door screens. Darkness of the night had overpowered the darkness of the tired clouds who had rained themselves off incessantly. Street light cast shadows on their balcony through the dwarf coconut tree leaves. Mother looked beautiful but Dushka just said, “The sari looks beautiful.” Mother hopefully understood what Dushka didn't say. That was how it always had been.

“Life's being served on a platter to your generation.” Mother said implying at the cab's arrival through a few touches on the smart phone, “And yet it has not succeeded in making people a little happier than people were in our times.”

“You talk as though you're old and about to die.”

“Ain't I? I don't forget to dye my hair black fearing all my hair would have already turned white and I have no guts to face it.”

“Hair doesn't decide youth.” Dushka said dismissively, “what would you like to eat? Isn't this your first ever visit to any restaurant at all?”

“Let us first get there. They will give us a list, won't they?” Mother asked nervously, “I am not going to do any talking there!”

“Of course they will give a menu. Why do you have to be nervous? We are customers. We will take their service in return of money. There's nothing to be nervous about.”
Mother turned away to look at the moon through the cab window which was also travelling with them. Rain had left the concrete roads shining in the night-light. The cab ran past the very familiar highways, the slightly familiar streets and the unfamiliar short-cuts. Temples, medicine shops and movie theatres fell behind us. The city, bustling and alive, evolved yet remained the same. Dushka had been born there. She was brought up there. Although her parents had migrated there, she was a native of the city in her heart. And from inside a car, the city looked quite different, as if the troubles didn't exist. The potholes in the side walk weren't visible, the crowd's ramblings were blocked and one almost believed it to be a posh city. From inside the car. But Dushka had been on the other side before. The outside of the car.

“Madam, where do you want me to stop?” The driver's impatient tone broke through her musings. Her mother was looking at her expectantly.
“Arey, where are we? I think we're close. It should be a little far ahead. You drive on, I will tell you.” Dushka said. She bent down to look outside through the cab window. “See, this used to be our old street, no?” Dushka tugged at her mother's hands.

“Yes! Yes! Things have changed so much! There used to be a Banyan tree by the bend of the road. Do you remember? I can't see it any more!” Mother said anxiously.

“It is before Golei Square!” Dushka told the driver. “Please look for a restaurant named 'Mughlai Affairs'!”

“I am not from this part of the city, Madam!” said the driver with his usual impatient tone, “You should ask someone!”

“No, no, I can recognise!” Dushka said vehemently with absolute confidence. It was that cosy little red restaurant with red lights coming through the stained glasses with an angry security man guarding its doors. Surely she'd be able to recognise Mughlai Affairs! The cab ran past the old apartment Dushka remembered; the big water tank she remembered was still there, a couple of grocery shops had sprouted that she could not recall and beyond that she could see the snack shops huddled together where she used to demand sweets from her mother. Instead of a couple of vendors, now stood there a dozen of vendors attracting customers with their sly tricks. After that came Golei Square.

“We're already at Golei Square!” mother cried.

“We must have passed right by the restaurant without noticing,” said Dushka turning to the driver, “could you turn back, please?”

The cab turned back and this time Dushka made sure her eyes went through every building that lined up along the street. The tailor's, the goldsmith's, the grocer's, the small bed and breakfast's, the few offices', the chemist's, the few residential flats', the furniture showroom's, more grocer's and they ended up again at the bend of the road where the Banyan tree should have been there.
“No! No, I think we should ask someone around!” Dushka cried, “Please turn back!”

Dushka did not bother to look at the irritated driver.

Rain was again threatening at the sky. The clouds were rumbling with occasional lightning. This time the driver took it slow. The grocer's, the carpenter's, the residential flats and before the office buildings started the driver stopped the cab. Dushka open the door. First rain drop hit her on her forehead.

She hurried to the nearby chemist's shop and asked urgently, “There is a restaurant nearby. Mughlai Affairs! Could you possibly show me the way?”

It had started drizzling. She could hear her mother's faint voice calling her to come back inside the cab before it poured heavily. She might catch the cold.

“Mughlai Affairs? I have not seen any restaurants nearby.” The lazy chemist answered pulling his head out of the small TV screen perched on one of the shelves of his shop.
“There used to be one nearby!” Dushka repeated adamantly.

“I do not know about that.” He was confused at her desperation, “wait, I will call the old lady owner. She'd know.” Thus he vanished through one of the doors in the shop. Dushka looked back at the cab. Her mother and the driver looked on at her expectantly. Her mother beckoned her with her hand and Dushka gestured her to hold on. The rain clouds were getting heavy and any minute it would burst open with all its wrath. But Dushka could not budge. An old, yet strong lady appeared through the same door in which the chemist had vanished earlier.

“Yes?” The lady asked in a strong, confident voice.

“Mughlai Affairs! Do you know the way to...”

“Mughlai Affairs? The restaurant?” The lady asked cutting Dushka off.

“Oh yes!”

“It went broke and the restaurant was closed 8 years ago.” She replied in a cool voice.

“8 years ago?”
“Yes, 8 years ago, in 2007.”

“Oh!” is all Dushka could say.

The rain had started falling in all earnest now. Dushka wasn't hearing it though. The lady, she went inside through the door. The chemist went back to watching the TV. Dushka turned back slowly and found that the cab was barely visible through the heavy rain. Her mother must want her to stay where she was until the rain slowed down because she'd supposedly catch cold. But that day Dushka wanted to get wet. The cab driver would get pissed off with a wet passenger but it'd be worth it. Yes, Dushka would first get wet that day. Later she would catch a cold.

Have You Seen Them All?

Inspired by the ongoing #Pixar140orless in twitter, I decided to summarise some of my favourite animated movies in 140 characters or less. 

Take a challenge and let me know how many movies you recognise and which ones you don't. (no cheating!)

If any new/better summary pops in your mind, do use the comment box.

[1]A widowed old man seeks to live his dream with unwanted help from a very young scout and a dog; in the process finds home.

[2]Outerspace giant robot crashes on Earth and secretly bonds to a curious eight year old boy regardless of age, planet, flesh and iron!

[3]A clumsy Giant Panda, now a dragon warrior, realises how the secret ingredient of the dragon scroll, like his father's soup, is “nothing”.

[4]A villain adopts three little girls in order to steal the moon only to end up trading the moon for the girls.

[5]An outcast rat takes the phrase from an excellent chef 'Anybody can cook!' to a whole new level!

[6]With an unconventional pet of a cute deadly dragon, a frowned upon boy learns to fly and ends up saving both the human and dragon community.

[7]A story of love between a Monster and a child that wins over fear, hatred & ends up solving energy crisis of Monster world.

[8]The clumsy evil do-er blue alien suffers through an ambition crisis, when he successfully eliminates the supposed super hero of the town.

[9]A toy's soul purpose is to be played with by a child. But what if a space toy doesn't know it's a toy? It's a cowboy's duty to convince him.

[10]A red-haired princess, who refuses to do her princess-ly duties, tries to undo her mistakes by being brave against guilt.

[11]An underrated and undaunted ant genius takes on the oppressive grasshopers with the help of pretentious warrior bugs and rescues Ant Island.

[12]A rusted robot falls in love; in the process rebuilds a planet & reminds human beings the value of emotions and activities!

[13]In a lion's inner fight to forgive himself, this story takes us to the African lands where no matter what, the 'Circle of Life' goes on.

[14]An over-protective clown fish's long desperate search for his only son, caught by humans, that redefines love and freedom.

[15]Another princess: gifted with magic, kidnapped by a witch, locked in tower, rescued by a handsome robber and happily ever after. Classic.

[16]A dog's dejected realisation regarding his lack of superpowers doesn't stop him from rescuing his mistress and forgiving her.

[17]With more attractive 'Other Parents', a girl finds herself going to a parallel world again and again until her real parents go missing.

[18]A superhuman family of 4 struggles to fit in among the 'normal' people until they learn to fight the evil in camouflage!

[19]Arrogant and handsome, the fastest car on Earth loses its way into a deserted small town only to come out with some biggest lessons of life.

[20]It's a celebration of childhood innocence, where fantasy & reality coexist for two little sisters waiting for their ailing mom to come home.

I may be persuaded to share the names of all movies(if needed at all) on discreet demand.

Stella's Orange-red Gloves

(A story without climax. My hands typed it after I fell asleep on the keyboard. Hence, excuse me!)

Stella came out of her room. It stank of her. She wanted fresh air just outside her home. It always smelled a little of the nearby playground dust in a red sunset, a little of the delicious lunch that her neighbouring fat lady makes everyday and a little of some distant flowers that bloom in the evening. She put on her dark navy grey winter wear over a pale white dress. But her socks were orange-red. So were her gloves. She wore and loved them secretly.

She wanted to go on a walk. Not alone, but it could not have been helped.
"Stella, the computer is still open!"
"That's OK. Just don't touch it. It'll take care of itself in five minutes."
She hid her socks inside boring brown shoes and gloves inside her pockets. Now she was invisible. She started walking, beyond the curved railway tracks, beyond the lonely sweet shop eagerly sought after by the flies, beyond Mr Henderson's big house on whose son she had a crush on during middle school and beyond the park where everybody else went for an evening walk.

Stella has been this way since before she was born. Many times she looks down at the pebbles and wonders whether she had stamped those particular ones before. Just in case, she stamps them again. When Henderson Jr used to live with his parents, he would take tea with his parents in their balcony facing the road. He was in college already and his name in the newspaper had confirmed the local gossip of him being a bright student. She used to be careful regarding her walk and attire back then. Her mother used to accompany her and it used to be very hard to steal glances of Henderson Jr. But now Henderson Jr worked in a farm in another state. He has a pretty wife too, if Facebook is right. And Stella has grown up and grown out. 
Her orange-red gloves were peeking from her pockets. She quickly scanned the passers by whether anybody were looking at her. Negative. She was relieved. A little disappointed too. She doubted Henderson Jr's wife went so unnoticed when she walked by roads like this. Stella reminded herself she did not want to be like Henderson's wife. She felt better and continued.

In the conservative little town, she always allowed herself one small non-conservative luxury. She kept her hair open and let it swirl against the wind as she walked by. It was more of a fact that she had unruly hair which won't be tamed. But she took pleasure in saying it was by choice. Last time she went to market, she had seen an orange-red hair ribbon. It looked gorgeous. But she didn't dare to purchase it, because it couldn't be hidden if she wore it. A little itch in her mind had told her that she could hide it if she wore helmet always and went on a bike. But she stamped it. Just like she stamped the pebbles. Only that her itches give away more easily than the pebbles. She looked around; in the grey winter evening, she almost could get mixed. She wondered, if the fog could get the exact same colour as her sweater, whether it could render her partially invisible. Would she be able to see her body? How would she recognise herself? And she told herself, she needn't have worried because she could always see her bright orange-red gloves to make out her own body. By the time she realised her musing was totally unworthy, unnecessary and unreasonable, she had already completed thinking all these things. Her lips cracked to a grin and snapped shut as soon as she realised she might look like a fool out of nowhere. 

Suddenly the street lights came to life and the yellow bulbs chased the grey of the evening away. Stella looked up at them basking in the warm light. Although the new town has, now, the LED street lights and it looked posh according to the world, Stella loved the old Sodium Vapour lamps. They were still standing in the old town, in protest of monochromtising the colour of the whole town in all shades of grey.

It was time to return. Stella kept her orange-red gloves successfully hidden for one more day. Nobody knew she wasn't fully grey. Nobody sought to find out.

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Stella name has been extracted from the Facebook sticker of  "Stella Supernova: Dodge comets with this space genius on her interstellar adventures." She's very melodramatic, hyperactive and of course, a genius!