December of Twenty Nineteen 

It was December of twenty nineteen, cold and chilly, a mother sat down in the winter sun,

Retrospecting, thinking,  jotting down her new year resolution

I will teach my children quarreling and fighting too much,  

I will confine them such that they learn to be kind and long for human touch 

I will teach my children the value of resources, be it food, water, money and not be wasteful,

Less will be their new normal, they will learn to be thankful and grateful

I will teach my children to look after their health, both physical and mental,

For people weak, fragile, diseases, ailments are detrimental

I will teach my children who litter their surrounding,

How to wash their hands and clean everything

I will teach my children, who have forgotten that rich, poor,  countries, boundaries

are all man made and everyone is equal,

 Disease, calamity makes no difference between people

I will teach my children a lesson in unity,

They will unite under one cause and fight every adversity

I will teach my children to smell flowers, listen to birds chirping

Live in harmony with all the living creatures around them flourishing

That was her list, all about her children, their well being

Thats how unconditional, pure, a mother's love is, forever giving

Trying to fix its broken children,

how could mother earth be different than any other mother in the world, making such resolution ?

                                                         In you I found solace

Sunshine to a little girl's day, you were her sweetheart

In you I found solace, nothing in this world could move us apart

In the sweet talks and discussions, together we got submerged 

Riding on waves of mirth, from deep seas of sorrow our love emerged

Subsumed in the warmth and comfort of whose arms, you were like a comfortable arm chair

I could bare my heart,  share my inhibitions and fear

You were like a swing perched in the patio, whose soft fabric sunlight did caress

I could lie down and fall asleep talking in your embrace

I told you how my day went, under the sky lit up by the moon bright and stars shining, 

We would ponder about it, discuss it often until we bid adieu to the moon and welcomed the  birds chirping

We travelled to serene hamlets, climbed daunting mountains, in angry rivers we did dive

 Through your eyes  my fantasies and dreams came alive

 

How did so many years pass by, why did you move away,

How could our love not survive the gusts of time, which nothing ever could sway

Many times I thought of getting back to you

The older, wise girl empowered over the  little girl who had no clue

The little girl's love was unbashed and pure

As I grew old, shackles of wisdom made it guarded and complicated to endure

Something stopped me, something pulled me away

I sacrificed my happiness, I sacrificed our love may be due to  other things which came in way

I also doubted you and got scared of baring too much,

Fettered by the fears, I lost the golden touch

I thought,  what was different, what was unique about me?

what did i have to offer you, you could look around and find someone better in a jiffy

I never stopped thinking about you

I want to come back to you

I want to bring alive my dreams with you, bring alive my soul

Bring alive people whom everyone will remember, make my heart complete, fill the void, fill that hole

Take me under your wings and let me fly with you into the blue sky,

Galloping into enchanted forests, riding furious waves in a sea with fishes passing by

Hold my hand and take me to quaint villages with houses lit up with people's faces beaming, 

Filled with mirth due to children giggling, rich aroma of freshly baked bread exuding

I want to revive our love, get subsumed in your world and forget everything

I want to get drenched again in the sweet droplets of love, I want to start again writing

        

                                                                You & I

           She stood there with watery eyes glaring at the tree planted by her husband, with flowers blooming and birds singing. The joyous banter of the birds took her down memory lane reminding of the blissful times with him and how they will never come back.  As she gathered herself, her fingers squeezed the flowers in her hand, making a few petals kiss the ground. As she looked down, her lips curved into a smile of pride. She saw little fingers grabbing the petals and adorning his father's favourite spot when he was alive with love and utmost dedication. She bent down and planted a peck on the little boy's cheek. Both of them lighted a diya under the tree, decorated it with flowers, prayed to God for his soul, thanked him for each other in their lives. 

 

Kabir always had a volley of questions ready to be fired. He was a restless and inquisitive soul. He looked at Kaveri with a very curious look and questioned " Why is dad always sleeping? We come every day and decorate his favorite spot, he never says whether he likes it or not?
Kaveri, rubbed her fingers in his hair and said "My darling, he adores everything you do, he has gone to meet God to ask his blessing for you, so that you become a nice human being when you grow up". He seemed a bit confused, but still accepted the answer.

 

 

They started walking towards home with sun bidding adieu, toning down its glory and birds hurrying to rest in their abode. Kabir’s little fingers curled around Kaveri's ring finger, where once a resplendent rock reigned. It was replaced by a ring of Sun tan. 

 Most of the houses in the lane had lights on as if they beamed and gleaned with pride at the houses which were still dark. The yellow light filtering out of the curtains at the small windows with aroma of dinner being cooked, people talking, children giggling made them snug and cozy.  Have you ever wondered how people have laid down routines and rules following which so many people around the whole world must be cooking dinner at this time or eating? It’s like so many people must be taking a bite together. Also were the residents of the houses which were still dark happy about not being home, were they doing something exciting or tired and unhappy to be not home at this hour. 

At the end of the lane, was a small white house with a red door. Over the house leaned an old lemon tree which occasionally showered its blessings painting the whole backyard ripe yellow. They entered the house and Kaveri switched on the lights and sighed looking at how unkempt it looked. Kabir's was sleepy and hungry, they had some leftover pizza from the takeout yesterday, she warmed it and served for both. 

After Kabir's father passed away, both of them could just make ends meet. She worked as sales representative at a convenience store. Still, both of them found enough reasons every day to be happy. They found happiness in little things, cutting a coupon from a newspaper and getting thrilled at seeing it work at the grocery store, saving money every day to see a movie on the last day of the month.  Those little triumphs defeating fate to let them have ice cream with the saved money brought joy to their mundane lives. . . It was going to be Diwali next week. She wanted to buy a new dress for Kabir but could not save enough money. She was still short. Pondering over all possible ways to get the money, making plans in her head, she dozed off.

 

It was Monday today and Kabir was packing books for school, as he slid is notebook in the bag, he thought how everyone else's notebooks had a waterproof cover. His notebook was always the odd one out. When the teacher got the pile of corrected notebooks from the staffroom, he could spot his from a distance. It was covered with brown paper and some cellophane wrap, his mom had saved from some packaging, sometimes even from her saarees. Those had "Vimal saarees written". She would fold it underneath, so it was not visible on the notebook cover. 

He was always embarrassed with his notebooks, but being a kind, considerate four-year-old, he never complained to his mother. 

Kaveri packed sandwiches for lunch. She always saved newspapers or some other papers which were waste and used them to wrap lunch for both of them. She tore a page from an old diary kept for this purpose and wrapped sandwiches for both of them.  One of her poems once she was so proud about, got tarnished by the humidity, sauce from the sandwich. 

 

Kabir went to school, lunch hour happened. One of his classmates who was new to school, forgot lunch at home. He waited for it to be sent from home, but it didn’t come. So Kabir being a empathetic classmate,  shared one of his sandwiches with him. He reluctantly offered him hoping he would refuse. But he accepted. It was wrapped in his mother's poem. He felt little embarrassed as all other children's lunches beamed wrapped in silver foil, but his sandwich was dull, with grease oozing making the white paper appear grey. The words written in black ink seem to have accepted their fate of the grey clouds of butter engulfing them.  It was already late and his friend started devouring the sandwich, but bell rang for recess to be over. He shoved the half-eaten sandwich in the front pocket of his bag and forgot about it until he reached home.

 

 

Week went by. It was Sunday.  They had a favorite fruit chaat vendor in the market down the lane. They would walk to the market to save the rickshaw money and would buy chaat with the money saved. Being a four-year-old Kabir would first complain as to why they had to walk so much but as they walked and the stall came near, the colorful fruits arranged neatly with a dhupbatti perched on a watermelon, Kabir's eyes would beame with glee. The fruit stall vendor also recognized the mother son duo and even knew their names.  This would be the highlight of the day. 

 

They would pick up the free newspaper from the chaat wala and look for any coupons. As she picked the newspaper and started turning pages, suddenly something caught her eye, some familiar words danced in front of her and made her dizzy. She rubbed her eyes and tried to look again. She sat down on the bench beside the stall.  She read it aloud to herself "In you I found Solace". That was the title of the poem she had written long time back and discarded. How did it get printed here?  On Sundays there was a special column for poetry from budding poets of the week. She had always read it and wished her poems would get a place there some day. There used to be a small prize money as well for the person whose poem was selected. First thought which crossed her mind was, she could buy a new dress for Kabir for Diwali she thought. Was she dreaming?

 

She called the newspaper's office to find out how her poem made way into the column. 

Apparently Kabir's classmate, with whom he had shared the sandwich, his mother was an editor at the same newspaper. While unpacking his bag, she had come across the half-eaten sandwich. The paper in which the sandwich was wrapped caught her eye. She loved the grease smeared words written on it.  Once drenched in the smell of bread and vegetables, those words had the wheel of fortune turn in their favor. The smell of a freshly printed newspaper gave a new life to them and its poetess. 

 

Their Diwali was shinier and brighter. She bought a new dress for Kabir with the money. Kabir had already got his mother a Diwali gift. His act of kindness got her creation, a place in the coveted newspaper column. Both of them became the reason for each other's smiles. That’s how the ship sailed past the tumultuous waves in the ocean of life for both of them. 

 

 

 

 

TREASURES OF LIFE

A few steps down the staircase brought me to the murky and redolent storeroom full with the smell of old books hiding under the thick layer of dust. Train was on time. Mom was busy in packing and she had asked me to find a box in which she kept the lock and chain for the journey.

I started my search with an old rusted trunk. It opened with a creaking sound. As i went on, my eyes fell on a brown diary panting for breadth underneath a pile of books. Oh! it was the same diary in which i wrote poems when i was in class seven. I retrieved it from the pile and opened it with trembling hands, my heart thumping faster than before. The first poem was titled "Rules of Life".oh! i had written about something which i still dont know. The poem was signed in the end trying to imitate accomplished writers.

The "R" of "Rohini" was given a delibrate twist which was enough to depict the pride, young poetess must have taken in her creation. I remember when i wrote a poem i used to read it to myself several times and except mom let no one read it and shoved the diary underneath a pile of books. If someone read i got red with embarassment.Papa always got me in such situations. If someone came to our house,pa will say"just let uncle also listen to what you wrote last" then i would say pa "i dont remember and i cant find the diary". Sittng there i remembered everything, how elated i used to be every time when i was successful in finding a rhyming ending.

Oh this way i would never be able to find the box . I went to a carton near the trunk. I had started only when my hands fell on something i thought this was it. I brought it out and to my surprise it was the mobile phone box! . Once the pride of a young girl now stood there in faded glory.All the numbers ,alphabets had faded. It was the one which kindled a ray of excitement in my eyes when i first saw it and had showed it to everyone running from one end to another.

Ma called from ground floor and asked to search in the cupboard. I kept it aside and went to the cupboard. I opened the cupboard.It was lined with old worn out boxes. I found my box too kept there on the second shelf. At last i was successful and was about to close the cupboard when my eyes fell on a box with a tweety sticker on it. It was the same box in which i kept my embroidery threads.Sister Acquin used to teach us embroidery. I remembered once we had to prepare five embroidered hankies and i had shed fifty tears learning Rose Stitch from mom.

These things may seem trivial but they are the witness of the twinkle in a young girl's eyes on seeing a mobile phone box,they are the witness of a poetess' elated smile on finding a rhyming word. These are the building blocks of ones life hiding the secret of each moment. I may become a successful engineer and may design a mobile phone but will never forget the little mobile phone pencilbox and its charisma.Amidst the darkness i got a glimse of once radiant moments of my life. These things are the earnings of our life .....the treasures of our life.

Note : I had written long long ago and lost it. A friend had had kept and gave it to me recently :) And also at that time I certainly didnt know I would be in the mobile telecom industry :P

This happens sometimes you associate a memory with some event and it gets imprinted on the canvas of your mind. Like here I have a list of movies and some memory associated with each and after that whenever you see that movie again you always remember that.

Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar : Its memory for me is like a photograph only. Aamir used to be Shalu didi’s favourite. So all four of us and mom went to watch the movie. Vijay baba got the tickets and since it was running almost houseful he got the tickets in a category called special. That was the first time I saw any movie lower than the balcony and all of us so scared. Whenever I see that movie I always visualize five of us sitting in the special block amidst huge cheering and the last cycle race scene is going on.

Jaane to Ya Jaane na : This is among the MANY movies I saw in the glorious days of Bangalore. It was the next day we had shifted to our new house 008, A.R.R. Comforts. The show was at 1:00 P.M. I was ready and preparing Kadi. Mohit had booked ticktes and I was waiting for a call from them to go. I called, no one picked, and waited. It was five minutes for it to be one o’ clock. Vartika and Ruchi did said, they have left you and went away . The clock struck one and I almost believed them my phone rang. Shobhit had to come to pick me up and he had not seen the new house. I called him to come at DD and ran . He drove the bike at a speed of more than hundred. We reached although missed the first cat ‘s death mourning ceremony. So whenever I see the movie I always visualize myself scared on the roller coaster ride to forum .

I have lot many more...will keep updating when ever I get bored and have time :)

It goes down the hill bumping.. 

unfettered, from all the shackles emancipating.. 

 sometimes bruised by the undulations,nothing it needs 

Sometimes caressed by the velvetty flowers Sometimes tickled by the outgrown wild weeds 

 Gusts of winds aiding it in the mirthful odyssey

 There is no one stopping it..no looking back.finally.. 

 It belonged to the hill unknown It is liberated now.. It is the rolling stone... 

 How good it would be to be like a rolling stone ?

 Carefree roll down the undulated hill ... Breakfree ...you have arrived..let the world be known...

Rainy Day ...

Rain God's fury knew no bounds that day. Whole of the 100 feet road was submerged in a heavy deludge of water. It was raining like cats and dogs. My cab dropped me at the Airtel showroom on 100 feet road. The rain had no signs to abate so i decided to take an auto to my house. Everyday I used to cover that distance walking only.After several refusals, cold looks exchanged, exhorbiant prices being quoted by the auto men, finally admist all these I found an angel and that is what I would say because he already had a passenger inside, he agreed to take me in and charged ony Rs.20 .I was aready drenched. I muttered to myself " what a good man ?...God is still there ...good people with principles is still not a rare species "

As I sat inside I grappled in my bag for my purse pondering if I would have any change. I did not want to be of any trouble to him or get more drenched looking for change in that heavy downpour. To my dismay I had a Rs500 note. I reached outside my house and before getting down handed him a Rs.500 note for a fare of Rs. 20. with an expression of immense guilty. I was almost ready to hear " madam...change illa ..please change kodi ". My ears and eyes seemed to defy what my mind said. As soon as I handed him the note waiting for it to be returned, in a fraction of a second i had the rest of the 480 Rs. in my hand.

Dreanched in rain and drenched in the goodness of the automan i just took the folded bundle of notes and shoved them in my bag purse and stepped out of the auto, all this while so thankful to him and for a moment I wanted to change my perception of the Bangalore autowalas.

I happily marched towards my house charged to narrate the story of the goodness of the autowala. Next morning I got up and opened my purse for something and thought of opening the bundle of notes and keeping them in place properly. As I unfolded the bundle, I failied to feel the thickness of a hundered ruppee note. ( Iam a rich girl ,that is why I can feel and judge :P ) It felt like a flimsy piece of paper. As I unfolded completeley and had a look my head went into circles for a moment as the ever victorious, invincible, the undertaker, on whose entry lights went off, seemed to smirk and mock at me. Where was our father of the nation? If it was "ruppee" and a wrestler had to appear on the note then our DaraSingh is no less than undertaker. The automan had cheated me :(. His innocent face flashed in front of my eyes. He had handed me fake notes,infact those note cant be called fake notes also. It would mean looking down upon all the mafia who work days in and out to create those fake notes. That auto man's children must have bagged them with some "bubble gum " and he gave them to me for free to play :)

That is an incident which happened last year same time when it used to rain religiously in the evening as if the sun works nine to six and then hands over the evening shift to rain God. Now it is the same time of year again :). Rainy season is always that time of the year with which one can associate many such days, many such incidents which at that time felt like another mundane day but left an indelible impression or got imprinted on the canvas of your mind.